Time and tide flit so fast,
Forgetting how mellow memo faded.
So long pain and pining last,
Getting missing mood brocaded.
Strings in both hearts, rent by retrospective rift,
Amid murky mopes, melody of yore adrift.
Ring on single finger, fretted by foreshadowing frost,
Unto wild wind, faith for future tossed.
Elvani, if your charm did forsake my flattened rhyme,
Let my word salad flounder to fetch the past of your prime.
Elvani, if my flavor did flee your muffled fife,
Let your unvented sighs fill and figure the rest of my life.
Categories:
mopes, for her, longing, romantic
Form: Romanticism
Withered fingers
Cannot play anymore;
I drown in nuanced shades of blue,
Not seeing, in my plight,
My strings, wound tight,
Suspending me
Like a puppet,
Tethered to life.
I in my tattered clothes,
Blue like sorrow,
Torn like the heart that hopes,
Unable to keep out the cold
Or cover the secrets I hold—
I am the man who mopes,
Holding my guitar close
As it whispers its chords
Whilst I, cross-legged, ponder
Life in rags and cardboards.
Back to the old routine:
Awash in blue,
This song’s for you:
Echoes of a gunshot;
The click of a trigger.
Categories:
mopes, art, music, suicide,
Form: Free verse
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
One girl grassed him up and the cops came along
And then he sang a quite different song
It was all consensual, he said, and harmless fun.
The boys in blue just shrugged and ran him in.
Now Sir mopes alone in his cold dark cell.
All that fun has consigned him to his time in hell
To his unending and abiding shame
The sex offenders' register now carries his name
Categories:
mopes, pain,
Form: Rhyme
She turns sixteen one cold December clime
He strings dissembling lover’s thorns so girthed
The sprouts of pristine virtue split by crime
The core is sore, this shriveled Rose is birthed
Though frigid Rose, she seeks to now resorb
In her befuddled plight, she mopes the night
Unless she grips the dim celestine orb,
This missy won’t discern the course to light
For limpid routes unveil the flourished trees
The cue this Rose reckoned to spring to growth
With flower buds resurging strong in breeze
The core once sore is now in timely blowth
She’s now eighteen one blissful, springy morn
Before the world, this blossomed Rose is born
Categories:
mopes, 12th grade, innocence, journey,
Form: Sonnet
Three boyfriends have I, whom I could marry
Just hit '39' again, so I'd better not tarry
#1's hair is so long and so curly
I don't know anyone cuter
Sleeps all day, and mopes nights away
I call him 'My Active Brooder'
#2 seems polite, a man with some manners
but when he gets mad, ain't nobody ruder
He's into MK-47's, MAGA, the NRA
I call him 'My Active Shooter'
#3's vision's amazing, like Superman's
though frankly, there's nobody lewder
He stares at every skirt that comes his way
I call him 'My Active Denuder'
O, What should I do, I just can't decide
I've got to get married, before I die
Wait - My cat's my best friend, I'll marry him
I'll start a Go-Fund-Me, get 'Jaspar' neutered
Categories:
mopes, adventure, boyfriend, marriage, proposal,
Form: Rhyme
Look what I've done to my poor schnauzer Ray
When I yelled, be more like your sister May!
She's better than you are
Chasing not bird, goose or car
Now he just mopes in the corner all day
2/27/23
Categories:
mopes, humor,
Form: Limerick
I belong to an abscondered valley...
Where people are squandered by the armed moochers...
The whimsical parasites are more bigoted than a malingerer...
A false dogma- to Shanghai , to deadlock and then to murder; is what they feel their pride on...
To witness massacres, mopes and moodiness is all what they yearn to flourish for...
The lewd creatures feel they are husky enough to eradicate anyone coming their dirty way...
To kill the husbands and maim the children; is what they feel is their timepass fun...
They ridicule the senile ones too,...
They are fiendish draftsman and a plague for the entire kind...
The time coming will surely make them pallid and relentless would the time be...
The devout would rise and finish the remaining flithe...
For I believe my home will be free as it once stood...
Bounded by mountains, the children will be busy playing hopscotch and hide and seek...
The lovers would be enjoying the early spring in the meadows so high and bright...
The Chinar leaves will bid a rustling goodbye...
The place called paradise would be synonymous withy valley...
For the fact ,..., it is actual heaven; if it exists on earth...
Categories:
mopes, anger, autumn, emotions,
Form: Free verse
She had many sad stories,
they were filed away, labeled,
color coded;
tales presented as apocryphal bibles.
He would listen as she pulled them out
of her droning breast,
intoned then as if reciting
poetry to an acolyte sponge.
Her stories festered the air
with pitiful sorrows,
scratched yet more stigmata
upon hide-bound woes.
White paper moths would fly up to his eyes
as if to illustrate her narratives;
tissue thin, he would see within them
the many skeletons of her living ghosts,
bones free now of all minerality,
fish-wet and wriggling
in the gel of a long preserved plasma.
