the gate to the old cemetery is rusty and old
though once upon a time is was elegant and gilded
ornate with filigree tracery ornamentation
now, it is d e c a y i n g fragile, beautiful
I push to open and the gate sighs creaks, groans, moans
s
t
e
p
p
i
n
g
into the cemetery
the green wraps around me like a warm cloak
On walks, my dog loves to sniff death and decay,
and never seems to ponder ~
how things got to be this way.
'Scepter and Crown
must tumble down.'
wrote a poet of a long past day.
For want of renewal,
must so many a school
not tumble but crumble away.
Once vibrant and alive, hope danced in our eyes,
But now, a flickering ember, slowly it dies.
Time's cruel touch, it weaves its bitter thread,
Unraveling love, leaving hearts heavy with dread.
The promises once made, like whispers in the wind,
Now fade away, like echoes that rescind.
Love, once a flame that burned with fiery passion,
Now flickers weakly, consumed by life's ration.
Age, with its relentless grip, takes its toll,
Lines etched upon faces; stories yet untold.
Youth's vigor wanes, as strength starts to fade,
Leaving behind a yearning for time's escapade.
Once vibrant and alive, hope danced in our hearts,
But now, a wilted flower, it slowly departs.
Dreams once held dear, like fragile petals fall,
Withered by the weight of age's relentless call.
Amidst all the decay, a glimmer still remains,
A spark of resilience, refusing to be chained.
For even in the twilight, hope can still arise,
Love can find solace; age can bring surprise.
in the midst of death- lichens come to life
house
long forgotten
where whispers still
drift
in a tangled forest
green and lush
vines and flowers
invading
the rooms ...
for nature always
reclaims what is hers
Produce stand stops for fresh strawberries.
Nowhere to put them but your car.
Summer heat creeping through the glass.
The berries are wilting in the floorboard.
Unbeknownst to you.
Wilting like your love.
Unbeknownst to me.
My soul is bleeding, bleeding,
as a thousand sharp daggers stab me;
for the headstones are green mossed,
and I hold to my heart tattered memories;
like decaying bouquets,
and will 'till my last gasp !
_____________________
April 10, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/Like Decaying Bouquets
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1446-865-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem, No 42
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 05/01/2022
First Place
The pics masked
In name-stamped boxes
Shelf dusting
And shatter
When remembrances dissolve,
Each work took my sight.
Written: January 09, 2022
Times of turmoil,
Move with times of joy,
As the progression continues,
So does decay,
Times are unexpected,
Despite being foretold,
The heartbreak still happens,
Even tho it’s known,
I guess,
If you don’t taste it,
You will never,
Face it,
So the trials never end,
As a chapter,
It follows evermore,
And the result is after death!
To the venue we unfortunately got close
And the stench pounced on my nose,
Forcing in a harming dose
And inconveniencing six other nostrils
That lived for only salubrious thrills:
The fattest challenge Rude stench throws
To our finicky population plus those
Who readily glimpse the woes
In the dreadfully non- fragrant
And about them could rant...
But soon questions I began to pose
About corpse their owners ceaselessly froze,
Envisioning all the unacceptable throes
And wondering if their sleeping spirits rose
'Would they ever forgive their hesitating shovels and hoes?'
Mossy vines camouflage decaying headstone
Thus hidden and fallen into disrepair
Foliage ever swallow so it cowers
Deeply weatherworn lettering embraced there
Threads of piercing light filtering through windblown
Limbs surrounded by trees, ferns, and wildflowers
Strewn mounds of decomposed fallen trees below
Cool nature's spirit aspirating showers
9/28/2020
Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
DECAYING HOUSE
Old lady living in old building.
Doors with rusty latches, windowpane
broken, cornice full of feral ferns.
Decaying house at corner of blind lane.
Showers percolate through porous porch.
Old lady watches in frolic fun.
She cleans pale torn carpet with much care.
Cats play on unpaved yard under Sun.
Sixty years back she planted sapling
turning huge massive tree at front gate
holds large boughs-branches- bunches of leaves.
now nests of termites in rotten state.
Old lady only waits for children,
grandchildren to visit someday.
She feels dynamism in each limb
with lively mind: No senile decay.
09/27/20
Second Place
'Writing Challenge- Decay' Contest by Constance La France
'Completely on your Choice (29) Contest by Brian Strand
Friendships that go bad
Some even must decay
I am still missing you
I sit alone on the bay.
Date Written 9/22/2020
How Many Syllables
Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
3 Place Writing Challenge - Decay -Contest Judged:9/29/2020
Sponsored by: Constance La France
We had searched for empty houses to play
Haunted, not a soul in them would stay.
At far end of the village we had found one
From afar it looked mighty but undone.
Its tiled roof was broken in many a place
As nature elements weakened its timber base.
All rooms adjoined to the spiral staircase
Its grandeur once had spread far apace.
We loved to play hide and seek in there
I hid in the attic as no one came to snare.
The porch wall still had a carved rosette
In its wet groves dark moss had got set.
Ferns randomly had spiked out of creeks
We jumped high to get its bunch tweaks.
Garden in front of house lay in high weeds
once it surely had flowered many a seeds.
The majestic front door smitten with algae
Told stories in whispers as wind blew in alley.
The forlorn villa still haunts my memory
My childhood yet enconsed in its reverie.
20.7.2020
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