Long In vain Poems
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I walk alone along the street
Faces blur, I just see feet
As I push my way out through the crowd
I’m not here, I’m falling down
Breathing out, breathing in
Dark and black through my head spin.
I walk alone full of despair
Some people turn, some people stare
No-one can help me, some have tried
To ease the pain the tears inside
The tightness grips my heart, the pain
Will never leave, my life’s in vain.
I walk alone my love has died
A cruel and twisted turn in life
My lips are numb, my feet are lead
Please someone help me clear my head
Despair and rage I stumble down
Some helps me off the on the ground.
I walk alone this busy street
Some heads turn, some others greet
My mouth is dry I cannot speak
The dreadful words I must repeat
He’s dead, he’s died my child has gone
War has taken my brave son.
I walk alone, freedom is won
In this land where I belong
But others do not have the choice
Freewill to act or sound their voice
We tried to help, protect, survive
But is their hope worth all our lives?
Form:
Where art thou O Lord, My God
I cried in desolate prayer -
They say you're in the clouds and rains,
The mountains, plains and everywhere.
Where art thou O Divine One
I ask unto the skies,
Your creation and love is around and above
Yet you are hidden from my eyes.
A piercing wail broke into my thoughts
A cry of sheer pain -
I looked around for the source of sound
But I looked around in vain.
Then, I saw him.. the lost little one
Weeping under a tree -
I rushed to him in maternal love
And held him close to me.
The tear-stained face beamed a sunny smile
For all the world to see
And at that moment I heard a voice
Deep inside of me -
"I was there in the child's cry
And his joy on seeing you
I am forever in a mother's heart
Am in everything anew!"
Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core
Haint no rhyme nor reason
why writing a poem such an arduous chore
twenty two days afore
winter solstice twenty twenty more
or less three weeks from tomorrow
November thirtieth, I implore
the god/goddess of poetry,
perhaps found within Bangalore
highlighted by the 'Green Door'
guarded by the key don Eeyore
also known as Al Gore
him of Earth in the Balance fame
who by George got ambushed unsure
if he chad chance to claim victory tour
when former candidate did score
less electoral college votes
nevertheless in my mind before
thoroughgoing count did ignore
discarded ballots scattered
all across the floor
which outcome incurred Iraq war
insinuating weapons of mass destruction
the gung ho forty third president forswore
existed but quite a few
respectable Republicans did abhor
pinning such ambiguous lore
upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein
bombed back to stone age
think lavishing primitive home decor
no imprecation heaped and hurled
upon United States military, nor
thug, who nobody did adore
asking politely "por favor
can I pretty please take detour
to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador
made famous courtesy Charles Darwin
still popular best selling author
at garden variety generic bookstore
which borders on ridiculous for sure
yet inane rhyme tore
thru my noggin after writer's block
yours truly did deplore
he would spend countless hours in vain
every burst of creativity I did explore
found me smack dab against
figurative cul de sac and bonjour
to you too three score
orbitz after me late papa did bore
mama, she passed away
fifteen years before.
The empty boots, neatly laced and, alas, now on display,
Belonged to a gallant soldier who died the other day.
Another patriot gave his all in the service of his nation.
He placed service above self to fulfill his solemn obligation.
At his memorial, the roll was called, his comrades answered "Here!"
When his name was called there was no response evoking many a tear.
His captain presented the folded flag to his little son on bended knee.
The little fellow clutched it closely to his breast - he was only three.
Not only are there empty boots, there are empty arms as well.
Aching arms that could not comfort him when he fell.
Empty arms that once held him in fond embrace,
Will no longer tenderly caress this noble warrior's face.
There will be empty hearts that will yearn forever more,
Recalling precious memories of the one whom they adore.
There will be an empty chair that no one can ever fill,
Though his presence will ever remain with them still.
Can his kin find solace in that trite phrase, "He didn't die in vain?"
His comrades with heavy hearts will strive to ease their pain.
The haunting notes of "Taps" echoed throughout the air,
As the chaplain intoned, "We commend him to Thy eternal care!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in PD's "Emotional Poem" Contest - April 2012
It was no longer easy like Sunday morning. I was cold inside.
I was perplexed, confused, and did not have a clue of what to do.
I asked my closest friends, "What shall I do?" As time slowly
elapsed, and the moment of truth was facing me at my door,
I continued asking my friends, "What, what, what shall I do?"
To a person, they never wavered from their point of view.
In fact, they really never had an opinion or point of view.
They continued to say to me, "Just go with the flow".
I couldn't go with the flow because the flow wouldn't go.
I was reminded of a neighboring house bought one winter.
They did not move in right away and someone failed to leave
the furnace on. It became unusually cold in our area and the
water in the pipe line turned to ice which swelled and burst the pipes.
The remodeled house got flooded because the water did not flow but froze.
The water pipes became like my veins, a conduit of pain with ice in the veins.
After becoming frustrated with all of my friends, I said
to them, "There is no flow. It's too cold. There's only
ice in the veins, blocking and locking up the flow".
