Best Wither Poems
The night is the blackest
and the coldest I've known.
The town, so small
it should not be called a town,
is still with its own malice.
I have grown weary of the city
but still, it is too still.
There is no moon
and there are no stars
and there are no clouds
to hide them from my sight.
Only unexplained dark.
The spine of the town
is a dirt road that I cannot see.
Just as well.
Pestilence has touched the land.
It drives the people
to rebellion or terror,
or cleverly reasoned apathy.
The townsfolk do not regard me,
nor should they;
they are depraved
and I am deranged
and between us we'd only
kick up a murderous fuss.
No streetlight shines
and no window glows,
here the people
are best left undisturbed.
How did I come to be here ?
No matter. Here I am.
In the still and in the dark
and in the otherworldly cold
I hear my bones rattling,
nearly, though not quite,
so nearly pleased to be alone.
16th July 2020
Peace surrounds me on this day in May
as I let destiny have it's own way
I smile down on whom I am
made grandly by all my yesterdays
I will live again and
all my hopes and dreams shall not shatter
I am destiny's lost prodigal child,
May has been a source of pain for me
Seeming to harm me with it's innocent days
hidden in coy smiles, yes it lied many times
but not today, the day after yesterday
beginning all my tomorrows
We can not always live in the growing fields of flowers
picking them and hanging them up to dry
somehow in making something beautiful
we forgot them and they did not dry, yet died
We can not always hold onto our flowers
some do not fare well to the process of living dry
so today is not tomorrow nor yesterday
but it will always be lost amongst some field of flowers
No garden to train, yet sheer joy in what is natural
for miles as far as the eye can see it is spring
and I pat my body down, I lived through the night
yes, I am alive, and did not die, as they live their destiny
Yet, my flowers have no scent, and not many want them ,
but what glory can be found in the ordinary flower?
the garden of no surprise with many needs to thrive,
none, for there is nothing grander than a flower growing in fields wild
Next year, it will spread it's seeds in the wind and prosper
so much grander it will be each year there after, yes, growing wilder
and my prayer is no one will cut them down or poison them ever-after
yet someone will love the flowers growing wild tomorrow and the day after
May they become a heart's desire, and glory will forever remain
in those alive, and wild but never dried, or tamed,
for how can we say nice things about something,
we set aside to wither and die, in shame and pain,
that should always be allowed to grow wilder,
to wither and die not tomorrow or the day after
will edit when I get back home. SORRY GUYS!
I still have hope.
That my dandelion seeds didn't give up.
The seeds I blew away in the past.
Yes, the winds will let them glide through the air.
Yes, the seeds will find their direction.
Yes, I am sure my wish will come true.
What if they are standing as dandelions,
settled peacefully on a vast grassy field
in a place filled with vibrating music of crickets,
filled with sounds of the wind softly tuning his violin,
the night's exquisite kisses to the morning for a good-night,
and gentle touches of delicate rain drops signalling a good-bye to the sun?
I still have hope.
That my dandelion seeds didn't give up.
The seeds I blew away for their good life.
As rose petals wither in the autumn of life,
Days hasten in orbits, some dull, some are bold.
my muse rises to hoist a setting sun hung in gold,
gleaming light abiding as daughter, mother, and wife.
Glorious blessings entrusted outshine loss and strife.
Circling paths of heaven and earth, charms conjured unfold
as rose petals wither.
I hum a lighthearted song from an innocent time
and soar higher than summer to tranquilly reminisce.
Then, receive autumn with thankful heart, tho' spring I do miss.
Warm days dash by, distant Christmas bells chime
as rose petals wither.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, July 22, 2012
for Nette Onclaud's RONDINE THE TRAFFIC OF LIFE Contest
My confidence in you wavers,
the sweetness of your words wither,
they curdle forming blatant remarks,
and broken promises.
These words hurt me,
building a storm of anger,
and you know this,
yet day after day you remind me.
My mistakes were of yesterday,
and yet today you refresh them,
refusing to let the past lie in the past,
condemning me for choices made,
long before I ever knew your face.
I twist this wedding ring,
spinning it slowly around my finger,
and you call me names;
hypocrite, two faced, fake;
F.A.N you say, F.A.S -
Letters you say for words,
and I know what they mean.
You forget that not only are you reminding me of my mistakes,
but you are also throwing in my face,
the very man who beat and raped my body,
the man who crushed my soul so that when you saw me,
all you found were broken pieces of a girl drowning,
the water filled with electric current.
Your daily task is to remind me,
of a past I wish I could forget,
of moments that I regret,
of memories that made me broken.
Your words make me feel dirty, ashamed, damaged,
you make me feel my baby is wrong - instead of the miracle that he is,
you claim to love us and I sit here and wonder -
why do you want to marry me?
why did you choose to be with me?
You knew all about me,
the day you met me, even before,
and now, ring on my finger,
you tell me that I am everything you hate,
you wish that I would change.
