Best Stings Poems
~ The sting of death will always bring pain ~ grieve in peace ~
quote by poet
Every day he brings flowers to the place where the ashes are buried
The pain is at times unbearable, a dark g a t e
It takes years to learn to bear grief with grace and acceptance
Thoughts surround, envelop and overpower him completely
He can barely m u t t e r her name without crying
She placed her smile as a blooming j e w e l
Touches the s h a d o w, angels don't fall from the sky
Sea horizon in the distance ...a clean line.... a quiet shore
Every day the ocean washes up something new on its sandy floor...
Today, the sea formed haystacks of seaweed piled quiet high
Yesterday sea sponges and fan-shells lapped the crunchy sands
Gentle humming of soft ocean sounds humms by to and fro
Seagulls squawking , flying in unison form a V- like kite formation
Their pale eyes widen as red feet and beaks hover and flutter
Two yellow labradors swimming and weaving from shore to ocean
Bounding gracefully into the water , chasing and jumping in unison
Tirelessly,effortlessly running along their beloved ocean shore.
Young dogs greet each other in an excitedly ,friendly fashion.
Horses hoof prints embedded gracefully in the shoreline sand....
Broken glass edges made smooth with the sands abrasion
Oh wonderful mobile reflecting the sunlights warm sensations!
Grandmother sits in her rocking chair
nearly as old as she
ragged patches of scrap spread across her lap.
She tells stories from her eighty years of senescence,
of faces now aged, some no longer bound by this earth
as though they were still enjoying the blessings of youth-
as fresh in her mind as the daisies and buttercups I picked for her this morning
and placed beside her chair;
its occasional accompanying squeaks affirming her words from time to time.
She did not know then that she was sewing two blankets for me;
weaving quilts of words
from patterns of memories
patching good times to bad
making one smooth blanket of emotions.
The needle stings-it's true
but only so little by comparison
to the warmth it provides
Don’t be moved, by the negative things, people dishes out,
it will kill our hope, and turns our faith to doubt.
Don’t let their words of anger, kill your love I say,
don’t hold it against them, for they know no other way.
But be moved only, by the goodness in your heart, you see,
or right there in their battles, with them we will be.
Don’t be moved by their, hatred, anger and strife,
for it will surely kill the peace, that’s in our life.
Sometimes it’s best, if we just walk away,
if we open our mouths, there will be a debt to pay.
How the darkness of this world, draws us in you see,
chews us up, spits us out, destroying both you and me.
Don’t be moved by the darkness, or you will feel it’s pains,
but be moved by the truth, for it destroys those locks, and chains.
We must be the truth, for others to truly see,
there is a God in Heaven, who sets us free.
For when we are moved by their darkness, we also begin to die,
no more laughter in our hearts, as we sit and cry.
We have been redeemed, from this place you see,
don’t let the darkness of this world, move you, or me.
But be moved by the truth, the light of all things,
for we have been delivered, from these deadly stings.
Watching wild Wasps
Fiercely flying forward
Sonic stings, sickly screams
Painfully piercing pandemonium
Experimenting with form I have not previously attempted.
Bumble Bee Stings And Singing
Bee sting
Bumble is here
With fear
Fearsome
Generating
Real pain
Painful
Targeting you
To run
Running
Faster on wind
To wait
Waiting
Then get stung
Get wet
Wetter
In water sink
Hold breath
Breathless
For bee to leave
Then pray
Praying
Bee goes away
Then rise
Rising
To see it gone
Be calm
Calmer
Than the soft wind
Then sing
Singing
Is better than
Bee stings
Created on 12/01/14 for- "Mussetle Train" Poetry Contest
2 4 2 non rhyming
The stings, that disappointment brings, are deep,
When one’s believed in Love, and seen Love fail.
So often, on-track lives go off the rail,
And so, the Soul returns to caverns, deep,
And there, She waits, and gives up near all hope,
And huddles ‘between the rock, and the hard place’
And disbelieves in love, and faith and grace.
