Best With Bitterness Poems
(In 1807, Beethoven wrote a piano/violin
piece. Tolstoy followed in 1890, with a novel.
He argued that matrimony can never work.)
What is a marriage? A fusion, or a tether?
Two very different creatures, yoked together?
I was a piano, you a violin:
I, solid, calming, you, discordant, thin,
and laced with bitterness. I was your base,
and you provided brio, flourish, grace.
A lacewing trapped inside a window frame,
yet driven by one blind, unchanging aim,
you struggled up until, played out, defeated,
you fluttered down again, debased, depleted.
A war's a love affair, and love's a war.
We're so inept - or what's a heaven for?
A nest of wasps, my grievances boiled over -
but could there ever be a vita nuova?
We never learned. I hammered pointlessly,
while you abraded. Why could we not see?
And so I played it stately, sad, no frills,
while you kept up your repetitions, trills
and variations. Hovering and wary,
you shunned my structures. Ever more contrary,
you coiled and squirmed in spasms both continuous,
spontaneous, free-wheeling, lithe and sinuous.
It seemed to me the harmony had gone:
we sang on, yes, but each a separate song.
Two butterflies together, intertwined,
we tangled on the same, but different, line.
(In 1807, Beethoven wrote a piano/violin
piece with this title. Count Leo Tolstoy
followed in 1890, with a short novel of the
same name, in which he argued that
matrimony can never work.)
What is a marriage? A fusion, or a tether?
Two very different creatures, yoked together?
I was a piano, you a violin:
I, solid, calming, you, discordant, thin,
and laced with bitterness. I was your base,
and you provided brio, flourish, grace.
A lacewing trapped inside a window frame,
yet driven by one blind, unchanging aim,
you struggled up until, played out, defeated,
you fluttered down again, debased, depleted.
A war's a love affair, and love's a war.
We're so inept - or what's a heaven for?
A nest of wasps, my grievances boiled over -
but could there ever be a vita nuova?
We never learned. I hammered pointlessly,
while you abraded. Why could we not see?
And so I played it stately, sad, no frills,
while you kept up your repetitions, trills
and variations. Hovering and wary,
you shunned my structures. Ever more contrary,
you coiled and squirmed in spasms both continuous,
spontaneous, free-wheeling, lithe and sinuous.
It seemed to me the harmony had gone:
we sang on, yes, but each a separate song.
Two butterflies together, intertwined,
we tangled on the same, but different, line.
The love we shared is now no more.
With bitterness she slammed the door.
She said I've had enough I'm through with you.
I'm tired she said of the things you do.
You have no respect for me at all.
And when I talk to you it's like talking to the wall
She said you go ahead and lead your life of fun.
You're nothing but a low life and a son of a gun.
Those weren't the exact words she used right then.
She called me everything from being my own next of kin.
That was just a warm up here she comes again.
All of this started over me letting the cat get in.
Honey I said as I ducked her punch.
I guess maybe this ain't a good time to ask you to fix some lunch.
I knew she was mad I could tell she was hot.
But why is she trying to hit me with that cast iron pot.
She got me on the run as I cut my trail.
Throwing our dishes as her booming voice it did prevail.
As I locked myself behind the bathroom door, I heard the breaking of another plate.
She started beating and a hollering and predicting my fate.
As I looked around I realized what I had done.
I just laid down on the floor waiting for her to go and get my gun.
I laid there for an hour or two.
Not really sure just what to do.
Well I finally got brave and took a peek.
I didn't see her around so out the door I did sneak.
Into the kitchen there she stood with a smile on her face.
She walked over to me and gave me the longest embrace.
She said I made my little sugar burger a cake, his favorite kind.
She said I'm sure glad I married you you're such an awful good find.
Oh, and by the way that moody thing the doc says it will take awhile but I will be okay.
Going through the change just a normal day.
Repost
* Many years now since this very talented, very HUMAN guy left us … those holes never fill, and he is sorely missed. (This is a form I invented called “Tredicum Plus”. *
~
my brother ...
you caught me off guard -
of all those who struggle like we do
in darkness, with the
hideous demons that lurk
I was sure the victory was yours -
that the knight was astride
his steed, steadied -
armor shining bright in the sun
sword and shield, sharp and enduring ...
but alas, it seems the
devil wants the final
fiendish word …
long did I look to you
for strength ...
a flicker of light to guide
me through the murk -
the fog of pain and error and
fallibility that so often
gathers for those of us who
feel too deeply -
who see sensitivity as
more of a curse than a gift …
you understood that path quite well -
walked it many times
as I have …
you knew the beasts
that scratch at our ankles -
those shadowy minions that seek
to rake us into hell with every
step we take in redemption's course
but your light shined so bright!
you held it high and
proud for so long that I took
it for granted - depended on it …
and now that light is snuffed
the black is all the
more oppressive - all the
more glaringly heavy and deep ...
