Long Sorrowful Poems
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I SPOT a lofty black cross
Standing conceitedly on a rock-strewn mount,
Where nothing akin to a tree can be seen,
Murky clouds hovering over it,
It is on this cross that she will
Sacrifice me for the sake of love
I OBSERVE dry as a bone grass,
That left chasing precious emerald existence
Because the master of life-rain
Could not depart the lucrative comfort of cloud nine
To reprieve underprivileged earthlings;
As the sunburned grass sever to shreds,
I perceive her love for me fading
Radically till nothing of it remains,
She tramples upon me unfeelingly
WHEN I raise my eyes to meet up hers,
Tears COURSE down my cheerless cheeks,
In her face I discern weariness, withdrawal.
She appears dull and outrageously sorrowful-
Conceivably I am a great irk to her,
She cannot let me feel her lips once more.
NOW alone I contemplate smoke rising,
I bathe myself in the glee of solitude,
Shrewd that hours of night must go a way
Paving way for hours of dawn that must also go a way;
That the putrid soul of mine
Possibly will one day be rapt and inspired
Though she has departed from me
My lil lady is sorrowful thinking of what she's done
She calls me whimpering wanting to come home
The psychiatric hospital full of its treatments
Still can never understand the deep darkness
I too been there and sometimes find my way back
To a hate of oneself and why feeling good I lack
I wanna hold her and comfort her to be alright
But im only a mother not a doctor in this fight
I try and give her the mental tools I've used
To help her through this hellish self abuse
I explain its roots with addiction from pain
She says she's numb needs comfort again
But her security blanket is dangerous overall
I will forever dread getting one last call
Of those lights she was seeing being a last time
I ever get to hold her and remind her of life
I hate passing on this mental reaction
Mixed up chemicals our brains are lacking
If one thing i can do in life is hold her hand
With my guidance through this terrible storm
I gladly will do my best to be side by side her
In this maze we will help each other find there
A door once popped open leading me out
Im going back in to save my child from doubt
In the outskirts, where whispers weave through the wind,
there stands a farmhouse, its timbers groaning with secrets,
a silhouette etched against the horizon’s fading light.
Once, it was alive, pulsing with the beat of day-to-day,
but now, it’s shrouded in a cloak of solitude,
walls lined with the echoes of laughter long gone,
rooms filled with the heavy air of stories untold.
The woman who lived there, a mystery, a shadow,
wandered its halls like a ghost, her presence barely felt
but in the gentle ivory caress of piano keys
that floated through the night, a sorrowful symphony
played to an audience of moon and stars.
Folks in town, they gossiped, cruel jests hidden behind closed doors,
labeling her a recluse, a witch, a specter of the past,
never understanding the weight of loneliness she carried,
a burden that bent her shoulders and dulled her eyes.
She found peace in her music, notes rising and falling,
like the breaths she drew, deep and resonant,
a language only she and the night could comprehend.
The farmhouse, with its peeling paint and creaking floors,
stood as a testament to her existence,
its decay mirroring the abandonment she felt,
doors no longer opening to welcome guests,
windows looking out with a yearning for the world.
Inside, the piano waited, its keys now silent,
dust gathering like a blanket, a comfort in the stillness,
each particle a memory, a moment frozen in time.
And so, the house remains, a relic of loneliness,
a monument to the misunderstood,
its story floating with the wind, carried through the fields,
a melody played on the strings of time,
eternal, echoing, alone.
Memorial Day – 2023... origin of holiday
Strong and brave men and women
gave their level best
crème de la crème strongest and bravest
leaving grieving significant others
with emotional agony within treasured chest
o'er the redoubt the the enemy did crest
where lovely bones of forebears for everest
dead bodies strewn across killing fields
hostility among warring factions finessed
forsook their lives eternal peace they rest
honored and revered succumbed mortal
electric kool-aid acid test
though I question if sacrificed life
worth a spit of land to wrest.
Now pardon ma faux pas
from dis po' pa try'n 2b sleek
line six starting here necessitated minor tweak
a reasonable rhyme rhyme,
where sense and sensibility weak
Officially called Decoration Day
proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan
first observed on 30 May 1868
Waterloo N.Y. officially declared the birthplace
by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966.
though seven and nine tenths score years
since (minor emendation regarding time frame
since original date I crafted poem)
Appomattox, a psychological balm
helped stitch frayed nation to calm
served as silent psalm
since bombardment at Fort Sumter qualm.
