Long Grieving Poems
Long Grieving Poems. Below are the most popular long Grieving by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grieving poems by poem length and keyword.
Working in a bookstore it’s easy to identify….
which books will bring a smile to the face…which ones bring a teardrop to the eye
But every now and then…I see someone’s reaction…I see how they’re affected…
by a certain book and I think…Wow! That was totally unexpected:
I noticed an open space on the bottom shelf in our Florida Section
and I was looking for a book to replace it…something new
when I was drawn to The Moroccan, the Tampa College yearbook from 1952.
Why I chose this particular book…will always be a mystery to me…
but I faced it out on the bottom shelf…for everyone to see.
I must admit I was a astonished…a bit amazed…but charmed…
when later that same evening a man came to me with that yearbook in his arms.
He was smiling saying, “In all the times I’ve visited the Florida section of your store
I never noticed The Moroccan…this yearbook here before.
He held the book up for me and pointed saying, “See this woman…here.
“This is my mom.” He said proudly. “She passed…earlier this year.”
Yes, I have seen how a book can bring a smile to a face or a teardrop to an eye…
but this is the first time I’ve ever seen a yearbook…make a grown man…cry.
He showed his wife. He called his sister…and it was plain to see…
something powerful was happening…call it serendipity!
I think his mother drew me to that yearbook…
made me put it on the bottom shelf…closest to the floor…
as if she knew her son, still grieving, would be coming to our store.
As I looked at the young woman her now old son was pointing to
and saw the love etched on his face…I knew what I had to do.
I told him I believe in fate…in destiny…in serendipity
and I believe that you and this yearbook…the two of you…were meant to be.
So I told him to keep the yearbook…and there was no way I would make him pay.
I’m pretty sure that is exactly….what his mom…would have wanted me to say.
"Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this performance we call life,
my spirit searches for an interlude of peace.
My poetic mind riots consumed by rhymes,
savaging our memories of grieving beliefs.
I'm a soul rasping winter's woeful wings,
afraid I'll become a poet who ink will forget.
I'm trapped in the desert of dejected demons,
wandering in aching avenues of dreams,
forgotten in ferocious frozen vine's of time,
surrounded by meadows of blood poppies,
Season of death is a cursed caricature of memories,
full of salty tears, bitter goodbyes with spiteful sentiments.
Let me sleep in the synchronicity of angels,
as ebony horizons drift into darkness.
When crimson clouds bleed to paint the sky,
I scream at silent scarlet skies,
as black rain from a dark storm plunders.
Like acid burning my metaphorical paper wings,
I float like a butterfly cursed by moths of deceit,
as hope dances dangerously with my malevolent muse -
grace and hellfire waltz with my heart's chambers.
I can't help but remember last November,
when death clung to the air around me,
as answers we found turned into a designated dead end.
In delirious desires of deathless shadows,
I still see your daggers and cigarettes in a charcoal silhouette,
with your every breath laced with guilt.
Yet, the ghost of your voice lulls me to sleep,
as the silence crawls along the walls at night.
Who are we to judge who is a sinner or a saint.
I wonder if you will walk down the stairs of heaven,
hold me in all my fragility, remind me of childlike charms,
or will rebellious regrets open the gates of hell.
I scream at the Grim Reaper to take my soul,
ravage me, before I go,
but put a white veil on my corpse,
so each night when I visit my grave,
provocative eyes with loose desires,
can feel the wind beneath my sails.
But, gift me one more midnight,
to create my final masterpiece to paint my dreams,
carved with marble white ink,
engulfed in sentimental verses -
for this is poetry, formless suppressed speech.
One day our quill will eternally slumber,
as our conscience passes from poetry to dust.
In the plight of adversity, only I, truly know,
that stars speak stories how simple words were not enough,
as truth only prevails through poetic justice.