… and empty …
now the path
is twisted, obscured ...
and without the welcome of
your glowing spirit
it will henceforth be cluttered with
ambiguity and question -
each further step, taken in
hesitation and doubt …
tragedy, pain, sorrow, regret
their names matter not -
they wreak the same horrid havoc
and those ragged, merciless monsters
have claimed you …
aye, the sun will rise a wee bit
colder on the morrow, and life’s flavor
is now tinged with bitterness …
still, you left behind a torch of humble exuberance and vitality
and those of us who know the
treacherous paths of life -
those darkened 'parts unknown' -
will hold it high in your memory
and give the devil all he can handle ...
of your mischievous smile
your twinkling eye
and your fierce, fiery heart …
Rest In Peace, Tony.
There's one who acts like a righteous queen
Prattling peacock, she loves to pose and preen
She is surly and gruff
Heckling slurs with a huff
And denouncing the life-saving vaccine
The haughty queen is quite aloof
and sometimes she acts like a goof
Should she be on trial
For covid denial
Believe me, I’ve seen lots of proof
She's favored by one, her Prince Demonic
He bows to her highness, Queen Sardonic
Praising her fortitude
Conspiring to collude
Feeding her compliments that are moronic
Her majesty thinks she was perfect at birth
Pompously aggrandizing her self worth
It's tritely ironic
Her hubris is chronic
She's filled with bitterness but little mirth
Prince Dom is seeking attention
Pining for the Queen’s affection
Their words are debunked
They both have been plunked
So much for the Queen’s perfection
The old Queen stood tall and haughty,
Gawking at me, judging me naughty.
Expected me to bow
And she called me a sow,
I refused, calling her throne a potty.
Anonymous PS poet
Our soups matriarch, started an almighty feud
By decreeing she's perfect, the queen of her brood
This flawless diamond
Reigns on Shutter Island
Even insane Leonardo's, pleading to be moved
Another anonymous ps poet
The queen poses behind a shadowy façade
Thinking she is perfect before Almighty God
Disgusting as a wicked witch
Cannot locate a worthy niche
Here among good poetry mortals of the sod.
Yet another anonymous ps poet
Jan Allison and Mark Koplin have joined me in this limerick collaboration. We're not telling who wrote which verse, but you're welcome to guess.
If anyone wishes to join in this collaboration, please send me your addition through soup mail.
QUIET TIME WITH GOD
In the quiet time of the evening at the end of the day
I hold communion with God while I kneel down to pray
He listens intently with kind, loving care
As I come humbly before His Throne in prayer
He knows all my needs before I even speak
And I marvel at how He can be so unique
As to take time to listen to my every word
And leave me with the assurance that I know He has heard
I recall how in darkness I wandered about
My life filled with bitterness, anger and doubt
But then I made Jesus the Lord of my life
When I learned through His death, He bore all my strife
So now in the evening when I am alone
I take all my burdens to His Holy Throne
And there as I pray, I'm filled with His Grace
I'm thankful that one day, I'll look on His face
He'll stretch forth His arms and welcome me home
To live in His Glory, never more to roam
So, you see, I am thankful to know I have trod
The road that leads me to a quiet time with God
Curtis Moorman
June 2002
This poem was written in the hope that all who read it will think it important to start each day with God. A quiet time, upon rising, is a good way to begin the day -- just you and God communing together will make your day go better.
“If you don’t know the kind of person I am
and I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.*
Shouts abound, demanding equality
Yet, when push comes to shove
My choices are rudely rejected
A bat appears, held in an iron glove.
Ethics and virtue may only reside
Down deep in the soul of each
My effect on the thoughts of others
go only as far as my words reach.
Hold on to your own persuasions
And say what you need to say
Please do so in warm acceptance
With bitterness having no sway.
Only those who are politically correct
Have freedom to voice their convictions
But I, too, have my own opinions
And voted as I chose in this election.
