For some, desire for night begins at sunset.
The listlessness and loneliness will end
when twilight falls and loved ones, who complete them,
are by their sides with precious time to spend.
For some, the dread of night begins with shadows
that lengthen as the sunlight starts to wane.
Then twilight reinforces the reality—
that hopes for love’s arrival are in vain.
The twilight has its usual effect
each time it falls—a blessing or a bane.
Some spend their nights with those who make them happy;
some spend their nights in loneliness and pain.
I sigh
month after month
disappointment
how long?
am I not allowed to cry?
tears fall
drop by drop
wetting my dress
nose blocked
thoughts stop
I wish to die
just get lost
in the listlessness
of it all
Is it too much to ask for?
tears and tatters
I'm in shatters
not again
Oh! please
NOT AGAIN
my head hurts
from holding on
to hope
I crack beneath
the seemingly strong
surface
Today
let me wallow
let these drops swallow
me up
I sigh
I sketched my emptiness, called it ‘sans you’,
Which, the walls too confess, call it ‘sans you’.
How many years of utter loneliness?
I sketched my listlessness, called it ‘sans you’.
A desolate island now stands in heart,
Sketched its sheer barrenness, called it ‘sans you’.
No more springs, life’s all autumn, grey and dull,
This gloomy awareness was called ‘sans you’.
In sombre silence born of my sadness
That my life’s spent in stress, I call ‘sans you’.
____________________________
Ghazal |28.12.2024| remember, loneliness, missing you
"Every age yearns for a more beautiful world. The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning."
- Johan Huizinga
Within these white walls of wellness and weakness
lie labyrinths of life changing lies
Needless needles nip like nuisance nettles
Scary scans scrupulously scrutinize
Doctors dressed in drab garbs declare dreadful news
making moody me feel all the more miserable
Circumstances circle with cyst-like certainty
Persistent problems promote psychological pandemonium
Yearnings of yesterday yell and yammer for youthfulness
Lost in listlessness, I lament in laboured longing
Her hair flowing
In the breeze
Orb brightly lights up the horizon
In streaks of crushing orange
Captured is her silhouette
Rushing deep into the purple ocean
Sun set brightest yellow
Flames beaming
Throughout a silhouette
She waits for the darkness
Far away from restless thoughts
Opening up her heart
Sounds of stillness
Peaceful listlessness
Pierce her silhouette
She looks below at the cool sand
Rich in gold dust
Far away from the Village
A set of footprints stand alone
She breathes in deep
Holds it in
Then sighs
Intaking simple moments of
Dolche far niente
I lack words to enjoin in spring
Torpid I fall for Winter's listlessness
like a dusty ornament
I cannot break for freedoms
gust of purification
I long for a valley
its silence an agreement
searching for serenity
of a poet's consciousness
to stay verte
to dream in words
As day progresses,
her spirits begin to sink
as if on command.
When did it begin,
this feeling of listlessness,
of being useless?
Not so long ago,
her days were filled with the joy
of being needed.
Now the grandchildren
she cared for daily for years
are grown, on their own.
She has no desire
to walk or write a poem
when she feels this down.
Do they think of her--
she hears a knock at the door.
The grandkids have come.
They lift her spirits
reminiscing, expressing
gratitude to her.
The next day, she walks,
cleans house, and writes three poems.
She can’t stop smiling.
Kind words are a sweet serum.
“Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, each far too little and yet too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer, with that bittersweet release lingering in the doorway, but never quite being sent all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.”? Connie Kerbs
Laughter – her sweet laughter – has gone away.
As she leaves our space, I wonder why she sometimes gets this way.
Nothing can we do for her then, unfortunately.
Growing numb, she distances herself from family.
Unrelenting for some days is she with apathy and gloom.
In utter listlessness, she stays up in her room.
Somehow she snaps out of it - though it may take a while.
Happy we become again to see our dear teen daughter smile!
March 15, 2023
For the Writing Challenge 'L' Words
By Constance La France
Air bump an agenda with its weary listlessness of words
Let me be clear, I’ve made it clear, Just to be clear
Air bump the agenda, you’re not getting out of here
with the truth, the whole truth or any part of the truth
Is that clear? I think I’ve made it clear…
Read between the lines…a convolution
and they lead to absolutely nowhere
You can’t draw
a conclusion…it’s an arm wrestle
that you can’t win…let me be clear
Clear the room
before I clear the air
or you’ll
hear the truth
there’s nothing
but the truth
when
you’re out
of
range
1/24/2023
As shadows meld into darkness,
The stars come out to play,
To dispel the inky starkness,
The full moon sheds its ray;
A lone wolf howls in restlessness,
An owl hoots far away,
Nature slumbers in listlessness,
As trees droop in dismay;
It's surely a beautiful night,
Peaceful and lulling me,
Stardust and moondust set alight
My dreams as shadows flee.
16th November 2022
For Sotto poet's "Beauty Of Night" contest
It is good to be alive.
The date and time on a digital clock
sings me a sotto voce halleluiah
as I roll over into the surf
of a shallow listlessness.
This is how a poem arrives,
In a leaky boat loaded with refugees
all slowly coming ashore.
Some refuse to shout out,
some clamor for attention.
I am threading ghosts through
the eye of a needle – not easy
unless you are a blatherskite.
The voices come nearer.
I am multilingual
in a non-vocal way.
Poets need to be rescued from
their own silence.
Then maybe, the birds will sing out,
the sky will be born again,
and the maker will make coffee
and write something.
Boredom
by M. Griswold
03292020
What do you do when you have time on your hands.
When boredom sets in and is fully at your command.
No pressing matters to lead you astray or away.
From this interim of emptiness that is endless all day.
What do you do when you have moments to spare.
When nothing is here and when nothing is there.
Seconds tick-tock away like booming base drums.
And hours fly by like a snail slow moving runs.
Where do you go to find that something to do.
When in all directions boredom stares back at you.
No where to run, no place or space for you to hide.
Your just stuck in the middle an ennui's high tide.
Boredom is where listlessness wins the race.
No start , no finish, nor boundaries to trace.
How can it be that this boring place even exists?
Because nothing is nothing and just kinda persists.
Nothing said surroundings environmental still;
Nothing's heard still loneliest beats of warmth chills;
Nothing said
No moving parts stationary Surround -Soundz
No moving parts listless
Listlessness
Incandescent no voices
No surround sound
Stalled echos laden calls
Mouth stops all sound drops
Everything all elements are still
Nothing said
9/01/19
Placed 3rd place in Contest
For Silent Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Missing wind-up key
lethargic symphony
doll missing its dream
How do I break out
of this maddening nightmare
my unfulfillment
Branches in the road
which path leads to my passions
Fairy-tale Journey
Life's uncertainty
energy deficiency
path blocked before me
Where am I going?
fog encases around me
Possibilities
Manifestations
the apparitions discuss
the game of my fears
Fighting listlessness
penetrating light calling
to keep on going
The ancient anguish of a hurting heart
Bequeaths no beauteous scene to me today.
It’s just a jagged chasm gashed apart,
A stream with boulders strewn in disarray.
Like rusted leaves that bleakly canvas fall
Or barren trees that bear the winter snow,
Its listlessness conceals a stonework wall
That bars the beggar from his bungalow.
A long-abandoned barn where pigeons flock
Beside three worn-out crosses marking graves,
It’s lonely as a lighthouse on a rock
Forever battered by the crashing waves.
Their ceaseless song may soothe a sleepless soul,
But how, I sigh, can sad be beautiful?
---
Date Written: January 3, 2019
Contest: Beautiful Sadness, sponsored by John Hamilton
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.