Best Widow Poems
lesson one
i wake up alone
for the first time
the silence is deafening
i want to get up
but every fiber in me
is dead weight
i want to call my mother
and ask her how a widow
gets out of bed in the morning
but i won’t do that to her
i will figure it out
i remember how yesterday
i had to run an errand
and the cool breeze
was a reassuring sensation
against my cheek
it felt much like a caress
so i coax myself to get up
and step out onto my balcony
but my body wants nothing to do with it
and won’t move
finally somehow i am up
yearning for that morning caress
i bundle up
to face the november chill
and there it is
around the corner
a sunkiss meets me
my first of many rendezvous
see you tomorrow sweetheart
i love you
you’re beautiful
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TODAY I LEARN TO BE A WIDOW~ 2020
Read on air by invitation ~ November 25, 2020 'LATE NIGHT WITH THE MIDNIGHT BOMBER'
AP: 2nd place 2026, 2nd place 2025, 2nd place 2025, 2nd place 2020, 3rd place 2026, 3rd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025, Front Page Pick 2021
Submitted on January 6, 2021 for contest BATTLE OF MOST ACCLAIMED 2020 POEMS sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 3RD
The widow among roses,
though a scent so sweet
she smells to near smile,
how red the vibrance of life
and soft the petals caress
her lonely cheek,
she remembers her love lost
(her left eye a tombstone glass)
and seizes not to yearn it back ---
The Blacklady among crimson;
her desert rains evermore night and day,
and still the dunes of her heart soak not with love,
the arrid wind still shoots the sand
through her wasteland unbetrothed,
where the sun never rises,
nor never beautifully it sets
through her tombstone eye
She walks the night dressed in white,
her wedding gown a sight for ghosts
and phantoms do fright;
they cannot haunt ---
this foot-in-the-grave-soul,
glowing white-red howling at the moon
To true midnite her feet carries her so,
where the river rushes reflecting
forever moon glow
Where the nymph and sylph and dryad never go,
whispering and wondering ---
gazing to this lady alone,
this poor begotten thing ---
this shadow unto death,
who filled with eternal tears
(seated in some unknown place)
her nose in roses, and her mind always in the past
(grieving life)
and mourning some faceless man
*** Inspired from a friend's mother, who at the age
of 40 --- all but gave up on life at the death of her
husband, which deeply saddened me ***
May stretched its legs into grave.
The thunder heralds the rains.
A hut on the bank of Kanoli canal
Is not re-thatched this year.
Her infant’s illness made the doctor gay
With all the wages she had kept.
Summer takes the last breath,
But the coconut leaf thatched roof
Is not re-thatched this year.
As the widow stands on the threshold,
The rain clouds gather over her sky,
And the wind scatters terror in her corridor.
Will the tattered roof be flown away?
Will the rain drops make pores
On the roof of her life?
Where will her child crawl and smile?
Question waves are thus getting high;
Her canoe is ready to be tossed.
(The summer season ends in the month of May and rainy season begins in the month of June in Kerala)
whimsical windswept whiteness
wedding weekend wanderlust
willowy wonderland waltz
wrongfully weathered woe
wintry wishful whispers
wrestling woodland wintertide
welcome waxen wallflower
weeping wheezy widow
whimpering wholeheartedly
wrangling worthless worries
wanton wretched wrongdoing
wedged within wickedness
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
A widow who hated to see
her friends doing better than she
spun such nasty rumors
they spread like bad tumors
and blackened her soul completely.
Her friends realized she was not
a soul they could trust, so she got
left friendless for spinning
her lies. For her sinning -
inside her own web she was caught.
Nov. 19, 2017 for Brenda Chiri's "Judgmental People And Haters" Contest
The widow turned the air on, closed her door
against the summers’ sounds and cooling breeze.
She had no friends or allies anymore
and family were mere shards of memories.
But sometimes, like a captured damsel, she
would stand beside her window for a while.
Her neighbor sitting on his porch would see
her. He'd turn her way, and tip his hat and smile.
It might have crossed her mind she could regain
some confidence in going out to meet
this friendly gent, but at her window pane
she stayed as life outside breathed in the heat.
Then risking nothing, she would turn away
and never know the scent of that one day.