When I reach out with a velvet glove
In tolerance, though we don’t agree
And you return resentment and anger
No one in America is totally free.
*William Stafford
Surely just a little, freak accident,
a foolish thing not actually meant,
Jack and Jill after a first meeting
ended up in a shotgun wedding.
Childhood sweethearts Sue and Bart
for each other meant from the start,
theirs was a match made in heaven
that friends long ago had foreseen.
Fast forward...
Sue and Bart, married for two years,
are in court with bitterness and tears,
sure that divorce is so much better
than living in hell hating the other.
Accidental mates, jolly Jack & Jill
draw pails of water up on the hill,
with little grandkids trailing them
in that oft repeated family game.
Boy, what a joke this life can truly be,
hit it or miss it there is no guarantee;
only one thing is predictably sure -
an appointment with a head doctor!
Of all the sorrows that so govern her generous heart,
Her love is the most unfair thing breaks her apart;
In her life everything is already signed and sealed –
And she evermore solemnly griefs her soul appealed
To cheat, to relinquish, or to commit suicide and die
The death that shall liberate her of her perpetual cry.
Has providence deserted her, so unkindly in all facets of life
That she so feels old, unhappy and like a desperate housewife?
For alone she weeps, breathless with melancholy; her pouring tears
Desolate with bitterness, anger and incessant grief of discovered fears.
Her heart is weak, her soul is weaker –her life is a scornful jest;
No endless joy, or liberty of love (a nice little girl by love depressed.)
‘Tis hard to dissever when love & pity have been merged in dim,
When all that she wants is to love and to be fairly loved by him.
Hate,
You came to me
When I was a child
I don’t want you to
Be near me
Ever again
It was during WW2
Japan ruled
Koreans obeyed
One day
Mother came home
With tears in her eyes
Her voice filled with bitterness
A Japanese soldier kicker her
With his heavy boots
In a busy street
Where everyone was watching
Watching her bruised knees
Discolored shins
I felt hatred filling my entire being
Spreading like a wild fire
Not only against the soldier
But against all Japanese
I was a seven year old boy then
Late in life
I realized:
This must be how we learn to hate
A person and a nation
If unchecked, the hate will grow
Like wild fire
Spreading all over
Mother taught me to love
She said love was like
Spring sunshine
Helping people to get out
Of their cocoons
And mingling with others
As brothers and sisters
But how can I love
Instead of hate?
I did not tell myself to hate
It happened without trying
When I saw Mother’s bruised knees
Ugly face of hate filling my entire being
With the red banner of death
Coaxing me to revenge
Can I shove this hate
In the chamber of my will power?
Or Will it explode with mighty fury?
Or should I pray to God to diffuse it?
To capture a moment in your hands
To hold it, study it,
Look deeply into all things composing this moment.
Compiling a mental list of ingredients
And dissecting the consequences of this moment.
To crush this moment that you are grasping in your hands.
Extinguishing all life in it.
Executing something out of your own control.
Refusing the opportunity to channel this moment.
Exercising the possession of this moment before it flourishes.
Feeling the thunder of this moment.
Crash upon all levels of consciousness.
Defeating all futile attempts at righteousness.
Running from this moment as if behind you,
But truly it is front of you, glistening on the horizon.
The punch line of all moments is in evading the capture.
Being passed by, refused, overlooked, denial of acknowledgements and
accolades.
Narrow minded, business always, imagination less nobodies.
Embodying nothing.
Hands gnarled with bitterness, lacking the ability to even capture life itself.
The exact essence of a moment.
Of the living embodiment of it's fleeting seconds.
A luxurious gift whether new and shiny or in tattered and faded wrappings.
Makeup who you are, your being.
Each heartbeat we fail to recognize, is just another fleeting moment of our life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the following poem was written as part of an online poetry class; responding to the image above
We tuned the dish to static,
listening for God’s cough~
a blip, a hiccup in the cosmic hum.
The night shift drank coffee
thick as engine grease,
the kind that left your tongue
tattooed with bitterness.
We waited…
and still, the stars
bled silence.
You said, Maybe we're dialing
the wrong frequency.
I said, Maybe God’s just shy.
Then the power died.
The dish froze mid-sweep,
like a man catching
his own ghost in the mirror.
We stood there, necks craned,
waiting…hoping…
for the dark to whisper
its secrets to us.
