So many thoughts were left unsaid,
and sadly, grieving tears were shed
that unexpected day she died-
her diagnosis that had lied.
And knowing not demise was near,
impending death had held no fear.
But it did come too soon one day;
too late for sharing things to say.
Do not hold back, but always share,
and with loved ones, true feelings bare
before comes death, that final dread-
do not leave loving thoughts unsaid.
Grief is a ghostwriter for sure
that lets those unsaid thoughts endure
engraved in ink, but never heard-
by those you'd wished to hear each word.
After you left,
I found the jar on the kitchen shelf,
lid gone,
its mouth taking in the afternoon.
At four, the window
set a square of sun inside it.
For twenty minutes
the glass looked occupied.
I began keeping that hour clear.
I left the blinds half-open,
moved the chair out of its path,
turned the jar a finger-width
as the sun shifted lower.
Nothing else in the room
received such care.
Soon, I stopped asking
what the jar could keep.
It held only my attention
until the light moved on.
Still, I washed it.
Still, I returned it to the same mark
on the sill.
By winter,
clouds began arriving before I did.
The jar showed me the room
bent through its empty walls:
the table,
the cold tap,
my own hand passing behind the glass.
I put it back on the highest shelf
and stopped waiting for four.
Weeks later, at dusk,
I saw the jar again.
The room had darkened inside it
before it darkened around me.
For once,
I left it where it was
and watched nothing disappear.
I'm finally writing to you a lifetime too late.
I'd hoped to catch you but, sadly, you couldn't wait.
Couldn't wait for me to take a moment out of a busy day,
To let you know I'm thinking of you, and call without delay.
There's a hundred things I wanted to say but nothing came your way,
So I need to write this letter, through tears I brush away.
You were always 'there' for me until the day I knew,
It was time for me to move on and say goodbye to you.
You saw my off on life's adventure when I was young and free.
I know you felt trepidation but nothing frightened me.
I still have that last letter that you wrote to me in French.
I read it often now but my longing it can't quench.
You signed with hugs and kisses and called me your own.
I was serving in the Army then and feeling quite alone.
I need to tell you 'thank you' for being my friend and more.
I feel I lost a mother and my life has closed a door.
If it pleases God, I pray someday to reunite with you.
Until then, I guess these words put to pen will have to do.
Je vous embrasse bien fort.
Grief is a ghost writer filling the page
Tearing the soul and drowning in rage
Exposing the pain of one that is lost
Searing the mind whatever the cost
Penning the end of all that was shared
Punishing angst for those that are spared
A heart that still beats but loses its rhythm
Trapped in a world where light has no prism
Darkness is now all which is seen
For love that is lost, a love so serene
Yesterday we rose and today we fall
Today we fall and morrow we rise
We are on today, morrow we are off
We walked and trampled on the earth now and then, the earth mounts heaps on us
Today we mount the stage as heroes
And the next with flooded faces of sorrowful tear we are mourned as helpless victims
The strength of our boldness is the weakness of our frailty
Though the rain be so gentle on the turf , the much of it ,
Is the flood that causes the destruction of the beautiful vegetation
What is done is what is undone
Striving endlessly to catch the emptiness of life
Sometimes, the undecided and the most decided of life,
Are our pains.
We fear to lose our lives and not venture the dreaded den of gold
And lose the life in the tranquil of our sheer timidity
Those we love are those that love to hate us
Those whose arms we confined are the transmitter of our deepest secrets
The arms of whom we are safe are the arms of whom we are betrayed
The conquered and the conqueror are victims.
My grief is a ghostwriter
who pens the pages of my poetry
culled from lost love
and the quiet tragedy of pain
bubbling in the concealed crucible
of my wounded heart
that spills words out like a pyroclastic flow
burning with emotion upon a poetic page
to express a shadowed loneliness
still damp from my yesterday's sadness
when love was an untarnished tender leaf
before it began to spiral and curl
from a cold wind of change
to leave me a lonely sparrow on the wing
immersed in an empty sky
following sadness toward a dim-lit darker pathos
where words are whispered in a melancholy misery
as my heart pleads to be heard
from the expressed poetry of my soul
scarred from the illusion of rapture
that lived and died...if only I could forgive
the gloom of promises from lovers
found on the boundary of misplaced dreams
scorched by the fangs of fire...that left ashes
scattered throughout the landscape of my heart
where my saddest poetry is scribed
A bittersweet taste of isolation grips
while ambling into our unlit attic,
escorted by a window's glassy beam ...
And I notice a disarray
of your keepsakes...history books,
stale cigars, antiques In fluted trunk
all muddily undone:
Somehow, clouds turn deep violet
where I uncover a file of private notes
intimate as your very skin, your breath
marking our years' affectionate episodes--
Till my dire soliloquy, my ached calls
hide beneath an ocean of black stars ,
recalling now, your gentle caresses
that I wake within the rose wilderness
of your arms...forlorn:
Tonight, I fetch a Sauvignon
warming a rainy October dusk --
yet a mirage of sirens greets me
deafened by Fate's ending I cannot hold,
this room swallowing me
In total vaqueness as my lungs pine
for your name I can only hear...