9/16/13
For Laura Loo's the BEST SAD POEM EVER II Poetry Contest
Began in September
(Watching it grow)
A smoldering ember
(Black-orange glow)
October, November
(Can’t let them know)
Half past thru December
(Hope it won’t show)
Don’t think I remember
(Feeling so low)
She's thrice now had a scarlet groom
Adorned in silk this dusty room
She sobbed away sorrows in black
When she discovered the knapsack
In gold and pearls, did sorely lack
And her head and palm greeted, smack!
Like his body met the floor, thwack!
The house empty, less her they track
Hardened heart, hollowed like a tomb
Was it lover's spat or planned doom?
------------
Duo-rhyme? Not quite got the iambic tetrameter down, but I tried.
I looked in the mirror and all I could see was the pain of loss,
draped in jet-black dress with a veil of gloom on my face.
I tried to smile hard but all I could see was a forced on gloss
dabbed on my lips to hide the bitter truth of grief's trace.
I endured the sufferings of life but this was a misery of death
digging the grave of my love imprisoned in a wooden case.
I tried to joke it off but my laughter was soaked in tear's depth
drowning my joyous memories of him in whirlpool of distress.
I believed the idea to live happily ever after with him on my side
dolloped with love but losing him broke my faith in shards.
I tried to flee from feel of a widow but my mourning couldn't hide;
drab heart of mine is like his cenotaph desolated and marred.
Date: 01/20/2017
Note: For the contest (Form E) by Broken Wings.
*Placed Third*
The poem is true to elegy form but also a personification cause it personifies the character of a widow.
Love Letter
Courting a Black Widow Spider
I do admire your knitting skills
The sight of your cobweb fills me with thrills
Your hourglass figure glowing red
has never gripped my heart with dread
The sight of you a passion rare instills
So I could never believe, as I view fresh kills
that the day we wed, I’ll be next day’s meals
In limbo her soul breathes
The inky black of midnight crawling her skin
She watches his chest rise and fall
The rhythmic sounds lulling her to sleep
She pierces his dream with silent screams
Calls him awake with urgent longing
He stirs and twitches
But does not come to her
She fingers the softness of his neck
Coils them around it's length like a snake
His eyes spring open, prised from sleep
Silently pleading, what do you want from me
They meld together like scorching lava
To frenzy the passion they cannot speak
He reaches for her tenderly, offering his mouth in expectation
This time, she thinks, he has been spared
She waits by the river
Watching her withering shadow
Mourning pearls low
Dusting the ashes slowly
Deep within so lonely
Slaughtered body of her mate send shiver.
She quietly screams through her white veil
Stained in widowed red
Weeping willows dread
She prayed for grace
River took her in loving embrace
Her loud screams, echoes trails.
Passerby abhor
Some say we warned
Many scorned
She painted her nude body with his ash
Ran along the banks in a dash
Her white veil waived a roar.
Date-August 31,2014
marginalized
again
just a widow
whose family is grown
no longer a central figure
overlooked
forgotten
until something
is expected from me
then parameters shift
I am needed, anticipated
counted on for help
until that window in time
passes
then
marginalized
once more
prioritized
off the grid
of life
~
is it any wonder
I gravitate
to the one who supports me
appreciates me
listens
with his heart
White pages stare
at the blood stains of the past
White virgin cries then dies
red wine to the victor
Roses so blue
tell tales in the wind
Judges three, older than all of thee
all of them colorblind
I waited all night long for your expected call
Wanted to listen to it ring and ring and ring
Needed to size up what message you would leave me
Sure enough, again just meaningless and empty
Told you I needed a break and would later call
You’ll one day figure out that I will never call
You always thought my time was of little value
Because I gave you all I had and so much more
I heard you clearly laugh inside when I would say
I have no time for people who get on my nerves
You don’t appreciate how my time is precious
After all, you’ve never seen me do anything
Other than cater to each of your every need
I wear an invite to take me please for granted
A big old sign for all to see but it’s a trap
Just once I would like to stumble on the one man
The one who will outwit the ambush I set up
My trap is my one fail proof filter and my shield
Protection from relinquishing my fragile heart
Lose respect for someone entangled in my net
Like some distant relative of the black widow
Watch merciless and leave the victim there to dry
Yet a tiny piece of me dies with each dim fool
That is always the fleeting price I have to pay
AP: 1st place 2021