Best Terminally Poems
if you can see into the depths of my heart
you would hear it sing the saddest song
for those who have looked for meaning in tragedy
for those have suffered terminally
for i have fallen just like them
i have been forsaken
i've looked into your eyes and i see my own reflection
i see the tears you have cried
i know you are alone and afraid
your innocence betrayed
but look into these eyes
i have struggled and suffered just like you
grab my hand you'll no longer be alone
just think this through
for i have fallen just like you
let's stop this trend of sinking
for we are not alone
together we can break this threshold
locked in this embrace
together we will not break
bound together by something stronger than super glue
will you think this through?
will you realize that i'm just like you?
just look into this heart
don't let this world tear us apart
for i have suffered just like you
together we shall never fall
nothing can push our backs up against a wall
we will break through!
believe in me! i believe in you!
Categories:
terminally, dedication, devotion, faith, friendship,
Form:
Lyric
Staring, vapor locked, at my Hammond B-3 console organ, which dominates my
kitchen. Surely a symbol of my madness. I can't help, but think, if the keys were
the days of my life, and the black ones represented the bad days, are there
enough black keys?? Fighting petulance, self-pity...losing...
Wondering if I can stand another minute alone. Atop my organ, music books,
and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, another mad poet.
Plagued by physical agonies that merely complete a perfect circle of anguish
and distress. Even to worrying of misspelling a word again. Pure lunacy.
Remembrance of my 1863 death at Missionary Ridge, something I became
aware of as a young child before I'd ever heard of reincarnation. Or just an early
sign of the madness to come??
I am lost in a befouling miasma of deep despair. My life's hopes down to 2
desires; one last music band, and taking my son to Disneyworld. Money is
meaningless to me.
I am well aware that death is as natural as life. And I would venture to guess
that the loss of my father, my young cousin Billy, my dear friend Mark Trotiner, and
too many others, are "Business As Usual" in this universe. But not for me.
Being terminally ill myself is something I have long since come to terms with.
And what a reunion it will be!! But I must continue to go on surviving as though I
cherish this long and barren life.
My writing, especially my poetry, my poet friends, my music, my musician
friends, and a few relatives and others; these are the meds that work for me; not
the 30 or so pills I must deal with everyday. So thank you all.
And now an addendum, one which brightened my day:
Mark Trotiner long maintained that he gave Mark Knoffler (Dire Straights) the
idea for his hit song "Money For Nothing", when Mark Knoffler came into the
appliance chain store he worked in way back then, where he bought, and drove
off with several T.V.s, singing the prototype words he'd gotten from Mark Trotiner.
Over the years, I tested him repeatedly, looking for the tale-tell deviation in the
story one finds in a false tale. He never faltered, he never failed.
Continued.....
Categories:
terminally, adventure, death, family, friendship,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Transpiring for tranquility,
For that loving long embrace…
Once again, I look away from my existence
And meet your precious gaze
Of whom do we owe our lives, our hearts, our time?
To the one who has died, or the one that dies yet still, for you..?
I ignore the moments of pleasure so trivial in blinded eyes,
To focus my awareness of your bleeding cadence
I see the fury of jealousy riding on the outlines of your jaw
The tension in your frown, the pain in your still, genuine smile
Your face becomes soft in my presence, though from a distance,
You are terminally coarse
You are breaking, awakening by the frenzy of my love,
Crying so darkly for my mind to comprehend your doomed destiny
And in spurts of silver moments,
I do see you,
In all pools of blood and tears,
Mixing with all of the familiar hesitancies and fears
I am fighting now, to push away the useless light of the ignorant multitude
Parting from their detached arrays, into your sweet supple gaze
Where freely the tears fall upon my breast,
Tortuous, the pulse begs merciless against my chest
Your pupils enlarge, rivaling the world in my stare
Perspiring peace glistening in our blend
We realize in this union we owe each other nothing
For we have died together, loved freely, and lived
To suffer again no more
-For Justin Bordner's "The Crosses In Your Eyes" Contest-
Categories:
terminally, appreciation, heart, hurt, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
As winter brings shortened light,
as famine delivers harvest blight
So does violence yield premature burial gain,
scarlet tears of Noah’s premonition rain
Crimson tidal force,
deluge of cursed, wolf bane rage
Crescent moon dreadfully presage
a permanent lunar retrograde
On the dark side of the bosom,
sunspot thoughts flow terminally so, err bottomless
Feral feelings blindly comes from
malevolent eruptions,
igneous fears reflect opaque tears of hardened glass
Eclipse hearts
cast an angry downpour —
What does the ill-temper tempest send?
Underbelly hourglass
receives not
another vex overturn at trickling’s end
Rejoice, rejoice
ye peaceful pilgrims
of quantum hope certainty
The celestial sands of tranquility
will soon pour infinitely
As the last Revolution spins
identical change,
the mammon thirst for power
remains the same
Punctuated by perforated voices,
whose hateful noise
stains the grain
1-30-21
Categories:
terminally, allusion, imagery, metaphor, visionary,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
A revolving door of visiting friends
Old and new, at the hospital, day by day.
