Long Woe is me Poems
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THE WAKE WITHOUT VIGIL
Time longer than rope
Chokes hearts dangling
In the reality of struggle:-
Grieving mothers and widows
Veil their grief in sagging bosoms
As they wail in excruciating silence:-
Fragments of men, void of hope,
View and count communal graves
Swelling with dirt burying the dead:-
(Buried are “The Wretched Of The Earth”)
In the neap tides of sorrows,
Mourners wade the airy blood
Of the children of Pilate’s hands:-
In the stale winds of time, “woe is me”
Cries the forsaken land–lamenting scriptures—
Echoing Freneau: “They saw their country’s woe:-”
Stacked like molded bread slices,
Decaying bodies release spores
Of death to weary eyed mourners:-
Like an aching bosom’s colloidal tears,
Life sags on, and Sisyphus-like children
Sit under the warrior ghost of lingering hope:
(Indeed, “At this wake…none keep vigil…None:-”)*
*A line from the poem, RECESSION, by Wole Soyinke
I reckon that one of life's least enthrallin' thrills,
Is facin' the seemin'ly insurmountable mound of bills,
Hopin' in the shrinkin' checkin' account there's enough,
To skirt financial scandal and pay for all that stuff!
I reviewed the 'lectric bill and received a painful shock!
They raised the rates again, shovin' me deeper in hock!
Those scoundrels raised the cost of gas thirty-one percent.
Woe is me! That'll cause some serious fiscal dent!
'Tis hard to decipher extortionate phone bills to say the least.
They've added more universal charges to that infernal beast!
The cost of cable is risin', which is outrageous to begin with.
Deregulation! Humbug! 'Tis just another government myth!
You can depend on it! Each December they raise water rates again.
'Tis our only source, so there ain't no use to complain.
I hold in hand a couple of bills that really make me grouse.
Seems there's clandestine shoppin' on QVC by my spouse!
More good news arrived today makin' me more irate.
Insurance rates are risin' on my auto and real estate!
There's a perplexin' problem I have noticed as of late:
My income ain't keepin' up with the risin' inflation rate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The other day I was reading my e-mails;
And some one sent me a read;
And I’m not for sure, but I believe;
I received a bowl of Oh! Oh’s!
Woe is me;
You see someone;
Put some cat fish in my soup;
Over and over again;
Minimum three times the same day;
Kept telling me... HI!
With missed spelled words;
And a beautiful picture of her;
Don’t really know what she wants;
A little nerves I got too little to possibly lose a lot;
So I stood back and didn’t eat it (the soup) e mail communicate;
Have you heard someone has served me catfish in my soup;
I don’t like letters in my soup;
I write words of wisdom, and truths;
Some are funny, some fiction and nonfiction;
I am a poet, writer, artist not trying to be a victim;
So I’d blocked the attractive writer, in essence I don’t wanna be bothered;
Someone give me a hug, and some positive love
And please, please, please don’t give me no more catfish in my soup;
Be open and honest if you wanna talk to me;
So that together we’ll together be full of victory;
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Oh what sorrows and woes I bare,
no sight beyond, no thoughts, no cares.
The starlight shines in wondrous ways,
though my eyes are dim, and this life's a maze.
Still I seek what can't be found, with all I am,
I reach and struggle, dig and pull,
with endless effort and will...
But then ask I why?
Why do I feel the way I do and what's the reason...
What’s the reason for all my struggles?
Where do I turn for answers and who cares?
This endless journey wears me thin...
Is this my punishment for some terrible past sin?
Oh woe is me, yes woe is me...should I look to a mountain?
Where comes my help from?
I weep, yes I weep...
Who loves me and who is my friend?
Yet echoes of past the sounds I hear...
Jesus loves me this I know,
And what a friend is he...
narcissistic negativity in higher learning.
nods of forget-me-nots, knots in shyness
satisfying unconfidence - look at me,
don’t look at me, pass by, stop...please.
brat in me left for a funeral, fuming dissonance;
meanwhile friends thought I was dead, falling
off the precipice of this world, woe is me;
shame...I should feel shame at sharp turn
from reality - negativity my play.
the dead fell into me, he was condemned
to die an untimely death from pot, “they say.”
poor lot of the dead, drudgery of debt —
undefiled, dallying not with love nor hate.
i hated the solo seat next to this strange, pudgy boy -
he was only a boy, a barbizon actor - parting was such sweet sorrow,
he left the Globe Theater.
my bland diet of diurnal tides, wicked flow
of upset and woe, dictated by me -
for eternity i think not;
the shredmonster to grind the grandiose
conjecture of a silly girl’s thoughts,
thoughtless and lost.
now i know every life counts:
the drowned, the blood-ill, the poisoned
and the one-way erasure.
every moment counted - the countless counting
in math class, the superb poems i kissed or
absentmindedly missed, hysterical history
superciliously rendered to simple ears,
later pierced with inlaid gems — truth.
what is truth, asked by ages past - past my prime,
prim and proper squeezed through butt cheeks.
we must laugh, not just in the dark but in open places.
tear the pieces of my heart, the decor relentless
however i see through arbitrary glasses, classes
taught by God. i pray don’t break me. fragile glass,
shards sunken in — buried in the ocean sand.
my personality could split in half, in quarters —
behind the shed. negativity relishing, nodding.
positive i will not end up this way. my vocabulary
shan’t never be small, again i shall pour out
pages and pages of potential balm.
moisturizing at my age necessary — when you’re a child,
chilblains are myth. catharsis
chitter-chatters better with false teeth and assorted feathers.
