Best Tear Up Poems
Written: July 06, 2023
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In midnight darkness, a smart spherical roll
Its treks into clouds as ships over hidden shoals.
Wandering hearts strive for their final day.
Hide-and-seek with woodland dwellers play.
To embrace a lover's chin, a lack of mystery
You sparkle and vanish as promises blistery.
Then depart until your eyes tear up.
Ink-splattered sheets won't dry in the cup.
So, any time of the day, retain a sunny face.
A scentless heart's scent is spared by grace.
Your curved grin is burned into my soul.
I cannot claim uniqueness or be whole.
So as to achieve discover a covert bearing.
And seize the place of daydreaming.
Whisperings of the moonlight dance
Reverberate over the vast, dark glance.
In the depths of night, secrets unfold.
As the clever sphere of silver and gold
Through midnight shadow, it rolls and glides.
Guided by unseen hands, it silently abides.
Such ships through hidden shoals, navigates,
Through the vast unknown, it patiently waits.
They crave a love that is pure and true.
A link that will bestow spirits to renew.
In a game of hide-and-seek, the moon does play,
As forest members peek in the moonlight sway.
They watch as it dances, casting its spell.
Enchanting all who dare to dwell.
A wishful lost mystique, in the moon's embrace,
Longing for a touch, a lover's grace.
But the moon is elusive, a fleeting dream.
Such as promises that vanish, it seems.
It glows and then disappears from sight.
Leaving behind a tear, glistening in the night.
Too late to dry a page where ink stains smear,
The moon's presence lingers, a memory so dear.
Even in the daylight, its beauty remains.
A reminder of the love that forever sustains
But the brightness of the sun cannot allay
The ache in a heart that's scentless in decay
Not once did i ever see my father tear up.
Not once.
Never did i see him get emotional.
Blue with haze.
He was scared.
But he never cried.
A tear had never once fell from his rosey toned cheeks.
Those rosey tones caused by a rush of relaxation.
A rush of forgetfulness.
Crushed cans.
Like his crushed feelings.
But never once did he cry.
Never once did my father take his glasses off upon his face.
Off his bright red nose, caused by the sun that he worked under every day.
The crimson sun, hard on these men’s life and back.
Never once did i see him rub his eyes.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he took care of his emotions.
Buried down as far under his stance.
Past the ground where he stood tall as a man.
Rooted there like a tree that is rooted for life.
As the years show my independence.
As my growth away from the nest,
So far away i may become.
Never trying to at all show the blue.
Never in front of another eye.
Never in front of a sight.
Because you are weak.
You are so weak.
You are so weak if it spills.
Never once did my father cry.
Never once did i cry.
Never once did we not not care.
We cared.
As the universe crawls into the darkest parts of the world;
?Time never exists,
Experiences rather than time.
Things always consistently changing and happening for an untold reason.
Never once did he cry.
Never once did i cry.
Never once did we cry,
Until tonight.
I saw his tear,
His chocked up throat.
He saw my tears,
Hard, hitting the floor.
We stood there,
Face to face, tear to tear.
We cared.
Oh, please, drop something in my cup, a bill or batch of change,
to see me smile when I look up...my fear with hope exchange.
A homeless man surely I am, my fate did bad by me;
I am not here to cheat or scam, I have no family.
On me, this tattered coat, my home, will hug me to the end;
cast out by fate and all alone...this cup, my only friend.
Oh, please, just one coin in my cup, or maybe two or more,
in trembling hands that I hold up, my begging eyes implore.
You'll never know the intense pain of having hunger gnaw
or have to sleep out in the rain or barnyard on the straw.
To be looked at with such disgust by some who pass me by,
and know there's no one I can trust beneath this lonely sky.
Oh, please, drop something in my cup; assure my heart will beat;
to see my eyes, with hope, tear up...perhaps today I eat.
In past, my life was full of dreams, the path I could not find;
no one to guide me so it seems...to future, I was blind.
