Long Tearful Poems
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A memorial poetry today February 6th, 2018 to remember our loved one - late Andrew Chavez.
POURING INK FOR ANDREW ©
Imagine if we're given one moment
Just a single slice of the past
We'd hold it down amid the tornadoes & hurricanes
And the moment would always last,
The moment Laura bore thee,
The moment she cried for thee,
Forced out of the cookie, ready,
Ready for the world, letting out thy first cry,
The doctors smiled, Laura smiled,
We, the world, smiled,
Growing up, you smiled
And then life goes on
But life couldn't contain thee anymore
So you creep away from us till this day
Quietly lying in rows beneath earth's sky
In a peaceful place of many deep memoirs
Where the living dead walk in solemn rows
Momma grope to see you one day, who knows
Now look at thy face frozen in blissful external sleep
Laura still loves you straight from the deep
With a tearful glance as you're taken away as sheep
Today we reminisce...pouring ink in remembrance of you
And rain upon your grave tears, smiles & memoirs
Hope to meet you one day at The Golden Gate.
Sleep on, Andrew.
VickWizzy
Written by: Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © February 6th, Tues. 2018.
As shadows play and dance away
upon the walls within her mind,
her thoughts portray of yesterday
and long lost dreams she left behind.
A candle's light glows in the night,
and casts its shadows from the past
of love’s delight, though ‘twas finite,
these hopes and dreams that didn’t last.
A once bright flame she couldn’t tame,
his passions burning uncontrolled;
she’s not to blame, it’s such a shame
that dying embers left her cold.
These mem’ries gaunt as shadows taunt
the tearful thoughts of love’s decay
with endless daunt despite her want,
and still these shadows dance away.
April 30, 2020
The Constant Heart A daughter born,
a fragile bud,
A father's pride,
A mother's flood Of hope
And dreams in tiny hands,
She learned to crawl on sacred lands.
Her value isn't found in gold,
But in the stories to be told—
A tender spirit,
wild and free,
A sapling for the family tree.
The sister bond,
A woven thread,
Through whispered secrets,
words unsaid.
A shared defense against the world,
A banner of a soul unfurled.
Two hearts that know each other's fears,
A steady rock through fleeting years,
A laugh, a fight, a tearful grace,
Finding home in a familiar face.
A girlfriend's touch,
A sudden spark,
Igniting fires in the dark.
A dance of words, a shy embrace,
A nervous tremor in a space
Where two souls find a brand new song,
And feel for the first time they belong.
A fragile promise,
softly made,
In sunlight parks and twilight shade.
The bride in white, a sacred vow,
A new beginning, here and now.
The gentle curve of life she bears,
A swelling love beyond all cares.
Through morning sickness, weary days,
She walks in quiet, hopeful haze,
A vessel strong, a world contained,
For life's first gentle touch is gained.
A mother's love,
a boundless sea,
She gave up "I" for "you" and "we."
Her waking hours, her sleep she lends,
A life that starts,
a journey ends Of self-concern,
replaced by grace,
To give her child a better place.
She is the shield, the guiding light,
A fierce and tender, endless might.
And then a grandma, silver-haired,
A patient love, beyond compared.
The storyteller, wise and slow,
Who watches little futures grow.
She holds the past in knowing eyes,
And sees a future she can't rise To walk herself,
but in her heart,
She plays the most important part.
The Power of Her Journey
“The pining brine streams flowing from the
weeping eyes seek the course to the sea
of serenity”– Quote by poet
The cloud convoy of despair drifts slow
in the seamless smoky sky of sorrow,
as the storm surges from the dismal
horizon of mangled mind’s visage distal,
it melts in many streams seemingly shallow,
while from the tearful eyes torrents flow,
like the raindrops rolling in tortuous rills,
the drenched face of the foliage feels.
All the dark dreary clouds don’t melt,
the pain of the deluge remains unfelt.
A lonely clump clutches a frail fraction
of crushed epitome of entrapped emotion,
like the raindrops holding hidden grief
in the secret crease of the sodden leaf,
lingers in me to wail from within deep,
for the impulsive promises I couldn’t keep.
With the emotive brine’s brisk flow,
carrying the condensed pain of sorrow,
the teardrops get poised in pearly file
on the unfurled eyelashes for a while,
like the raindrops resting on the tip
of the leaning leaves to detach and drip.
They silently sigh sliding down slowly
with the broken dreams’ invisible debris.
Down the parched wrinkles sorely sleek,
of the pensive and pining pallid cheek,
silent streams’ cataract mutely cries
as angst cascades from the tearful eyes.
The touch of serenity in the psyche bleak,
melancholic mind strives solemnly to seek
in the course the teardrop torrents trace,
and in their consoling emotional embrace.
I’m taking too long in here.
This cart I am trying to steer.
Is squealing around corners constantly.
There’s nothing except throwing groceries in endlessly.
The wet floor sign is laughing too hard.
I still need to buy a thank you card.
But words don’t exist in the confines of the store.
Just lines and scribbles galore!
Ribbons streaming from nowhere.
Like sadness from a tearful pear.
I could leave this store at any time.
But not without an angry lime.
Not without doing something odd.
Like catching bags of chips with a fishing rod.
Eating a pastry from a display.
Jumping around to avoid the fray.
I’m taking too long in this place.
Where I can feel the freezer section’s embrace.
The cold is not the only thing in me.
I wish everything was free.