I beseech the sun to undress
the stars, but could my plea
be more strong than theiving time?
How midnight groans like a widow for this loss.
A BEAR OR A GUY
FEEL SAFER WITH WHICH AND WHY
CORNELL WOMEN CRY
With the assist of the wind,
The leaves can fly.
But if they could see;
If they could hear;
If they touch and feel;
If they could smell;
If they could taste;
And then, tell us all about it.
Can you imagine what
that would be like?
If leaves could talk,
They would tell us all
about the beauty they see,
As they float across the
Landscapes of Fall.
Leaves, in many respects,
are a lot like us mortals,
never knowing the details of their destiny;
never knowing if they shall rise and grow
strong and tall, or grow weak and fall;
Or whether they shall change course and stall.
Like many of us, leaves simply 'go with the flow'.
When it's time to leave, I suppose the leaves
and the trees like us, sometime grieve.
If leaves could talk,
like us creatures under the sun,
Perhaps they would teach us to know
when we are done, and how to understand
the seasons of life and move on.
Down I fall, to my knees.
The pain is to much to bear.
If you can hear me, please help me.
My love for him will never cease.
It’s strong beyond compare.
Down I fall, to my knees.
Time can’t be bought—nothing is free.
I wish we had more time to share.
If you can hear me, please help me.
I whisper softly through the trees.
Why is life so unfair?
Down I fall, to my knees.
If time can heal, then tell me please—
Lord, do you hear my prayers?
If you can hear me, please help me.
It’s only him, I long to see.
Our love will always be there.
Down I fall, to my knees.
If you can hear me, please help me.
Our phones glow brighter than the stars at night,
Our laptops keep us working till morning light.
We scroll through lives that seem perfect and bright,
While hiding our own tears far out of sight.
Social networks whisper, “You are not enough,”
Turning simple days into battles tough.
We chase notifications, likes, and praise,
And slowly lose ourselves in endless maze.
When stress grows heavy and anxiety stays,
We search for medicines to soften the days.
Some light a cigarette to calm the mind,
Yet leave another silent wound behind.
At midnight, sleep stands waiting at the door,
But restless thoughts keep asking for more.
Insomnia becomes our quiet friend,
While exhausted minds refuse to end.
We are more connected than ever before,
Yet sometimes feel alone at our own door.
Perhaps the healing begins when we learn to disconnect,
And give our tired hearts the peace and love they deserve.
- Jolly Muhury Samui :(
Autumn is not mine to desire,
but I have longed for it for months
Since death stole my love for summer,
I have craved Autumn like a lover craves her love
I want the cool breezes to ruffle my hair,
the sensuous moon to light my skin in the dark,
the bountiful harvest to prove that life lives on
in a dark world that color still lives and lights up
the world with bright colors of a changing world
that will soon be barren and cold but for a glorious
season, it is bright and bountiful and joyful for all
A mother sheep lays down to feed
She is in the spotlight
The heat burns her eyes, Her time has come
The tyranny of motherhood consumes her
Unsolicited echoes of her once unbound soul
Her life is now theirs, an inevitable symptom
Mindlessly latching what once was her own
Her heart became theirs, bleeding it dry
When we were together you and me,
Our love shone out for all to see.
I knew all of you from top to toe.
I could smell you, I could feel you all day and night and in every dream,
You were there in the breeze, there in the rustling leaves of the trees,
I could see you in the clouds and in the brightest twinkling star.
But in a flash you had gone!
Disappeared with someone new.
The world went black, I was lost, I felt under attack,
I never slept, I never ate,
I resigned myself to any fate.
You were still there, everywhere,
I could see you and smell you, every bit of you that I knew so well.
In dreams I would kiss you and hold you,
Then in the morning I would realize I was just being tortured by the taste of touch.
I heard a voice behind a wall
but not a human voice at all
more near an evil siren’s call
but darker than
yes darker than …
it carried horror, fear and pain
and stung my ear like acid rain
that haunting, desolate refrain
of aching sighs -
unearthly cries …
it held no kindness or content
resounding with a horrid bent
its beastly song did not relent
not rhyme or rule
it pounded, cruel …
I should have left that wall alone
but mys’try lived inside that moan
a-pleading with its mournful tone
my self aghast
it held me, fast …
and when I thought I’d take no more
a light appeared, then shined a door
but I stood still and thought before
I prayed a bit
then … opened it …
well, when I looked, my heart grew old -
my blood turned ice, my marrow - cold
from what my gaze would then behold …
that thing so vile
it turned to smile …
and then …
Copyright © 2026 Gregory Richard Barden
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Grief Categories
Definition | What is Grief in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
heartache, gloom, melancholy, pain, regret, agony, sorrow, heartbreak, mourning, discomfort, sadness, despair, remorse, bereavement, misery, woe, trouble, anguish, worry, unhappiness, grievance, distress, dole, affliction, harassment