Best Widowers Poems
Life is but a fleeting mist.
What is now, will soon be missed.
Seize the moment, say in words:
God’s greatest to you, was her.
Days of ordinary passing,
Too soon leave for nothing’s lasting.
Take the time to cherish her,
All widowers surely concur.
For when death’s door is finally closed,
No words or sonnets you’ve composed
Can reach the ears that once desired,
Your Love and words to lift; inspire.
Nothing in this world can bring
What you alone have offering.
Make the call, write the letter
Let her know you won’t forget her.
Death’s toll rings and she is gone
A vacuum fills and a fullness drawn.
While you can, express your heart
Before too soon, she will depart.
Are there robins hopping my frozen ground?
Sound of widowers voices all around.
Chilled to the bone, I make nary a sound.
My suit and tie are not keeping me warm.
Icy northern winds blowing in a storm,
I'm not feeling myself, out of the norm.
I feel my eyelids, the icicles form.
In the distance I hear taps being played.
Silent sobs emitted, my nerves are frayed.
Even in knee deep snow they knelt and prayed.
But there's nobody home, I am afraid.
I am not here, only my thoughts remain.
Taps is finished, such a solemn refrain.
Maybe it's me, am I going insane?
One mirror glance and I'd suffer disdain.
Someone has stolen my salt-pepper locks.
Moths have digested my Christmas wool socks.
Someday I will think outside of this box.
Wake me up if opportunity knocks.
Are there robins hopping my frozen ground?
Written 12/23/2017
Contest: Rhyme Time III
Host: Laura Loo
You my friend In White Saree and grim faced
Your dresses were, as always, colorful and laced
What happened to that enchanting, infectious smile?
Where is that enthusiasm, your charming style
Death is a reality and everyone must die
The living ones mustn't be left for agony to fry
Humans are not candles that burns through the night
Tell me why widowers are not made to wear White
Why should only women this branding endure
They are also human with a heart and soul for sure
Change this White Saree and in the garbage throw
This is how a system that is archaic must go
Come to me, my love, let me teach you what is life
Your being mustn’t be embodiment of agony and strife
Give up this white coffin and wear red, scarlet and pink
The fountain of life is gushing out; it is for you to drink
Let us, like our olden days, in horizon of thoughts fly
Life’s rainbows await you; so do colors of butterfly
Shed your gloom and let the roses of your cheeks blossom
Walk along the valley of life hand in hand with a handsome
1. Widowed women wear only white in Hindu Religion
2. Saree is the dress of Indian and Bangladeshi women
Widows and widowers
Still have Valentine's
Locked in a place
Saved in a time
Nothing to bare
Nothing to buy
Just memories
Of a sweet bye and bye
Alone, yet with someone
Is our Valentine
That someone in our heart
Until the end of time
White Saree
You my friend! In White(1) Saree(2) and grim faced
Your dresses were, as always, colorful and laced
What happened to that enchanting, infectious smile?
Where is that enthusiasm, your charming style?
Death is a reality and everyone must die
The living ones mustn’t be left for agony to fry
Humans are not candles that burn through the night
Tell me why widowers are not made to wear White
Why should only women this branding endure
They are also human with a heart and soul for sure
Change this White Saree and in the garbage throw
This is how a system that is archaic must go
Come to me, my love, let me tell you what is life
Your being mustn’t be embodiment of agony and strife
Give up this white coffin and wear red, scarlet and pink
The fountain of life is gushing out; it is for you to drink
Let us, like our olden days, in horizon of thoughts fly
Life’s rainbows await you; so do colors of butterfly
Shed your gloom and let the roses of your cheeks blossom
Walk along the valley of life hand in hand with a handsom
------
(1) In Hindu religion the widowed women are forced to wear only white cotton clothes
(2) Traditional dress of Indian & Bangladeshi women and also some other far eastern countries
Flood over my mind.
When I think of Karetes.
I feel complete.
With all the family there.
They left lots of memories.
For all of us to share.
Making the person that I am today.
Lessons that they taught me.
