Long Unconsoled Poems
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I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless,dreary,cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves.
I know that death’s a greedy starving thief.
Although my heart weeps and my joy has gone.
I have never felt I was deceived.
I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.
I have felt the dark emotions seethe
I've felt cruelly burned by glaring sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.
I wait in sorrow for this life to cease
Yet some are never loved by anyone
I have dreamed in beds of winter leaves
Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves
I feel, I feel a little bit more
Deafening silences of stories untold
Wrenching hearts, welled-up eyes
Suppressed screams weaving loving lullabies
I feel, I feel a little bit more
Breezes disguised as tornadoes
Wreckage, havoc, “it’s dark inside”
Cluttered confusion showing the ‘light’
I feel, I feel a little bit more
In a circus, on a tightrope
Smirks, grins, mocking eyes
Free falling to see if it’s alright
Tell me, tell me if you know
To keep these secrets, box of lies
Chest of unconsoled cries
Buried beyond land, seas and skies
Never unravelled, but felt, kept and hidden again
By souls destined to have the sweetest of smiles.
My small dreams magnified so manifold,
the wide wings of soaring desire they grew,
the miniscule mind could no longer hold,
turning to birds in ardent air they flew.
They sailed to horizon rising anew,
through the clefts of darkened clouds floating cold,
where silence drizzled with the twilight hue,
my small dreams magnified so manifold.
They flew en echelon in blue sky’s fold,
their drifting design I outlined for you.
The essence of pattern remained untold,
the wide wings of soaring desire they grew.
The dreams lured with kaleidoscopic view,
before I could catch them away they rolled.
They floated on the tides of time, I knew
the miniscule mind could no longer hold.
In the end I stopped trying unconsoled,
tired of tedious try I couldn’t pursue.
They ascended high for me to behold,
turning to birds in ardent air they flew.
So, in the forlorn abyss I withdrew,
trudging time with stormy mind uncontrolled.
For the missing birds I’d build nests a few,
they’d see returning some day from the cold,
my small dreams magnified manifold.
March 8, 2021
Syllable count : 10 per line except for the last line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Life's Struggles-Any Form-Updated
Sponsor : Constance La France
My irrepressible awe is clearly seen
in the colors of the seasons,
when all becomes veneration,
at the sight of every superb constellation,
which stands above me like Heaven,
to turn my hallelujahs into prayers...
My irrepressible awe is felt in the spring' crisp morning air,
watching light advance and dapple the entire sky
with a golden shade, nothing to envy any gold so pure;
and on the pointy leaves of the pines,
it shimmers like the rarest jewels...
and wouldn't an unconsoled soul come here to die?
My irrepressible awe is expressed in the most thrilling ways,
observing the wide wings of the eagles
flap once and depart from earth in throngs
for a journey, which will last for many days;
and shouldn't they find their new home,
they will return, as shallows do, only to lament snow...
My irrepressible awe is shared by a spirit filled with emotion,
and wouldn't all senses elate me for this declared devotion?
What lies before me is a possession too concrete,
like the perennial Firmament so awesome and infinite;
this marvelous planet I tread on, is certainly mine
and it couldn't have been given to me without a set price...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
To write! to truly write, to wield the pen
as but a mere extension of the mind.
Yet contemplating, I am wont to find
perhaps the glitch is buried there within.
For, so it seems, no sooner than I cast
a hook into the infinite, alas,
before I can retrieve,
it slips away as through a sieve,
and I am left with bits of weed and moss:
an unconsoled, inchoate sense of loss
at that which might have been.
And so I reel it in, and cast, and cast again…
At times, the hook is set, yet teasing out
a simple thought onto dry land,
embellishments, initially unplanned,
beget a speckled spectacle en route.
Or loss of focus, leading to a snag
in how or what I meant to say,
and though it lies securely in the bag,
’tis bruised and bloodied, marred along the way.
Yet none of this does lead us to despair,
for there! in quiet pools, a shadow lies!
The fly, a graceful arc through breathless air,
lands unobtrusive and before our eyes,
the pool erupts and we are on the chase:
a fascinating, wondrous space
where lilting lines flow into verse,
so effortless and unrehearsed.
To fish a stream where strivings cease
but spoils the game and sweet release.
Without the toil, joy slips away;
we frankly wouldn’t have it any other way.