The form is one Gregory Richard Barden created called "Cinqopet" (sing-ko-pay) and it is very musical - it consists of five stanzas of five lines each, with the rhyme scheme AAABB, CCCDD, etc, the first three lines of each stanza are in Iambic Tetrameter (eight syllables, four iambic feet) followed by two Catalectic Lines (seven syllables, three and-a-half iambic feet), and at the very end a tag - this can be anything you want, another rhyming line, a single word, another stanza, whatever you choose, but make sure it's separated from the fifth stanza.
Hearts For Praise
Glistening, hesitant dreams sigh
As heaven hears night’s soft goodbye
Through blackness, way up in the sky
My soul sings rhythms of grace
This is wonder we all face
Glowing, in lush whispers of light
Gently rising rings of insight
Weathered colors of softest night
Blessings stir my heart to heal
Flowing love that light can feel
Graceful stories written by love
On wings of joy, wings of the dove
Reveals light from heaven above
Splendor of night, lights fading
Beauty in life’s persuading
Growing a church, worship with praise
Glory alive, more than a phase
Up to the heavens, my eyes gaze
Life is unpredictable
Our crimes are convictable
Grieving the night, her lost vigor
She never was a gold digger
Risking it all, she grew bigger
Awaiting the moment, soon
I’ll keep staring at the moon
With eyes of faith, I see her
The breathless truth is such a blur
Light of heaven, who will transfer
Love so gentle, amazing
My heart blessed, always praising
What I'd like to give you, is an ounce of my perfume
Sharing like we use too, we never took or did presume.
Sisters growing together, our bond very tight,
Though when little children, had the odd minor fight.
Forward to that day when your beauty fell asleep
Family hearts broken, many tears we all did weep.
Losing you, was the hardest thing, I've had too bear
Mourning, grieving deeply, wailing cries of despair.
Time went by people told me, dreams they had of you
I had no visitation dreams, which left me feeling blue.
The evening of my birthday, alone in the back room
Suddenly I smelt, the aroma of your perfume.
Walking around searching, trying to find out where
Hoping and wanting, I would find you standing there.
My cousin who was visiting, strolled into the room
That exact moment, gone was your scented bloom.
I asked if he could smell anything, within the room air
"No" came his puzzled reply "nothing anywhere"
Was it my imagination? or a subconscious wish?
This was the first birthday, without my little sis.
I truly believe, you was there, and sent me a sign
Your birthday gift telling me, your never far behind.
Warming glows of inner peace, I no longer felt alone
Together we'll be again, when God calls to bring me home.
Bring Me Home Poetry Contest
Sponsor Mystic Rose Rose
Written 03.10.21
Whether willingly or otherwise, at some point, everyone must let go. And
although often filled with grief, we must also let go of everyone. I never met
nor conversed with him except for compliments of each other's poems. But
yet when I heard of his passing, there was grief along with tears. Tears have
a language of their own, silent utterances we feel but cannot speak. He was
encouraging and supportive; someone I wanted to hold on to and not let go.
Milton, I know that you recently said goodbye to us all and asked us not to cry.
In time, the grieving wound will heal, but I shall long cherish the memory of you.
1323PS. In Honor of Milt - An Un-Contest Poetry Contest. Andrea Dietrich.1P
Two women hug near the breath of a steaming oven. The beef stew bubbles. Aroma floats upward in a canopy of captured mist. The air stout with scents of apple pie, dumplings, roasted chicken. For two women who've had a history together that has skipped through decades. They hug tightly in a quiet blanket of comfort. It's time that cries with them like splattered grease on the wall from eggs frying. Two women wiggle free from labels, in this stolen moment, in the coarse twilight, the clumsy clutch of need. They've built life's private scaffold, a shared life on which to hang their sign: Diner Closed, Pandemic Grieving.
undertow of loss
yawning void of tomorrow
that left hope dangling
Haibun Composed: April 29, 2021
Contest:Moments of Reflection
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Best of me!
1. I always saw the world in shapes,
You know it's my only escape
I never had a need to keep my cake -
Cause life doesn't work that way.
2. I spent my life grieving the past and loving good memories,
Till you -
You make my lowest moments memorable
Over and over again,
I fall for you.