Free like a smiling flower in the floral department.
Which is beautiful despite dismemberment.
I wish I was free too…
In this store with too many tears undue.
So, maybe you can tell
Heaven from hell,
blue skies from rain,
a day full of pain.
Can you trade a walk in the park
for a glimpse of the dark?
We are the captured souls, like fish in bowls.
Do you want to exchange, from living in chains?
Beating around the bush is not of any use,
in the blink of an eye, you will die.
Life in the Cape Flats
has been taken over by brats.
They will rape, kill and maim.
even though they don’t know your name.
Every gang has a name,
they also have no shame.
People here live in fear.
There is always some parent who sheds a tear.
Young girls falling pregnant
from boys who will not leave a remnant.
A child heavily pregnant with a child
has been left alone like an animal in the wild.
The boyfriend is long gone
making a call to another one.
Parents going to work, trying to make a living
leave their kids at home in a life so unforgiving.
Kids must look after themselves,
even though the oldest is only 12.
Most households live a life of struggle.
That is a life so radical.
The gangs rule the street.
To them, somebody must bleed.
The community forms groups
but everybody has their moves.
The gangs make them fearful.
If they cross the gangs, they will soon be tearful.
The gangs of the Cape Flats
are like wolves in a pack.
If you cross them at your own risk,
you will end up on their hit list.
The gangs have no regard for the law.
To them, the law is a flaw.
Drugs rule their lives.
They will do anything to survive.
The Cape Flats has become a hive of activity.
If you are not careful, here you’ll meet your destiny.
Known for the activity of many gangs.
The shots fired, bang, bang, bang.
Innocent people run away.
There is no way they would want to stay.
They have no chance of leaving.
On the Cape flats, their lives have little meaning.
“I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” ? Edgar Allan Poe
My heart is shattered in sadness,
Like a jigsaw with missing pieces.
I know my soul is irrevocably lost.
Oh, how I envy those
who casually forgive and forget,
and pass to pastures new.
But I am not like that.
I cannot eradicate my feeble feelings.
Like the mists of a dark clouded dawn
they linger all day long.
I shed no tears; I did not smile.
I was like a cold forlorn statue where
city doves dirty and rest.
Alas there was no rest for me.
Gloom, void and sadness
engulf me like a dark putrid lake.
She came back, tear eyed.
I could not forget that she came back.
Why did she leave?
I never abused her, never hit her,
never looked at another
for I loved only her.
And she came back.
Angry, I felt the injustice of it all.
I slammed the door on her once and forever.
Melancholy enveloped me like winter’s gloom.
Inexplicably I decided to search for her.
She was not to be found.
So why cannot I forgive myself?
Why cannot I forget her?
Why must I live forever in dark despair?
Until I saw her in a church.
Tears fell down her sweet smooth face.
I knelt down near her.
Father, forgive our trespasses
As we forgive others.
I turned her tearful face
And gave her a long kiss on her hot lips.
It’s Okay
by Odin
Roark
Many see labeled
folds and creases
Across forehead and
brow
As problems
unresolved
As thinking lines
Perhaps when one
sleeps
Furrowed wrinkles
stay left behind
The hoe of worry
Takes its earned
respite
While the world’s
hope of harvest
Gathers rest in
darkness
How tenuous
This short-lived
slumber
Where battlegrounds
Become buried
beneath peaceful
seeding
Where life’s
nourishing fields
Find shelter from
evil’s eruptive
invasions
Where headlines of
contracted
mind-waste
About to carry
primed destruction
Strapped to their
chests
Still breathe
Where children
making bullets
Find time to gather
casings
Gently pressing
blood stained soil
Into their playhouse
planters
Believing vines will
grow into
Escape routes to
sunshine and heaven
Where beyond
inevitability
Leaves still flutter
Upon limbs still
expanding
Engulfing trees
still becoming
Before smashed
atom-waves
Incinerate life to
ashes
Where when you awake
A bewildered world
asks
Why thinking lines
now smile
And your tearful
heart
Surviving not by
breathing alone
Whispers its
prescient wisdom
“It’s okay to listen
and hear silence
To be at peace
To be happy…
If only in your
dreams”
What could be said of chains?
If not armoury, after what’s left
What could be said of armoury?
If not injury, after the scars
What could be said of injury?
If not a name, left on lips of today
Our owner's name tattooed
On our coloured skin, stayed.
But now we say its swag from shops
The sugar, the cotton, all know
Our feigns, the sun, the rain, winter
Till this day.
The birds sang our lyrics in tearful tones
And loosed them to the vastness
Of the sky
Of pains of shame of dog chains
Of tapes of rapes of games of fate
But now in raps of history our
Revolution roll, rise & sailed till
This day we say “we be free! Man!”
Gideon Idudje
Bartered tears with your love adorn
Twin streams from pure, spring founts born
Sappy pores gushing with showers of contrition on christening morn
Exchanged with vows that o'er time were weathered and torn
Briny waves of doubt crested; fealties' banks shorn
Now bottled memories silted with salty tears forlorn
Eroding tear ducts inundated and with passing time worn
Brackish vapor distilled with rotting dreams; with nauseous fumes borne
Corroded promises mired in a dry bed of scorn
Cloaked in callous foliage spited with thistle and thorn
Meeting at the jaded fork; once vibrant streams solemnly mourn
Stagnant puddles awaiting reincarnation; at next season's fertile rains reborn