This was for keeps for all we knew
so far away so long ago
I really fell in love with you
before you played the second show
White lace and grace and promises
Beguile? Belong? Betroth? Beseech?
it's best to do what momma says
so very close so out of reach
The moment when the slight girl sings
that lovely voice like scented smoke
like chocolate and cello strings
like molten gold or burnished oak
I know I've wasted too much time
the one thing that's in short supply
there'll never be another rhyme
and stars won't fall down from the sky
I tell myself I'm feeling old
there's nothing I can do about it
and what I've garnered unconsoled
of love is how to live without it
Why must our loved ones disappear?
Oh won't you say what laid you low?
I know that you're not really here
it's just that worn-out radio
A wrestlers kapi pup born in the town of Porapoo
Red Dog~The Pilabara wonderer with lurid tales' legion
A bold spirited canine he, an Aussie through and through
Roaming free the red earth of the wide Northwestern region
He pawed a ride with John, an iron miner, when lost.
They became close mates, good sports to remember.
But drinking and poker took their grim cost.
John was gunned down in 'ts, the first day of September.
Now as Red Dog roamed quietly unconsoled
Cars, buses and trucks offered him rides, hugs and food.
For his hard-luck story had been told and retold
With good Aussies determined to brighten his mood
For the rest of his days Red Dog roamed about
Stopping cars now and them for food and a ride
His loud flatulations signaled 'twas time to get out.
With nature his friend and kind folks who abide
Pilbar mourned with muted disbelief,
When the poisoned body of Red Dog was found
A bronze statue stands for friends to bow in grief.
May Red Dog rest well in his much-loved native ground.
The Lingering and the Unconsoled Heart
by Michael R. Burch
There is a silence—
the last unspoken moment
before death,
when the moon,
cratered and broken,
is all madness and light,
when the breath comes low and complaining,
and the heart is a ruin
of emptiness and night.
There is a grief—
the grief of a lover's embrace
while faith still shimmers in a mother’s tears ...
There is no gruesomer time, nor place,
while the faint glimmer of life is ours
that the lingering and the unconsoled heart fears
beyond this: seeing its own stricken face
in eyes that drift toward some incomprehensible place.
Keywords/Tags: Death, Euthanasia, Hospice, Terminal, Terminate, Termination, Hemlock, Silence, Last Breath, Heart, Heartache, Heartbreak, Grief, Grief-stricken, Love, Lover, Mother, Night, Emptiness, Horror, Fear, Near Death Experience, Linger, Lingering, Faith, Hope, Hopeless, Hopelessness
The Lost Doll Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
Placed 2nd
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Barbie was its name…
To me how it came…
Difficult to proclaim!
By its side, I used to sit,
Leaving it not for a bit…
This, I promptly admit!
Call it not a doll, it’s my plea…
In it I found an innocent glee;
It was almost a sibling to me!
It was the month of May;
My cousins from Bombay,
Visited us for their short stay!
With my Barbie, they all played;
Their hands on it they all laid;
Cut it into pieces with a blade!
And threw it into a river, I was told;
My anger then was uncontrolled;
And till now, I am left unconsoled!
My God, why are you so quiet to your child?
You are noisy as trucks rumbling by remote
I see you in the terrors of the night glowing
I taste you in the night cloying in my throat
I feel you down to my restless legs waking
I know you as a child knows his father
Coddled children never learn to walk
You left me in the care of parents who leave
But, didn’t you abandon me just to gawk?
Still, you've never left me though I bereave
My immature mind reaches out to you
You are the quiet voice in my cries shaken
You remind me that to talk I must listen
You remind me to feel I must ache
To see I must know your pure omission
You show me the broken pieces rebuilding
In the dead of night, I feel your lovely floor
Can I embrace myself within your cold tomb?
Your son leaves the frame of a blackened door
Your silence rushes in noisy as a womb
You remind me you are light and darkness
You are my true parent asking me to rise
Again and again without a hand to hold
Without a guide, you show me who is wise
You ask me to be my parent as Jesus toiled
You promise me rest when night comes
When hands grow cold and there's nothing to do
You are a father that never grows old
Then a door opens for me to hobbled though
Will you greet me when senses are unconsoled?
Your quiet and darkness are a play of stillness
You are faith and doubt when senses are unsteady
Grant me your everlasting maturity in your plan
I promise to rise when I’m good and ready
I promise not to cry like a child, but a man
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Isaiah 46:9-10
Remember the former things, those of long ago; I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me. I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come. I say: My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.