And rolls like round rocks, down a grassy slope
So gingerly, she weaves a net of rope
But lets the fish swim out! She cannot bear
To handle gentle things ungently. Where
Is gone the happy, faithful child of hope,
Who played with butterflies, and kites on strings?
O! Such an one is meant for joyful things!
I'm sensitive and I collect damage too easily
I sit here and I write but the words don't come too easily
I collect it from the people who come after me
I'm a collector of hurt feelings and for you it's not plain to see
it's okay, though, i'll collect it while we talk on the phone,
me to you but you to other people instead of me
maybe it's because I'm sitting here without you
writing out verses to ask myself "did you ever need me anyway?"
Ah, mine eyes espied a glorious shade tree
On a recent brutally hazy, hot and humid July summer day
Where below the gnarled roots glazed occipital nerve did not see
Yellow-jackets minding their own bees wax when derriere i.e. did essay
Until deux stingers re:
Accessible bared skin aviary members did flay
Vulnerable hide bound part of my right knee
Whereby toxin induced to feel slightly queasy and appear ashen gray
Yet possessed the response to stand up and immediately flee
As co-horts per the hive stirred with protruding stingers ready to lay
Into another area of ripe human flesh with consistency of Brie
Yet, no intent to be cheesy – nay
On the con tray or e
Only attempting to find good humor to stave discomfort at bay
Which quick thinking found me
Summoning medicinal salve to keep any potential swelling away
Thus this mister mom trotted into the Belmont Hills lye bray r e
Soaking damp washcloths
(I packed in plastic bag to cool thyself) and pray
All the while mouthing expletives more emphatic than oye vay e
Healing powers of self would allow this chap to fell okay
Enough until my thirteen-year-old daughter and tutor would sashay
Out into the blistering heat so we could be on our home bound way.
How deep the stings that make men mistrust Love,
And women fly from comforts that Love brings,
And deeper is the poison in poisoned rings
That longing hearts refuse the thinking of.
There is no other station that can wound
As deeply, or as surely, as Love stabs
No other hook grabs deeply as Love grabs
And no lute, more than Love, as finely tuned
Can make my music sob, vibrate the strings
Of all the lutes that ever were, will be
With consonances. O! That I could Thee
Awaken, to the joys that Sweet Love brings.
But you would rather have than me, I think,
Brown eyes, brown hair, a Handsome with a wink!
Those lingering stings grows depths and last.
They seep their way in - to the past
To claw out your inner soul -
Those hopes you have with dents and holes.
Note: This is an old poem I wrote when I realized
I couldn't forget the past and that it would always
be a part of me: lingering.
Three wasps or hornets (I'm not clear)
Once stung my brother in his ear.
In memory, I hear his cries
Of shock and pain and pure surprise.
A horde of moms wiped off the blood
And slathered on a coat of mud,
An act my brother did endure,
Intuiting a soothing cure.
My bro was fine; the stings all healed
Yet what this incident revealed
Was how those women somehow knew,
Together, just what they should do.
Those moms are either old or dead
But what they did stuck in my head.
Communal help for one in need
Is recollection-worth, indeed.
Oh, for a life with no worries, no kinks,
possible in this world, everyone thinks;
I disagree,
that just can't be,
because when life loses its stings, it stinks!
Bedazzled in stripes
Mother nature’s warning sign
Bitter sting awaits
I'm beginning to feel odd,
hermit like if you will.
I refuse to believe all the lies
they tell wrapped up nicely like
presents presented as truth.
they even get our youth and act
like their parents when they
have none of their own.
believe me I'm not trying to
throw stones I just peep what
I know therefore I'm a homebody
where I know the truth unfolds
before my eyes in the privacy of
my home while I pray to the Upmost
author of truth for discernment to know
what He wants me to know
the veil can be removed and the light
can shine out and from within
then I have the boldness along
with courage to speak the gospel
to whomever will listen since it's
my intention to reach as many as I
can and help them understand real
love and salvation that is waiting for
them
a hermit I can be no more