National holiday most adept
at uniting Civil War fallen soldiers
when fiercely armed as brother in arms crept
against opposing forces, which took
by surprise “enemies” or found inept
ill prepared troops with surprise mortal
blow which ambushed attackers leapt
mowing down valiant soldiers, thus
becoming slain grooms who eternally slept
sorrowful lamentable hymns from
widowed brides tears wept.
Cease fire that day
terminating internecine flay
o’er mounds of earth whence
bones o boys donned blue or gray
a day of remembrance for those
who died in our nation's service lay
celebrated this last Monday every May
one must know tis not about division
boot about reconciliation
and sacrifice brave heroes did pay,
the price of their lives for granted
freedoms enjoyed as american lee-way.
Forsooth, now we cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
In darkness an old hand searches the light
To dispel dim doubt and fears of the night,
She does not recall the value of gold
Nor does she recollect tales of years old.
Her eyes are dim clear as slow-moving streams
Where rays of fading hope and wonder teems,
They seek the truth within a human face
Before the world marks a sorrowful trace.
A creaking sound rings out across the yard,
Frightening her heart, putting her on guard,
She tries to source a strength that can`t be named
Sending hollow pride to the realm of shame.
Now she can sense the smash of window panes,
Awhile, she eyes a man dressed in black, plain,
Penetrating inside through the window,
With his eyes emitting a frightful glow.
Frightened, but still holding her spirit tall,
With her eyes shrinking like a flattened ball,
She implores with an air of innocence
For the man not to burden his conscience.
“My son, take what you wish, but don`t harm me,
That`s my plea,” she utters, feeling unfree,
“I am on my way to leaving the world,
Anytime my days may stop to unfurl.”
The man felt sad at the old lady`s plight,
He`d called at the house to steal with delight,
He had conceived it as tough enterprise,
But turned out as a sorrowful surprise.
“Auntie, your words have taught me a lesson,
To change my life, you`ve given me reasons,’
He said, ” the loudest voice will fade to grey
While gentle trust will ever find its way.”
“The grandiose castles we build with care
Are soon turned to dust by the open air,
For what is pure ever remains the same,
The flicker of a silent steady flame.”
“You are right, my son,” said the old lady,
“Even iron doors, with time turns shady,
In the end we`ll all kiss the dusty ground,
Where the joys of peace is finally found.”
“Thank you auntie, I`ve learnt my part to play
And let the burdens of life drift away,”
Said the man, “for in a new quiet start
Lies the real wisdom of a true heart.”
The Age of Summer Love Was Kismet Kissed:
Our summer love began in Gemini
with sultry eves of wooing escapades,
and as the moon did swoon as it drew nigh
my lust you stirred with strumming serenades.
Romance as rich as black queen tulip skies
adorned with precious gems of bijou light,
before they’d lose their lustre to sunrise
you’d shower me with diamonds of the night.
Impassioned kisses filled my sails with love,
a rhumba full of rapture neath the stars
with rhythmic teasing, undulations of
unbridled flame of Venus and my Mars.
The time of Libra brings a cool to days ~
still, autumn love sets aging leaves ablaze.
Our Ageless Love Was Kismet Kissed:
Yes, my love, our joining was truly Fate
for immediately we both just knew,
hope had bellowed it is never to late
my destiny was love and life with you!
Love, ours glistening rubies and pearls
hot-love feasts served upon long golden trays,
memories, night love bathes in heated swirls
greatest treasure my soul embraces today!
In paradise my heart sought your soft touch
sweet embrace and curves of your luscious lips,
non-stop, crescendo was almost to much
on this earth, we took such heavenly trips!
Our fated romance proves that true love stays~
through it all, thick and thin, sorrowful grays
Susan Ashley
May 15, 2018
(a sonnet duet: an inspired response to “The Age of Summer Love”)
'Our Ageless Love Was Kismet Kissed'
Robert Lindley
May 19, 2018
*(Black) Queen of Night Tulip: a velvety deep maroon-black tulip*
Life is full of averse
Of course nobody wants to join life adverse
How I wish my life is an isle
At least there will be no one to arrange outrage in mind’s aisle
We walk in troupe
Yet within that troupe, others create a troop
A troop against me but I always elude
I can be specific but I chose to allude
Don’t attribute it to fear or panic
Just for the sake of being poetic
My heart is bedeviled by unknown attacks
Is it my paranoia? No, my mind can’t be one of my setbacks
I arranged my dreams in my mind’s pocket
Where from this pickpocket?