And so I live my days and deal with each one as it comes,
to walk the streets, to find a meal...until my life succumbs.
October 24, 2016
Premiere Contest: Panic At The Food Bank
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Form: Iambic Heptameter - 14 syllables, 7 feet per line
plus internal rhyme
Wow—is the word!
You are something most surprising
I can feel you boiling in my blood
Waiting, trusting in that torrent
Of psychic union and revelation
You lock eyes with me—
They are blue, love-stricken, wild
I am pleasantly frightened
And comforted all at once!
Somewhere in your stare
You have managed to caress my soul
You have masterfully,
Grabbed hold…
Of all that is me—
This red force of obduration
This imprisoned fool I am…
Fretting at every given moment
In my vulnerability - how is it?
How is it that you know,
That you know our future is strong?
You just know,
This fiery….greed,
These flaws that shame me
Somehow you know this fear in me!
And everything you know,
You will see
You will acceptingly see
You first doused me with glittery lust
Steam and gleam in your keen pupils
In your gaping lips,
In your smooth-trodden truths,
I weaken in your words
You flow me out of my element,
As you pin me to the bed of dreams
You are an opulent ocean
Deep depths I know not!
I am merely a sliver of light
Becoming something solid in your grasp
Crystalline nerves melting in your knowing hands
Where is your surrender?
You ask me, in silence
I am your ball of glowing fervor
About to burst in your psychedelic waves
You are turning and turning
You are feeling me
You are feeling all my feelings!
That I try so desperately to conceal
Dissatisfaction and longing you recognize
In my volcanic hindrance
Your waters heave patience
You calm—you tear up
My fears hold me back,
And you want me to free them
This struggle is our beauty—
Is part of our art
And in you, in your rest
You salvage all the love we can muster
You remember all our moments
Fueling your empathic currents
Holding me close to your heaving tides
In a heartfelt flood of understanding
Before I begin I must sprinkle some muse
The main ingredient for the words I'll choose
I'll add in some metaphors with a sprig of thyme
Then I'll add in two cups of rhyme
I'll then drop a pepper into the pot
And slices of sadness to make you tear up
I'll even add assonance, perhaps just a cup
There will be passion as the poem gets hot
A bit of personification with tomatoes I'll then stew
I'll add a teaspoon of alliteration too
This dish will be spicy just by default
I'll sprinkle my similes with a pinch of salt
With limericks, a dash of humor is thrown
Hope it will tickle your funny bone
With syllable count not a vowel to waste
My poem is cooked please take a taste!
My Pet Poems, WOODY
Not long after our heart-stealing beauty
Watson passed, Jim drove me off from
The breeder’s and I sat in the passenger seat
With a cocker, colored a light maize/vanilla,
Cupped in my palms on my lap, while we
Discussed what to name him. He was
Our peace, to be our joy after the pain.
Alert, turning his head to note our voices; and
More comforting, like nostalgic times past,
Like a loved sweater kept for Saturday’s, or
The splendid fedora my dad kept placed just so
Atop his Chinese cabinet.
We called him Woody. It fit. Happy pup,
One dog even Jim’s mom adored, as
She offered to dog-sit and bought him
A stuffed monkey that he took 5 years to
Tear up, with only the squeaking head left.
It was playing ball that Woody loved.
Not even to walking with us in the park without
Scouring all over baseball in-fields and outreaches
For any and all balls he could find, at times
Eagerly perplexed about how to
Fit two in his moth at one time, which was
Much easier with tennis balls than softballs, but
The geometry missed him, making
Him huff laughs, while he kept trying to fit them.
Cocker’s hair grows long and, then, we
Couldn’t afford a groomer, so I’d trim him myself.
Once when he was older, I nipped him.
There was blood and I wept with apologies, until,
I’ll never forget, I learned from him on that day
About forgiveness. For he seemed to say,
Licking my hand, “What’s wrong, momma?