Tired of explaining (a twist from ND. poem)
Ignoring the presence of my stillness==
As you walk with bitterness==
Your radiance is no longer true==
A melody with seduction over due==
The song so bad wiped out by you==
Rotating my abdomen==
From the soul==
The worms inside==
They all die==
Under your control==
Separating the way==
Is as if though==
All the beauty in the world==
Up and lived==
You are more than I need==
Drowning in my own abyss==
Judging you one==
Right after the other==
A hellish so profound==
Revelations passed so suddenly==
Expression of limbo, I replay==
The revenge==
The revoke==
Suffer catting my oxygen==
They illness==
Then lifeless==
They identify==
Then disgust==
Never play the sensitive==
Feel my needs==
Like the wound full of abscess==
A sore to never go away==
Yes like the illness==
Then lifeless==
Dropped addict==
These shivers down my spine==
Identify, escape, abuse of certain==
Announcing it even more==
Proof that I am found==
Out of love==
The mind finally receives==
Revolution with open eyes==
The heart is trapped to proceed==
Cleverer than the open skies==
Old sweat glands in my hand==
Retiring the mind==
The best of my heart has no stand==
Died from your retrieving cries==
Advancing to my knowledge==
The darkness that you lend==
DISCLOSURE==
to==
In the depth of your eyes ==
I run before you hypnotize==
Oblivious to the Valley of your wits==
Refusing to relive the song==
Feeling that are gone==
Never will it feel right==
I still feel the rotation==
Exhale went out your soul==
Exiting far from sight==
Revoke an end to your light==
A kiss of death to your good night==
A kiss of death to your good night==
(To: Nathan Dilts my way of explaining love over due)
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat
Gently down the stream;
Row with the flow of life t'wards YOUR
Each and ev'ry dream.
Row YOUR Boat always,
Always with the flow,
For against the current
Is not the way to go.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat,
Row YOUR Boat along
And if you row with Love, you'll be
Never in the wrong.
Should you encounter rapids
Or should you run aground,
They're temporary setbacks,
But don't you turn around!
Just row, Row YOUR Boat
Onward t'wards YOUR dream,
Rowing along with Love, as the
Power of YOUR steam.
For when you row with Love,
You'll ne'er be out of power
Nor besieged with bitterness
Nor will YOUR dreams go sour.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat,
Make ripples as you go,
Ripples of caring, kindness, with
Gratitude to show.
Should waves so big rush in
To overturn YOUR boat,
The elements of Love
Will keep you still afloat.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat.
Let others row their own,
But be a tug sometimes when a
Need for help is shown.
We all must row our boats;
We all must keep in mind;
We all encounter troubles
That'll get us in a bind.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat.
Don't just float adrift
Nor miss precious moments from you
Being way too swift.
For when we drift along,
Precious time we waste,
But when we speed too fast,
We'll likewise do with haste.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat
In friendly waters do.
Leave behind all fake friends to
Row with only true.
Row YOUR Boat steadily,
Be careful how you steer.
Choose God as YOUR Guide
And faith instead of fear.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat,
To thyself be true.
Seek YOUR best with humbleness and
Good will follow you.
Row, row, Row YOUR Boat
Gently down the stream.
Row with God and Love, He'll lead you
To YOUR ev'ry dream.
Poem/art by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
Poem: ©2016-03-05 21:07:00 (EST)
Art: ©2016-05-13 12:47:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.
Yesterday we were happy and free as a bird,
Today with nostagia,we bite our thumb,
Tomorrow we burn midnight oil in tomorrow's aspiration.
Today we give the new veil to a pig,
Tomorrow with bitterness,regret the filthiness.
Today we fashion out plans for unripe pawpaw to ripe for the puppy;
Tomorrow we complain of its mess in the room.
Today we mend water-trough to water grazing fields for the cattle;
Tomorrow we boast of burning the fields for dwelling homes.
Today we spent ourselves to feed the cat,
Tomorrow the cat lives in the bush to eat our fowls.
Today we cherish our dog,our bones on its neck,
Tomorrow it eats the bones even our foods.
Today we accept penny and offer ourselves with pride,
Tomorrow we spend pounds with agony.
Today we labour and tax to welcome the king;
Tomorrow we plant thorns on his parts upon return.
Today we make a prisoner a priest,
Tomorrow we wait for the waist-breaking rhythm.
Today we glorify a tout as the godfather,
Tomorrow we complain of bad company.
After all these,fellow Nigerians,
When shall we think before we leap?