Stalked by death's brooding shadow;
Cancer-stricken and terminally ill,
Yet faces his mortality with courage.
His bones ache yet his heart sings
As he lay dying without regrets.
A man of faith, he feels no fear
As he embarks on his final destination.
His journey from stunned denial to
Acceptance of his fate, complete.
What a life! He had a good run.
Loved ones surround his death bed.
His wife of more than half a century
Keeps round the clock vigil.
His bones ache yet his heart
Coos along to her farewell song,
Softly sung into his right ear.
Hand in hand, a goodbye kiss on his brow.
A stream of peacefulness flows
Through the clearing of his mind
As he slowly slips away; his bones
Ache no more.
Categories:
terminally, death, devotion, family, husband,
Form:
Narrative
This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital.
It was sent by a medical doctor.
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight? Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last. Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, “How are you?” Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
with the next hundred chores running through your head?
You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last.
Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow? and in your haste not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die, cause you never had time
To call and say,'Hi', ...You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last..
When you run so fast to get somewhere you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day it is like an unopened gift .
Thrown away. Life is not a race, do take it slower, hear the music,
before the song is over.
By: David L. Weatherford
Categories:
terminally, appreciation, life,
Form:
Free verse
Love is not always reciprocated
Seeming some hearts terminally
constipated –
unable to relieve themselves
and others,
to make lighter many burdens,
the long suffering of less fortunate sisters
and brothers –
yes, love is not only
tender petting,
it is also to help stop daily
fretting – feeling hopeless smothers
love is sinking
wells and tilling fields
giving an extra helping hand
when Nature poorly yields
it is lighting a furnace of warmth
for the aged, by themselves too weak
to battle late hour’s bitter cold
it is seeing gold as not mere glitter
but a wealth that could make life desperate
fuller and fitter
Seek out those children abandoned and forgotten!
Restore a World order that nurtures its vulnerable fold –
Dear God, if love
could only be bought and sold, I would
earn to buy all
give all away free...
My own reserve entirely in Thee
Categories:
terminally, bible, character, christian, friendship,
Form:
Free verse
dialog with myself invariably involves others
we are all perceivers nobody escapes
no really and truly trust me on this
no manufacturing of childish evasions
maybe it is best to be born into a family
with family values
ablaze with comfort and sanitation
lost in a forest of memories
amusingly arrayed for shoppers
exactly like the TV version
fortunately I was in touch
with my inner juvenile delinquent
unlettered by any known normalcy
nor crazed by the expectation of gold
or even gold paint from a rattle can
our addiction to pleasure
is no Darwinian accident
we really do learn to act from movies
no really and truly trust me on this
our tune is a complicated little number
in several keys at once
upon your mother's pedestal is one
between cognition and reflex is another
in the keyhole universe
location location location
I may need an axe to free my thoughts
just so I can play dumb
when you know too much
you go for the guts
in a trail blazing effort to avoid
media suppression by the CIA
Clairvoyant Intelligence Agency
chronically in for interrogation
OK let's play who's more paranoid
if this poem is minus the above line
then it has been tampered with
754 million hand sewn Humpty Dumpty
nerve connections later
sutured like Frankenstein's test dummy
a bungee cord full of existential tension
I seem to be strapped to a microscope
plunging to new vistas and panoramas
recoil in horror from what you were
behavior can also be modified
by better info if you let it
how's that for mind warfare
pretty propaganda pretty pretty
for the young and the innocent
left screaming in a gas station toilet
wrapped in today's newspaper
comics section puzzle page
how long can the charade continue
when autonomous is still an illegal word
this is an audience participation piece
from the Federal Pencil Council
and for the terminally nostalgic
the night arched quietly above
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
terminally, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
She lingers in my dreams
Like a sempiternal sense
Contrive a sense of glamour
Which makes her ineffable
I recall a lissome cynosure
Attributed from a demure
Yet an ingénue as she is
With her mellifluous voice
A pair of chatoyant eyes
Depicts a goddess of a lass
Alas, such a terminally ill soul
Panacea is even back to the wall
05/14/16
Note:
A Ten-Word Challenge by Silent One
Using the following words:
Chatoyant, Cynosure,
Demure, Glamour, Ineffable,
Ingénue, Lissome
Mellifluous, Panacea,
Sempiternal
Ninth place
For a "Mystery" Poetry contest
by Nayda Ivette Negron
Honorable mention
"I Ain't Afraid Of No Ghosts"
by Casarah Nance
Categories:
terminally, angel, friend, word play,
Form:
Epyllion
Life was hard and he had lost all that mattered
first his mother who was murdered on her way home.
He watched his Dad unable to cope with her loss
fade away to skin and bones a relief when he passed on.
His wife walked out on him with their three children
leaving him with a pile of debts and a broken heart.
He lost his job for too much time off with no reference
and soon he would lose his house to the bank and divorce.
Now the final straw he was terminally ill and in pain
constant debilitating pain that sapped away his strength.
Lining up the bottles he poured out a healthy sized drink
and placed the pills ready in rows, with six in each pile.