No harm done.” He comforted me. Not I, him.
If ever, there were a case to be made
For God sending us
Some angels in the form of dogs,
Woody was one,
Bringing love, lessons, loyalty, and laughter
— as dogs will do it — dear boy. Miss you.
Play ball!
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(c) sally Young eslinger 2021
Thanks be to God
The fear of losing you is real
It’s in the countless daily moments
Of a diagnosis still echoing in our ear
A verdict forever stuck in our throat
Maybe better to know but at what cost
Trying to keep illness at bay
Aggressive the counter attack
Life never to be the same
Dark thoughts still lurk uninvited
As sometimes your eyes tear up
With no detectable provocation
And in the hush of night when all is quiet
The silence seems unbearable
Within the shadow of a broken heart
So we strive to live each day
As though life is the gift it is
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 5, 2019 for contest ONE IN FOUR sponsored by JOSEPH MAY - RANKED 3RD
Oh the day of Christmas 2020!
The snow has for long, been pushed further into the year.
I shan't spill a single tear.
Christmas this year is beautiful that I in my prime of Twenty Three am so glad.
I am so glad that you could spend it with me, my wonderful.
You are my breath of fresh air, my tender kiss.
You are my only Christmas wish.
Your beautiful glossy dark hair.
Followed with a loving oh so, tender stare.
You were my Christmas past.
You are my Christmas present.
And you... You will be my Christmas future.
There is no hate on Christmas day.
Tender loving care, here and away.
I’m glad that I can spend it with you.
My heart beats fast when your air fills the room.
My eyes tear up at the sound of your beautiful voice.
My hands bloom for your radiant glow.
Because I know, you know.
What I want for Christmas this year.
Oh hot pepper how you call to me, I stare at you with anxiety, I love you so but you torture me, but yet I eat you despite of me. Your heat glows red like a devil inside of me, poking and prodding, tempting me, challenging, promises of fire inside of me. Your skin so beautiful, so perfectly red, I cook you, I blend you, in chocolate or stews, let it be said OMG I so love you. Then the heat sets in and all I can say, is god dear lord when will the pain go away. I break into a sweat, my cheeks go flush, holy ring of fire I must stop. Like a moth drawn to light I cannot resist like a dog to a smell, like a zombie in the midst, I take a bite, the taste so sweet, eyes tear up, smile big and wide, ring of fire, 911 imminent inside. oh hot pepper how I love thee, glorious torture, you are one with me…Poetry by Dean
Form:
Oh Lord please tell me what Isaiah meant
That “the wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus?”
I look out at the full moon in the morning atop an unfinished Cube Smart
Storage facility, the I-76 highway buzzes in the foreground. The rolling hills of empty tree tops
just barely hiding the myriad of man made shapes beneath
I cant stop looking at the moon, the sunrise at my back out of sight
behind this worthless building
but painting all the clouds around the moon with a gray-pink.
I tear up thinking of a line that I could never quite get to work in a poem
Give back to Caesar this un-beating heart
And unto you oh God my soul depart.
There's something there but its still kind of corny.
Too forced, too rhythmic.
I get a text from my foreman
“Sorry was on the phone coming up now.”
I see you God in the little moments,
But they don't last very long.
“Draw near O nations, to hear
and give attention O peoples!
Let the earth hear, and all that fills it.
For the Lord is enraged against all the nations
And furious against all their host;
He has devoted them to destruction, has given them over to slaughter.
Their slain shall be cast out, and the stench of their corpses shall rise;
The mountains shall flow with their blood.”
A truck passes by using its engine brakes BRAP BRAP BRAP BRAP
“Thorns shall grow over its strongholds, nettles and thistles in its fortresses
It shall be the haunt of jackals an abode for ostriches.”
Ostriches on the highway, I’m into it. I don't really get off on the stench of corpses like Isaiah though.
Why the love of vengeance Lord?