Behind the blockage is pain and a deluge of falling rain,
making every possibility of change completely impossible.
It seems all is lost and every fix-it attempt is an effort in vain,
a feeble exercise in futility. Why this? Why now? Why here?
Why not there? Why not him? Why me? When there's ice
in the veins, there is only one thing to do. Give it time.
042722PSCtest, Pick-A-Title, Vol 30. Edward Ibeh
Title chose: Ice In The Veins. 2P
To the social worker, fierce and bold, a shield against the night,
Who fights for children, lost and cold, yet may not see the foster system's plight.
Thank you. Your unwavering stance is a beacon in the dark.
To the teacher, ever watchful, a haven built with love and care,
Who nurtures minds, potentially hatch-less, yet may not grasp the struggles parents share.
Thank you. Your gentle guidance, a compass through the storm.
To the therapist, whispering hope, to hearts that carry scars unseen,
Who mends the wounds that others scope, yet may not see the battles fought, unheard and keen.
Thank you. Your words, a balm, a soothing, healing rain.
To the police officer, standing strong, where danger lurks and shadows creep,
Who shields the young from every wrong, yet may not see the burdens parents keep.
Thank you. Your courage is a shield, protecting innocence.
To the advocate, voice amplified, for the rights of children, loud and clear,
Who fights for justice, un-compromised, yet may not feel the weight of daily fear.
Thank you. Your passion, a fire, burning bright and strong.
To the counsellor, patient and wise, guiding young minds through trials and pain,
Who helps them see beyond the lies, yet may not see the sacrifices made in vain.
Thank you. Your wisdom, a lighthouse, guiding through the fog.
To the countless others, unseen, and unheard, who dedicate their lives with grace,
Who stand as guardians, every single word a promise whispered in a fragile space.
Thank you. Each act of kindness is a thread in love's embrace.
We fight for different aspects, of a world where children bloom,
But let's not scorn, instead respect, and learn from every room.
The weight of protection, shared we must, no single soul can bear it all,
So let's stand united, trusting, because together, we answer the call.
For all of you, who fight for light, in a world where darkness seems to thrive,
Thank you. For your unwavering strength, where hope and love survive.
Thank you Mr. President
For your visit to my country and for the feelings,
You expressed, on behalf of the people of America.
Thank you for understanding and telling us,
About the real beauties of my country.
You have seen only a part of it,
Many of my nation’s great human values,
Are yet to be witnessed and seen by the world.
Although you have not responded to my suggestions,
I sent to you, when you became most admired Mr. President,
I am quite happy that at least, you have adopted some of them,
Your love and affection and good wishes for the people of India,
Will never go in vain, as you would find us always side by side,
For all the good and humanitarian causes of America and
You would find us with you,
If your country would really need, a good sincere friend like India.
We really admire the mesmerizing quality of your intelligence and speech,
The warmness and affection of your love for Gandhi and Peace,
The depths of your feelings for my fellow citizens and your understanding that
India and US are not only, the world’s largest democracies but,
They are born natural allies.
We also admire and are grateful for the love and affection,
Shown by Mrs. Michelle Obama, the first lady of US and by the,
Peace loving people of America.
Thank you Mr. President, for visiting my country, and
For becoming our most honored guest.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 9th November 2010.
Sunday is the day that we celebrate
motherhood.
Being a mother is every single day.
If your mother is still here, let her know
you appreciate her often.
It is the most challenging vocation in
the world.
But it's without a doubt the most reward-
ing honor, hands down.
It doesn't come with a manual, and I've
made many mistakes.
But I've tried to learn from them and do
better.
The one thing I've tried to do in this role
as a mother is show my kids that I love
them.
Because if I did everything else and had
not give them love; everything else would
have been in vain.
Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers
Grandmother's, God mother's, New mothers,
Single mothers and any one that has been a
mother figure, I'm talking to you.
I’ve felt the vacancy that darkness brings
Every bit and piece, all the little things
Lost reality, the great stall of time
Wishes forfeit, without proper rhyme
Thoughts left unclaimed, chaos without order
Misguided dreams of a nightmare hoarder
Could a wish come true if worded just right
Why do they vanish with the ending of night
Deceit is conjured in the depths of the mind
It searches for answers that it will never find
A prankster of sorts, its skits are in vain
Its only truth is bringing you pain
Maybe tomorrow as a new sunrise comes
Impulse will surge, from some new found crumbs
Don’t give up on love or dismiss your desire
Lightning might strike and relite your fire
To wander in drab gloomy streets.
Sleepy eyes, red cold nose,
darkened cheekbones,
a rumbling stomach.
A nightmare condensed,
no way out.
How many tears must he shed?
High on a building a large bird sat,
black as dusk, eyes searching for prey.
Was it a hawk or a crow?
His eyes could barely see,
but he could smell
the coffee being prepared,
the toast being burned.
All in vain, the bird was better than him.
He swallowed his pride
and slowly trudged
towards a day shelter.
At least there he could eat.
Then back again
in the dark streets
where he could hide
from the foreshadowing of death.