If brains had a code
Hackers would never go to vacation mode
Life is meaningless meaningful
Life is interesting sorrowful
Someone should give me ale
At least, to lessen my ail
Give me in excess, I want to be intoxicated
I can’t watch life whiles my eyes are naked
I could go on and on aborting the rough indulgence of the brain, body, mind, soul, sanity and the art of the heart
Nothing zips in how my mental state can have its way around each and every day. What we call “High and lows” I can experience them or expect them to take its theme in any moment now in which ever manner.
Living with Mental disorder is exhausting. By the end of the day I'm ridiculously tired From overthinking in fighting anxieties, intrusive thoughts and suicide ideations. When the sun finally sets, I'm hanging by a thread.
Hoping and wishing that tommorow will be less atrocious than this...only to wake up to the same inch every single day
I can’t even imagine how calm could a brain be
The pledge of chaos to be altered before night time it’s already being procrastinated by my being
The content of the urge to die constantly
The rawness essence how my mental state doesn’t wait for a start or an end but the fact that the rest of my life this weight that it has over me takes its inherent mark it’s like a white sheet marked with a dark dot in the middle no matter how you cut the paper in order to remove the dark dot it only carries a final fate to shred it instead
Being alive is like being asked to give up your house that you built and lived in it for years and asked to live in it for the sake of safe keepings
The humane and sorrowful need to be heard and understood (inevitable vulnerability)
Harvesting to cope and actually have a defence mechanisms just to make my breathing bearable
Although we all going to die one day a daily dose of allurement of death is needed
Torn in between dark and grey it all looks the same
The battered hope that someday…eventually…maybe things might get better?
It doesn’t get better than this
Ashleigh Ngoqo
The sea captain's weathered house still stands above the shore.
'Tis said that the old place is a century old or more.
Its long-shuttered windows face out t'ward the restless sea.
From the widow's walk his bride yet makes her mournful plea!
On dark and stormy nights 'tis said she can still be seen,
As she haunts the widow's walk acting out a spectral scene.
Her plaintive plea is heard e'en above the shrieking gale:
"Hurry home to me my love!" as she espies a distant sail!
'Tis said she lights a lantern to guide her lover home,
As he steers 'mongst the treacherous shoals and roiling foam.
Her heart is aflutter anticipating his arms and tender kiss,
Praying that this be his final cruise to e'er enjoy eternal bliss.
A phantom ship is seen to founder, according to local lore!
A sorrowful moan is heard e'en above the ocean's roar!
Alas, the ship sank 'neath the waves in the tempest tossed!
When ecstacy seemed within her grasp, all the souls were lost.
And e'en today in this supposed enlightened age,
The widows walk is transformed into an eerie stage,
Where, e'er young, faithful still, sobbing soft and low,
A sorrowful wraith awaits his coming, her true love to bestow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Professed paean pronounced
and adroitly produced
upon spirit of deceased
named Boyce Brandon Harris.
First year anniversary since
cremains distributed across four winds
his soul remains alive within me.
Impressed upon mine consciousness
birthdate announcing home birth
April 9th 1929, my father
gasped his first breath of air
head populated with black curly locks,
when he uttered that initial blare,
nor preschool instructors extant
to teach him building blocks
inherent in double helix strand,
paternal grandfather (mine)
designed many a fancy chair
passed along blueprint
pertaining to curious lad
forever challenging himself to dare.
Though me dada gone with the wind
well nigh three hundred sixty five days
impossible mission to forget being pinned
with profound grief now sorrowful phase
diminished, nevertheless vague upbringing
regarding late father roughly limned
especially recalling dada's mien ways.
Him biological circumstance found
being youngest of three offspring
and second ably linkedin heir
whose inquisitiveness found him
roaming (courtesy donning roller skates)
Manhattan island far and near
plus or minus penchant
with science and mathematics
intelligent quotient in stratosphere
those mental cogs, wheels and gear
found those piercing black eyes to peer
way beyond New York City skyline.
Demise of him who helped beget me
softened harsh rebukes figuratively rained
upon noggin of yours truly
sole son wishes father understood
my psychological maelstrom
flush with monsters under boyhood bed,
and voices inside traumatized head.
Latent smarts did create career
path, which whipsawed him
thru multitudinous exotic places he did dare
to traverse – from Korean front
to General Electric where
he secured employment
as mechanical engineer
within aerospace, industry
completed my academic projects with flair,
who essentially earned me passing grade
just by the chin whisker hair
and by physical might,
I wished he served as bodyguard
when kids did jeer
me quiet skinny boy, who felt intimidated
when bullies spewed names with a leer.