They guide me thru my life.
Their power of a touch, a smile and kind words
Their listening ears and honest compliment
Their single act of kindness was like a drop of oil on a patch of a dry skin
Making the person that I am today.
Their willingness to give and care.
Their kindness transforms my dark moment with a blaze of light
Their love was based on trust, and trust on love.
They made sacrifices and put our happiness first
They taught us never to abandon widows, widowers and orphans.
Making the person that I am today.
They taught us not to forget our past
to be honest and trustworthy
appreciation cultural diversity which is essential for our co-existence.
To love and share the beauty of life
without expecting any charm or joy
I remembered every moment between us,
and every moment felt more precious as time passed.
Making the person that I am today.
Taught us be pillars of positivity.
Let our heart glow when we pray.
Let our soul's innermost desire and need flow in silence, gratitude and humble petition.
Let our daily prayers be a life attitude
not only when we are in trouble
but never forgetting to include all others who are also in difficulties.
May our hearts be filled with great love for one another?
Making the family that we are today.
How has it dawn on us so soon when we hadn’t even achieved much?
Why has the marketplace ceased to buy and sell so scanty the streets wither away
The clouds becomes more darkened as smokes ascend randomly our fields are on fire
We can feel the rain but it has lost its coldness
I hear more voices than I usually heard
This time of crying and wailing rather than chatting and hailing
Voices
chanting and singing songs of war
Dust and gun powders like fog fill the air,
with great rumble the battle rages
The long night tarry on nobody has awakened
Some privileged to pass on to the other side
Total transmission from what we see now
Carcasses litter the streets as we run from pillar to post
Yet not so sure where the lot may fall
Great assets lost in hot zones, they shouldn’t have taken the guns,
Gravesides more frequent than bedsides
When did we become such serious foes?
That tears can’t seem to mend?
We let our children die by our own hands and still squeeze our sorry faces
How valuable is this trophy, hope it’s worth the pains we are feeling now?
We match in battalions, onward we go
Faces brimming with boldness and courage,
Though fear still takes its partition
We leave behind loved ones not so sure,
like walking into the lions cave to kill or be killed
Jumping over strip wires, nice try
Only to step on landmines
A time to team up with death taking from one end
While it continues from the other side in its own way
Orphans, widows and widowers we make at will that which we had once pitied
What caused this sudden change?
So unfortunate many fighting ignorantly yet arrogantly
Now we pull down our once fancied walls to build more refugee camps and fill them
We overstretching science and make of men expendables
A time we show how much we can take
What we depict now is wickedness rather than strength
In this game
Winners are
Always
Rude
Fell out of a limousine
Drunk out of mind
Spoiled
Filthy rich
Child
In time
He loved
All his toys
Then a woman
Showed him other joys
Sweet, just close your eyes
On champagne dreams
Wearing butlers shined black laced shoes
Away they went
From here to the moon
In love, their passion heaven sent
Taking the train ride of ones life
Bubble baths, there is no more strife
Pleasures surround you everywhere
Magical is the feeling of loves truthful desires
Falling in, like two young doves
New York City bombed
Devastation lingers in the air
No more love stories
Only dead widows and widowers
As infants tears fall on rainy graves
Now I, Arthur
Alone
Cringe
Staring out my window
with these old hands i held you and cared for you ~ now i'm praying for you.
For best monoku old or new poetry contest
Sponsored By Chantelle Ann Cooke.
Written March 29th 2019
Picture number 2.
For Monoku Pick A Picture What Cha See #2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored By James Edward Lee Snr
(Yes, title is from Gershwin's, "Rhapsody in Blue"
What is this thing, called, rhapsody, anyway!
A feeling of intense pleasure, happiness or joy.
I've noticed some here think it's only when you h
ave a husband,...l.lthen can you only enjoy?
That and only that, makes your heart sway?
Bragging on having a husband like a Mercedes-Benz?
There are tons of widows and widowers here!
Or are you so lost in a gold ring and husband near?
Husbands do die, and then from whence will come your
happiness and cheer.