And I saw you for who you were,
and raised you - check mate,
I chose to love you despite everything,
I accepted you - but you stopped accepting me.
I fell in love with the way you treated me,
I was a Queen, a priceless thing, precious and fragile,
cherished and adored, beautiful and everything you had hoped for.
Now, none of those things seem to be true,
What happened to you?
Winter's twigs wither when wild wind whisks
sprigs in tempestuous blizzard weather.
1/7/2021
Longing floods my soul
For that first time we met
In our secret sylvan grove
Far from prying eyes
Where you first uncoverered
To me your silky alabaster globes
With their darkly crimson rings.
Then did the whole world seem alive
As every fibre of my being danced
In our communion with nature
In the union of our bodies.
How rich was that moment
As we lost our singularities
To become truly one and universal.
Now frailty enfeebles my frame
And I recognise that never again
Will we relive that glimpse of eternal ecstasy.
But the flame lives on in memory
And it will brightly burn
As long as our hearts beat true.
Never will I forget you.
North wind has gone back to polar abode
Chilled clouds have flown out on wings of winter
Made way for sunny south wind to enter
Write on rippling breeze for the spring an ode
The humming birds sing when dawn would explode
Swarming butterflies would shed sky’s color
On dew drenched meadow sparkling in splendor
Spring in air designs motifs in a code.
Lining the lone garden path flowers sway
Through star dust we walk the night together
Our dreams would talk, we have no word to say
Scent of scenic spring is on us to stay
In summer love soaked flowers won’t wither
Because nothing can take our smile away.
Written : March, 14, 2018
May 16, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice F, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
dry stalks wither bent
remembering flowering
melon lips part
I stand out to look at the sunshine
That's now ain't bright nor pure in light;
Dark and black that's how it goes.
Wild dummies survive in dust and ash.
Where blooming buds wither in depression,
Still run the deadly processions.
From very little- the lads and the cuties
Teach them in advance, greed and lavish pride;
Make them the past of the forth bitter future.
While I know of the value
They give to the papers;
Why don't they,
To their birth-giving wise woods?
So gay we are,
With our families
But let the co-creatures live in the gloom.
Living lives of the little ones;
Make a snack for many,
Who dump them more than they partake....
Why live in this mad bad world?
Let's lift the anchors!
And set sail, to a better place!
As my last leaves bid farewell
and crumble under winter's foot,
or await the soggy slosh of spring ~
I shiver, and raise my naked limbs
up toward where young boys climbed
toward Heaven...
So long ago, that now, they wither too.
The sweet sap of my youth
no longer runs,
The osmosis of my roots,
no longer suckles Mother Earth.
An arborist's blades, like the Reaper's scythe
will sever life's ties,
but, weep not at my ends for
now I climb to Heaven's breast
and a sapling grows from whence I came...
How will I be in 10 years,
the fir tree asks the maple,
the calf asks the cow,
the baby splutters out
I need to know before they publish
the writs. I need to know
before my head is presented
on a platter to Salome
Who will follow me?
I need to burn my words
onto the lips of the living
Sort of words
before they wither away
I need to keep talking
to John Donne,
Shakespeare, TS Eliot,
to settle into Rothko’s rectangles
before I am colour blind.
I need to keep talking
to the grassy spirits
With me all day long
before my tongue fails
My arms hurt from clutching you,
heavy bearers of consciousness
and beyond. The book age
is slowly exterminating
Not burning,
simply not being born
How much time remains
for me to hold you,
dine with you,
lick your words,
sort of words
while I still can see them
Last meal,
mine or yours?
I see the chamber emptying
as I forget words and locations.
I need to know how much
time remains
before the boxing up,
the clearing out before I say so
I want to howl for as long as I can
about the injustice of the finite,
the tyranny of counting
how much has passed
The impossibility of knowing
how much is left
I return to the present
to my wit and recall
and my avalanche of discourse
About babies and maples
and being one in flesh and song
I pound to all species
I am here
I am here
I am here
Salome, devil reaper,
wait before you strike,
warn me
wave a rag
send an emissary
to tell me exactly when
(c) Anita Lerek, 2018
Did u hear bout the flower that lived without no water or sunlight
It was a rose
A white rose
So striking
So beautiful
So wonderful
It had minimal space to grow
So much facts to know
It was not cared for,neglected
And still it did not wither
It had hurtful animals and weather close by
But they all seemed to pass by
This rose was lonely and looked sad
Deprived of love and sympathy
It was strong however
It was courageous
It was not cared for,neglected
And still it did not wither
It found a way
To live each day by each day
When someone passed by the rose they
trampeled,stampeded,shawned
It was not cared for
And still it did not wither
always say I love
before you
regret you did not
7/4/2019
Poetry Contest: MagiCicada13 Words To Live By
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy |
JOEL
I go through you
weaving
strings of finely minced clippings
But, on the green Elysian
I will devour you
I will show you mortal wings
cunning lips as sweet as money.
Through the eye of the needle,
trough the open lids of desire,
I will thread you poems of harvest.