12/5/2020
Contest: Catharis
Sponsor: Silent One
*Shakespeare
Somebody suggested I write the tale using the correctly spelled words because my story (below here in the Homophone contest) is simply too distracting to understand with homophones. Hope you will take a peek!!
When Harry Met Terry
Once upon a time in a wood, a very nice prince named Harry
met in the mist, high on the bough of a tree, a fairy named Terry.
The fairy felt low, for he was weak, and he was in need of some meat.
He bawled, “Woe is me. I can’t even stand here on my own two feet!
My poor heart is breaking, and I’m in pain. The last time that I ate
was days ago. You see, I’m in a haze and do not feel so great.”
I perish and long for wine and ham. Even better would be lamb!
But I would settle for a piece of bread with some sweet berry jam.”
Prince Harry knew he had some mints, some Tic Tacs that were in the pair
of new red jeans he wore. He took them out and waved them in the air.
“Licorice too I have right here!” Prince Harry told the fairy.
“It’s not much, but please do eat. Later on, we’ll dine and make merry.”
Prince Harry placed the fairy Terry on his pale white horse.
Then away the royal with the fairy hastened on his homeward course.
All day long they rode and rode. When the fairy started to groan.
Suddenly, from the horse, both the man and fairy were thrown.
Hungrily, they paced beneath the setting sun and through the night.
They pressed on until morning. Harry’s residence came into sight.
Prince Harry’s wife had supper ready, and she’d made a pie.
From utter happiness, the fairy thought that he might die.
She heated up their food for them. They both had grown so pale!
She listened as the fairy Terry told his tragic tale. . .
of how he’d lost his way and, for food, had not one crumb
until her dear spouse rescued him. At last, his prince had come!
Long poems, short poems
Wide poems, narrow
High poems, low poems
Romance, Cupid's arrow
Old poems, new poems
Red poems, blue poems
Luddite poems, uptight poems
Bawdy poems - screw 'em
Flower poems, color poems
Nature poems galore
Tall tales and whoppers
Who knows what's in store
Rhyme & Meter, Foot & Beat
Metaphor or Simile
Triolets and Woe is Me
Dot the i's, cross the t's
Stirring Odes and Tributes
Limericks, Epitaphs
If not too darn serious
Some will make you laugh
Futuristic? The past's terrific
Everything is unspecific
You see
~ Just call it Poetry
At This Wake, None Keep Vigil…*
Time longer than rope, chokes hearts
dangling in the reality of struggle;
refuted victories mimic life
of children without mothers; widows veil
their grief, wailing in excruciating silence.
Fragments of men, void of hope,
count their dead; communal graves
swell with daily souls of the dust.
(Indeed, these are truly the wretched of the earth.)
In the neap tide of sorrows, mourners
wade the blood left by Pilate’s children.
In the stale winds of time,
woe is me, cries the fore shaken
land; lamenting the scriptures, echoing
Freneau: They saw their country’s woe.
Decaying bodies, stacked like sliced, molded bread,
released spores of death to praying mourners, praying:
give us this day, our daily bread…
Like a sobbing bosom void of tears, life sags on;
and the children of Sisyphus continue to struggle:
guided by the warrior ghost of hope.
In the meanwhile, the on looking world veils
Itself with its sacred sealed silence:
At this wake, none keep vigil…
None.
*A line from the poem, “Recession”, by Wole Soyinke
Just because I'm working on my mental health
Doesn't mean I think I'm better than a person who chooses to stay unwell
It just means
I'm working on my internal dialog daily, and I'm not perfect, at the very least, well.
I'm working on making myself content with knowing the past versions of myself
For instance,
Today, I had to set a 5-minute timer to allow myself to wallow in my own guilt surrounding yesterday's choices
This my sweet little psyche always chooses to think and ruminate on during the worst times and hours of the following day
90% dramatized, I guess I should say
Apparently, I really need to feel that sharp impale during the 5 minutes of living today's moments with yesterday's guilt and shame, during
that timeout period
I chose to take today with yesterday's pain that is actually 10% real
This I realize when I am out of my anxiety driven panic state because
let's face it, when we're in it
Time's just an illusion; the world is ending and
The sky is falling yet still
I am stopping to focus on
Yesterday's spilled milk? Haha
Guilt...
I hate you
You make me lose moments in days
Focusing on hours you already claimed
To re-live feelings that were derived from
False impersonations of the characters those
past versions of me played
Why the heck am I still walking onto this unappealing, applaud lacking stage
Only to draw center to all things I wished I could reclaim
Guilt, you are the main villain in this play
Still, you, too, have a significant role to play
So yeah, I'm working daily on myself
The thing is guilt, regret, and shame are just reoccurring roles
I sometimes get in costume to play and recreate, for those 5-minute timeouts I need to take
In those moments, I feel unwell
I think it's a way to keep me regulated and on the forever path to improving wellness within myself
It's more a timed woe is me opportunity
As I still have to take a bow out and do a few oh hell no's
To save my sanity
“WOE IS ME”, CRIES THE WEARY LAND…
As the day bade its circadian farewell, the fleeing sun
withdrew its glow from weary war worn trees;
on distant plains, vacant honey hives no longer
buzz with the songs of industrious bees.
The thunder of exploding bombs rains down dreaded death
in the midst of innocent crowds;
as the swollen moon struggles to peep through spiraling
wind blowing smoke and eerie clouds.
What is it in the psyche of man that cause
destruction of his own kind?
Can’t man see that wanton wars will cause us
to run out of time?
“Woe is me” cries out the blood soaked weary land;
When will peace triumph over this insanity of man?