On getting a new one to fill your forlorn poetic landscape,
On owning his masculine gear?
On being a new bride again with another cake?
This is so droll, boring and hum-de-dum.
If you cannot be happy alone, then I am sorry for you!
Completed beings,need not be married to experience
pleasure.
Nor muck about finding a man of their own to treasure.
Fulfilled beings does not mean, "two.".
~~IT MEANS YOU ARE HAPPY WITH BEING YOU~~
If,of yourself, happiness you cannot create,
My deepest condolences, if that be your sorrow!
That you can only find happiness and love if you have a
husband tomorrow.
So do not insult poets who intentionally have no mate.
They too love life~ but prefer personal freedom's gate!
4/28/2021
I could not find categories for this so I chose inspiration.
Respecting others, is another.
Source of Poem.
A comment by another poet to me which has been deleted.
Let me tell you a story about two friends
and all the wisdom this story lends
two men play checkers every day
each hold in their mind memories that stay
both are widowers living their final years
they keep in their pain and all of their tears
in old, crumpled hats and wrinkled overalls
they'll stay and play checkers until the night falls
in between moves they'll speak of their youth
their marriage, their children, their living truth
both are aging vets, both fought in a war
though never speak of it, days of blood and gore
they try to remember the days of their return
then to wrestle with memories etched in that burn
with wrinkled hands and swollen fingers, slightly bent
and years of tobacco that carry a strong scent
strong Cuban coffee is always there
sipped from an old cup of earthenware
the game is unimportant, it's the time they spend
through the last years, before life comes to an end
they play in a park with children around
the noise they hear heals and feels profound
some of the children will watch them play
others only look then run by them away
they're passing time in their timeless realm
so, the years of loneliness will not overwhelm
they walk with a shuffle as they finally leave
as for tomorrow, with each breath, they will cleave
4/15/22
contest Form-N-Narrative...LIFE
sponsor Constance La France
Late evening, in the sunset
by the white gate,
and leaning on some other railings painted blue
I saw her yet again,
her eyes focused on the twilit meadow,
last time by the river,
she was one of the few that men marry and stay with
year after year after year, in love.
From out the shadows
I watched her watching the swallows
swooping in low flight, and wondered
where is my love again tonight.
A ring of daisies
entangled in her hair
and round her waist a rope of yellow buttercups,
how could I leave, where could I go
for in that dim-lit moment I wished to be in her,
to lose myself in her,
take up my widowers weeds and die in her.
Two forms, one soul
in the late evening sunset, by the white gate,
leaning on some other railings painted blue.
The Interval
I drank a city, the smells , the debts,
the clouds of shutting doors and shuttered
widows (and widowers)
their new TV’S, the dream drug
that takes away your mind,
your place:
some police look at you like your about
to die, or something like that
and I return to the interval ( a Beckett play ?)
I wait for the clouds and the
shuttered cast to pass by
We had ourselves a time last night
the card game bordered on theft,
but there was no trouble at all thank God
the losers paid up and left.
The younger men with wives and kids
went home to their early nights,
with their egos went the worry
of there being any fights.
We old divorcees and widowers
would stay until the dawn,
there being no comforts left at home
all of them long since gone.
Alone except for each other
we share an age old bond,
gruff old men with ailments
our camaraderie has grown fond.
We know better but it’s too late
nobody listens anymore,
making the same old mistakes we did
trashing marriages and fighting wars.
Our poker is penny ante
like our income and politics,
others ended up with the money
while we were getting our kicks.
All of us have stood at the forefront
with weapons or tools in hand,
to build a better safer world
we never broke or ran.
Suffering mud and disrespect
long hours with aching feet,
facing up to the challenges
refusing to be beat.
Companies governments and exes
stripped us to the bone,
taking all we had salted away
even the comforts of home.
But we know for certain in our hearts
the kind of race we’ve run,
finishing without gain or glory
still convinced we won.
Because our nation stands intact
where our children are living free,
built with nerve and sweat and blood
and that’s reward enough for me.