Putting on a selection of his favourite bands he hunkered down,
settling himself as comfortably as possible this last thing
in his own hands, he got to chose. Not the illness he would beat
that by his own choice, for him death no longer held any fear.
Sipping, swallowing he washed down the pills until none remained.
After all enough was enough and he had nothing left to lose.
As he drifted off he dreamed of better times now past and gone
Soon he was walking in pleasant green pastures, ahead he could see.
His parents waiting with smiles on their faces and open arms
a vivid bright light that burned his eyes and yet welcomed.
He walked through the veil with eager steps to perfect peace
leaving behind without any regrets, the empty husk of his body.
Categories:
terminally, death, drink, health, suicide,
Form:
Verse
Merciful Mirror
‘Merciful Mirror on the wall...what is the greatest of our fall?’
The invasion of illusion the greatest of your fervent fall
The absorption of confusion the bigotry of your brawl
The ties that bind you within a decumbent diversion
With eyes that blind you in a camouflaged conversion
In your reflective Majesty of malignant Kings and Queens
A taunting travesty behind the sabotaging smoke screens
In your collapsed cognition of a wandering wasted mind
Within the arrogance of ambition you have been confined
In moments of reason your thoughts delude in deflections
Solitudes in secretion devolving divided dissolute directions
In deep and dormant the evil entraps your scrumptious soul
In a tangled torment as perpetual puppets terminally troll
Mirrors of infinity and infatuation you must eagerly escape
Before the darkness and damnation pulls on the final drape
Within the shattered silences a delusional dimensional attack
Your vengeful viruses will mirror the world of a bridal black.
Sept.21.2017
Mirror Mirror
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Categories:
terminally, identity, mirror, self,
Form:
Rhyme
Guiled movement. A warrior's ballet.
Wiled traps confusing choice play.
Battle simulator, test of war.
Chattel, pieces. Sixteen, no more.
Tool used for general and king.
Fool recused, no victory to bring.
Equate life, game played terminally.
Satiate strife, rife with strategy.
Take care when proficiency is met.
Wake caution. Avoid cunning net.
Truly dangerous. Prediction a guess.
Duly acts, a man who plays chess.
-Angel Fatale-
Categories:
terminally, deep, games, people, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
SONG OF THE SPIRIT
Ridden on a bed
Barely able to moan
Can't move a finger
Or let out a groan
I sense some footsteps
Inching towards me
Must be the doc bless him
To relieve my agony
Lying on my sore back
For almost an eternity
Each muscle stiff
Crying for relief
Debilitated devastated
Wrapped up in grief
Yet, this spirit
Deep inside me
Just a speck
A tiny fleck
Wilful stubborn
Refuses to succumb
Irrepressible incandescent
Yearns for a joyous outcome
Listen carefully
Hear it cry
'Fear not adversity
Never say die'
Resubmitted for Julie Rodeheavers
Contest: I am a survivor
Date Aug 22 2017
This poem attempts to explore the spirit of the terminally ill patients many of them lying in a vegetative state and for whom passive euthanasia is advocated by a sizeable section of society as the only remedy.
Categories:
terminally, cheer up, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
"The Padded Soft Cell"
Here they cover their mirrors
with garlands of poésies
to stop billabong reflections
pooling through
the inmates
congratulate each other
walking in slow dervish circles
Boston-two-stepping backwards ecstatic rituals
Anti-clockwise,
I told them to change channels
when words become mute
and mummify themselves
in the gadaidja’s
interminably
terminally blessed loud
soapbox sermon music
they b**ched their chomping bits
about it all for a while
I suggested with a pleasant smile
keep on their side of the shine
twisting their own twine
regulated patients,
disgraced and racing
chasing love, love chasing
all intrepid actors underexposed pacing
sometimes we smile here
within our padded soft cells
if the ghosts we read through walls
entertain us from their wells
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"Films" (Remastered 2009)/ Gary Numan
https://youtu.be/6HbIGk6zH_k
Categories:
terminally, muse,
Form:
Free verse
They came as dawn's fresh light fell upon the land.
With their hard hats and high viz jackets.
Busy men clamour and plot,
Measure and scratch,
Cigarette smoke floats up high.
They never told me.
Bulldozers and diggers,
In splattered yellow overcoats,
Sit patiently for ignition.
Waiting to devour.
They never told me.
Angry Chainsaws roar,
Felling arthritic trees
That tumble silently.
Only homeless jackdaws,
Screech resistance.
But why didn't they tell me?
Maybe they don't know,
That I was once emperor of these woods.
The tycoon of rickety treehouses,
Whose Kingdom stretched for acre and a half.
Are they unaware of our imperialist acorn
Wars,
And slingshot invasions,
That lasted to tea time,
Or until a ice cream van
Rolled down the road,
Where's Clint Eastwood when you need him,
He would ride in on his trusty mare
With guns ablazeing,
And rapidly put an end to this unfurling travesty.
By this time next week my childhood memories,
Will be erased, buried beneath tarmac and
White lines
Terminally extinct, so stressed out shoppers
Can get their trollies
To the shops at least five minutes quicker.
Categories:
terminally, childhood, social,
Form:
Elegy