3. I don't belong to you,
Or to anyone.
Throughout, I have become insatiable -
I can't see a life without you.
4. Call me obsessed,
Call me foe,
I am only a jeweler searching for his gem.
5. They all say it hush, but the walls have ears.
I say it now - the truth in their fears:
You are the best of me,
Maybe my only virtue.
Midst covenant sealed by fidelity
assured along HIS immutable Word,
I, being carnal, succumbed to luring temptation
as a faith-traitor, flirting with the world
oblivious of my vow to love GOD with all of my heart...
...Guilty was I of betraying my Saviour
grieving Him and reproaching His name---
then when I confessed* my sins and errors
He, verily faithful, pardoned me completely
along His compassion that drew me more intimately to Him.
Meanwhile, my soul languished, victimized in a scammed venture
cognizant that the culprits were whom
I considered my trusted friends, serving as vessels of blessings---
they fooled me, rendering my contract with them as futile
hence, nullifying my investments --- all by their deceit…
...Struggling hard to accept their “sorry”
I agonized bearing the load of my justice-plight
Thus, I prayed to be a true “forgiveness-giver”
Grateful to God that I received His wondrous grace...
Indeed, “To err is human; to forgive, divine.”**
*1John 1:9 If we confess our sins, he (God) is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
**Alexander Pope, in the poem "An Essay on Criticism", Part II, 1711.
February 7, 2020
2nd place, "Famous poetic lines 2" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 2/9/2020.
I Lost Weight -
What is weight? Dictionary.com - The amount or quantity of heaviness or mass, amount a thing weighs
Verb - To add weight to; load with additional weight, to burden with
Yeah, I lost weight, a whole lot of weight
The weight of uncertainty, fear, doubt, worry, the weight of rejection
Hurt, disappointment, the weight of anger, bitterness, resentment...
The weight of - lack of
I lost the weight that was holding me down, bloating me
Destroying me, grieving me, riding me, hiding in me, in my skin
In my hair, inside my shoe, walking with me everyday
Every step of the way, slowing my arrival
How did I get rid of it, lose all the weight? I Believed
Then I walked, I ran, I exercised, I jumped, I cried, I prayed
I flushed it, I brushed it, I washed it, I tossed it, I flossed it
I burned it, I threw it up, I threw it out
I pooed it out, I blew it out, I cut it, I shut it, I destroyed it...
And now, I am strong, I am whole, I am free, cleansed, healed, renewed
Refreshed, alert, vibrant, energetic, happy, healthy, wealthy
Confident, wiser, focused, courageous, determined, blessed...
Get that weight off yo mind, off yo shoulder, off yo back
Off yo marriage, off yo children, out yo future, out yo body
Out yo purse, out yo closet, out yo home...
I thank You God for all I can be - For I am proud to be Weight Free!
JOY --- great gift springing from the heart of God
has made my babyhood bubble with mirth
to ripple along sweet glee’s purity
so cherished by family as treasure…
…Such exuberance thrives midst love’s nurture
enriching childhood albeit growing pains
advancing toward adolescent years
zest reigning over great challenges’ angst…
…As maturity paves way to progress
blest happiness wrought by Christ grips my soul
since His eternal life’s grant secures me
assuring freedom peace by pardon’s seal…
…With that offered vibrant relationship
my reached-out heart yields to divine changes
though struggling against carnality bouts
striving to please the Lord Who brings triumph bliss…
…Propped through the Saviour’s strengthening gladness
my faith constantly seeks for His favour
while surmounting rigours, causing distress
in prayer-communion’s sublime delights…
…When conquered by human nature’s attacks
my grieving spirit finds rest in the Lord
ready to lift me up with revival cheers
rejuvenating me from drained ardour…
…Ascending upward zealous service
I press on with fresh vigour’s fervency
fortified by the Holy Ghost’s power
grateful to “Rejoice in the Lord always*.”
*Philippians 4:4 Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.
February 15, 2021
3rd place, "Joy continuum" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 2/26/2021.