I’d like to think Isaiah an imperfect messenger. But I get the anger over the destruction of nature
Tell me Lord if this world will be destroyed? Will you let our selfishness destroy everything?
It seems like its getting pretty close.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done.
Please Lord protect the Earth and let me be an instrument for You, Eternal Love;
And to help usher in The Kingdom
Amen.
Hey Mr president don't take
us to war
Don't load up your guns to settle a score
Your soldiers will gladly give you their lives
Please don't feed them bull , rhetoric and lies
Hey Mr president please save us the earth
Take a look at your children and remember their birth
Don't tear up nuclear agreements that will save the masses
Don't change the law that stop green house gases
Hey Mr president if your not a racist then do what you can
Stop the white supremacist and the klu Klux Klan
Hey Mr president have your say
on the rights of the needy the lesbian and gay
and while your at it please pass a bill to protect returning vets who are mentally ill
Hey Mr president all these things must be done
So the world can prosper an live as one
Talking and compromise will be the key
To stop us all living in total anarchy
The Flower At The Grave
He hates walking through cemeteries
It isn’t all of the tombstones
Nor is it the sadness of loss
His eyes tear up when he sees certain graves
Ones where the deceased are forgotten or ignored
No one ever mourns for them
Has there ever been a tear shed for them
Does anyone even know that they are there
He stops at each one and each person by name
Leaving a single flower on each one
And saying a prayer for each person
He knows it probably doesn’t make a difference
At least not to anyone he knows
But if just one soul smiles because of him
He believes that he made a difference
And that makes him happy
We are dishwashers and bill payers, we have day jobs and night jobs.
Some of us are retired, I am not, because I know too many
who died after they did that.
They lost their purpose, and before they could find another one,
they gave up, and left their earth life.
We do not have any more time than the rest of you,
but we grab it up and use it in full force.
We have chosen a life few choose. We are word players -
writing on napkins and paper plates.
Grabbing whatever is near at the time, jotting down phrases,
rhyming words, and lyrics.
We knew that we could and we can, and we do because our souls
will not let us not do.
We are the dreamers, the schemers, the world lovers,
the imagination people.
We are the ones who invent the new things, and
tear up old ideas to make room for new ones.
There is a driving force that tells us we must.
I call mine Trixie. She is an inner voice that yells at me.
She has crazy ideas. She cajoles me and coaxes me.
She holds me down until I yell “Aunt!” so I follow her lead.
We are the poets.
I write a line. It makes no sense. I tear up the paper.
Into little tiny itty bity bitsy bits.
Blow them onto the floor, for this is my mood now.
Begin again. Three words. They feel “shaky”.
I glare at them. They are not my words.
Yet they came from my fingers.
They end up in a crumpled ball, next to three others.
My muse is not amused. She is trying. I am the obvious problem.
Maybe we are not in the mood for this, I suggest.
We communicate by telepathy,
Unless she loses her temper.
Boom!
I find myself on the floor
She likes to show me
Who is boss
As they pull you in for an embrace,
You feel them drag the blade across your skin,
Forming yet another canyon
Deep in your flesh.
You feel the thisles begin to grow,
Thistles you realise will come to hurt others
Who pull you in for yet another embrace.
Yet you continue to embrace another,
You continue to search for that warmth,
The warmth you know will just form
More and more canyons,
More and more thistles,
That will one day hurt another
You have come to see the thistles as ugly,
You have come to hate the thistles
Because the thistles hurt others.
As I pull you in for that same embrace,
Thistles rend my flesh,
Tear up my skin,
And form such a wonderful red.
A red that will come to grow flowers.
Flowers that only we share.
Thistles.
The thistles that grow from your skin
Were not planted by you.
The thistles grown from your skin
Are something of complete beauty.
The thistles that grow from your skin
Do not cause me pain.
The thistles that grown from your skin
Will only bring us closer together.
Thistles that grow from pain
Flourish the most beautifully.
You, my dear,
Have flourished
You, my beloved,
Are pure beauty.