Friends Missing Poems | Examples
These Friends Missing poems are examples of Missing poems about Friends. These are the best examples of Missing Friends poems written by international poets.
IN AND OF MISSING BELOVED FRIENDS
Need no more troubles,
Stop following Satan’s way;
Be in that of God’s:-
Don’t you miss God’s peace and love?
They didn’t leave you; you left them:-
By the time we entered the halls of
High School, something had changed.
We saw each other at a distance, in the
Hall, across the campus. If we were still
friends, we certainly were no longer close
And buddies as we once had been, such a short
While ago. We were Yates, Yank, Fonzy, Bobbie,
Jordan, and me, Cj.
We cared for each other, but time and space,
new place and new faces changed all that.
How amazing to think that after elementary
school, we dispersed and went our separate ways.
I heard that Fonzy died some 50 years ago. I spoke to Bobbie once by phone some 25 years ago, but have not seen any of them for nearly 60 years.
Oh how refreshing it would be just to see
Any of my long lost buddies just one more time.
Beuracratic twee Bridgend..Has banned a
Donkey ride buisness, thats been on the go'
For over, one hundred years; my friends!
Such great interaction with good muscle workouts..When the donkeys
Saw action.' I reckon they walked in dry, the damp; and rain.' Being usefull to their humans is for them no pain.' Tactile animals they enjoy being the attraction.!! Bringing
Smiles to kids faces, and much satisfaction..Inner city children maybe some blind, feeling fur and maybe not?
Left out? Or behind.? Jay Bateman their
Owner is so very sad..I a just see straightjacket
Manner, when all is said.' A clinical answer
To a non-existent irk..Being rammed
Down Porthcawl shoreline..Though in reality it don't
Work.'
"Humans delight in the comfort of friends.
If not, the joy of commingling ends."
__by Poet
My neighbor, next door, remains single-
It seems she knew not how to mingle.
She refused to join in
And would not let us win-
Just stayed in her human-proof dingle.
One day, we created a jingle
Hoping it would send her a tingle!
“Joining groups, so much fun
You'll be pleased when it's done!”
She hung her “do not disturb" shingle!
She never did quite intermingle-
Strong neighbor support soon did dwindle.
So she missed the delight
Of her God-given right-
To share in the joys to commingle.
One of my poetic friends has disappeared
I have not heard from her for a couple of years
She lived alone, was alienated from her sister
Their parents were gone
Is she okay? What happened to her?
I reached out to another poet
One who used to collaborate with her
He said his emails stopped being answered
It is curious how our friends can disappear
without any explanation at all
missing
but not forgotten
I find in today's world,
books and readers are missing.
Where have the readers gone?
Why are books so unattractive?
Could it be the style of writing or even their covers?
Years ago many would share their books with friends,
telling them the book was a must read.
Does the book hold the reader,
or does the reader hold the book?
The style of book needs to entice the reader to read,
starting with a catchy and colorful cover.
Yes, the beauty of any book,
is in the reader's eye to behold and enjoy reading.
Close friends don't know the pain I feel
My broken heart can never heal
Your sudden death was long ago
The pain I feel, close friends don't know
I can't forget your dying breath
Was long ago your sudden death
To think of you makes me upset
Your dying breath I can't forget
Alone each night, I feel so blue
Makes me upset to think of you
To laugh or smile does not feel right
I feel so blue alone each night
I'm depressed, there's no denial
Does not feel right to laugh or smile
I can't be bothered getting dressed
There's no denial, I'm depressed
Loved all those times we met for tea;
My friends from our old garden club.
Now, many cannot come to share;
Our group is dwindling every year.
Pray those above, still carry on.
in a world of make believe
of people hooked on games
and scenarios seen on screens
people have become expendable
everyone is now jaded
content in their isolation
closing in onto themselves
with a growing distaste for socializing
we've become cynical and antisocial
friendship no longer a commodity
we smile and nod without oversharing
not letting anyone into our bubble
time is a factor we refuse to squander
we ration it in order to survive
to manage our stressful life
valuing our down time
we prefer to chill out and be alone
than to spend time with others
we're frugal with our energy
we don't invest in our relationships
sadly we’ve forgotten how valuable
rare true friends can really be
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I thoroughly liked the western soothing delta breeze
I don't like the southern discomforting delta freeze
But it's a new season, and in time, I will adjust
And anticipate the good things that's left
It's starting to feel like the place we belong
It's a familiar region where I once called home
But presently, my childhood friends are gone
Our best friends are now far from our new home
I miss the western sun and predictable weather
But I mostly miss our children and times together
Our memories are great, but we are making new ones
However, I am happy that we brought a memory stone
How much I miss you/
Words can not explain/
You're so far away from me/
I have to close my eyes/
And reach into my mind/
To bring you forth/
To wrap my arms around you/
To show you how much I miss you/
Life makes me lonely/
I truly miss you/
Everytime I see your face/
The sun shines down on me/
Which makes me/
Miss you more than ever/
Can you see or feel my sorrow/
Even though you're/
Not in my life anymore/
I will always miss you/
Oh.../
Why did you all abandon me/
I never done the crime/
But I don't think I need your pity/
In life/
We find out the hard way/
Who our true friends are/
Between two oceans I do roam,
unsure which to call my home.
Raised on the west coast, transformed on the east: I know enjoy a lobster feast.
Two seasons: three wet one dry, or four with a summer so short I could cry.
Which do I love more I cannot say, for I love them both in their own way.
Its family and friends that really call. Dividing my time between them all.
A birthday here, a zoom call there; I can't be expected to be everywhere.
Truly, what decides, is what's in my heart and in my mind.
Through memories fond and a bond that is strong I am always at home, wherever I roam, between the two oceans I call my home.
As my years have tumbled by
And I’ve tumbled quite a few
Often, I will contemplate
What I miss and what I need
Yes, the given resonates
Family, friends, all those I’ve lost
Yet, I speak of something else
Once, for granted, now so rare
Especially when younger folks
I should have the chance to meet
Maybe, one of many will
See through veils of dated skin
Maybe one sees value still
Seems that I can always tell
Yes, what lifts my spirits so
Is simply, plainly, interest
I am a vibrant shade of red,
And my human wears me to bed.
I am part of a pair,
And we live in the sock drawer, always there.
Sometimes we get dirt on us,
And we can hear our human fuss.
Into the big washing machine,
So we can get clean.
The soapy water feels so good,
As it should!
But wait!
Where's my mate?
He is nowhere to be found.
Was he left on the ground?
Into the dryer to get dry.
I feel like I'm going to cry.
Round and round we go,
But Tom does not show!
Laundry is folded in the room,
And without Tom, I meet my doom.
Into the bottom drawer I'm put.
I see many socks for just one foot.
I have made many new friends,
And that's how my story ends.
Where do all the pens go
that's what I wanna know
Did we give them to friends
who might keep them (depends)
Maybe burglars stole them
but not jewelry or gem
Or snagged by the goblins
scribbling with impish grins
They might move, we forget
--the final place it set
In a pile of papers
those inky escapers
Did they all take a hike
their pens' union on strike
Joined up with art supplies
--their artistic allies--
Hidden deep in the drawer
wishing to write no more
Check the desk! Check my purse
cuz nothing could be worse...
...than when a pen's needed
but they've all receded--
--to some faraway realm...
of untraceable whelm
(Inspired by Anne Frank's "Ode to my Fountain Pen")