He often closed his ears
to make his lips numb. The nasal gnarl
of her broken voice
coated his tongue with sticky commiserations,
a jejune sympathy
that had the texture of mildewed goatskin.
Her words mechanically ticked off
every injustice and persecution
ever heaped upon a martyred mind.
Eventually though, her deep well of mopes
dried to a blubber of sighs.
Then all those emaciated moths
would flutter around her
anointing her echoing skull
with a seeping urine-like substance
she called love.
Categories:
mopes, poetry,
Form: Free verse
we invited her into our home
she settled in and stayed
that’s simply how the two of us
a threesome we became
it was him me and that other woman
still never a dispute or cross word
the plan was to be the three of us for good
but one day suddenly gone he was
never to return he left us to our own devices
me with the other woman all alone
she shared our daily life
privy to intimate deep secrets
she got so close I’m not surprised she mopes
and I catch her on occasion shed a tear
it sure is different now without him
she keeps her distance and I keep mine
she’s off real quiet in her own world
and that’s just fine with me
but I know she misses him as much as I
at times to keep the peace
and break the silence
as loud as loud can be
I’ll call out clear across the room
‘Alexa, good morning…’ and
politely all's forgotten
she tells me to have a great day
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on June 20, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (JUN 22) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Originally posted on February 8, 2021
Categories:
mopes, friendship, lost love, relationship,
Form: Free verse
21 June 2020 9:33 AM
Love and Kindness are a wonderous couple
When one is increase the other is doubled
Love is a beautiful lady indeed
Caring and giving to all in need
Long golden tresses glowing with hope
A smile filled with cheer that never pouts nor mopes
Her pure silken complexion white as the morning snow
Her stature and steps so sure where she goes
Faithfull to Kindness her companion so dear
In his arms there is nothing for her to fear
Kindness is a gentleman true
Man kind is his business, his care takers due
Eyes that see what can be and not what is
His heart is all wise and knows just what to give
His shoulders are strong and longsuffering as trees
His legs ever enduring and rushing to need
His arms are gental with strength for all
His stature is humble he is never to tall
Together they wander this world hand in hand
Dispersing the hatred and fears of man
Categories:
mopes, love,
Form: Rhyme
Eternally Lovely now,
The Bride of my Dream of Gold.
And rolling down grassy slopes,
Whose smiling heart ne’er grew old.
Eternally Helpful, too
The Braid in my burgeoned beard
That round my loquacity ropes
And sees that I’m rightly reared.
Eternally wise and kind,
The Bread of His Life and strength
The Child of the King of Hopes
The Lifeline of endless length.
She rides through the ethers now
E’er calling forth clouds of snow
The crying child, helps, as he copes
Wherever his troubles may go.
And so, I have finished my tale,
Except the Divinest part
The poor fool who grumps and mopes,
She JOLTS by her Heavenly Art!
Categories:
mopes, angel, blessing, funny, happy,
Form: Rhyme
Results restore, relieving remedy
Steadying hopes, hollowing mopes
Chairs emptied, weighted sheet
Remembrances brightened, life faded
A stiffening corpse; a diminishing soul.
Patience' patient, praying promises
Fluctuating lines, straining worry
Clocks ticked, silenced moments
Scents inhaled, senses scarred
An ascending ward; an enclosing avenue.
Dissuasive doubt, deceiving dread
Strength surviving, breaths succumbing
Knowing accepted, shielded blows
Conclusions heard, pleas muffled
An expecting outcome; an overwhelming expression.
Passing passes, pacing plight
Support soothing, spirits' ceasing
Respects bound, softened faces
Comfort surrounds, cushions displaced
A mirroring grasp; a wavering mirage.
Spoken speech, soaking smudges
Tears draining, fears responding
Distance grown, shoveled sympathies
Togetherness wards, loneliness postponed
A returning thought; a drowning realization.
Categories:
mopes, death, deep, feelings, funeral,
Form: I do not know?
Villanelle: Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune
Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune
Does he who strums vocal chords show them the ropes
Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune
The sergeant-major pulls rank when opportune
Though captains and majors aren’t exactly dopes
Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune
To the Western ear the Eastern’s mono-tune
Do harps and harpsichords belong in same groups
Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune
Do the Police join the band to play to tribune
Or just one or two here and there simply mopes
Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune
Blame must fall if blame at all on top dog goon
The mess people in power make envelopes
Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune
The blame for this world the way it has been sewn
Goes for whatever makes possible human dopes
Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune
Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Categories:
mopes, betrayal, leadership, power, ,
Form: Villanelle
with the tilt of the head,
and a heart so heavy...
he sits on the floor of his home,
thinking every moment about his capital levy...
for there are days,
with nothing to pass the time,
the god himself is staying so long,
and the dryness has dried the pond's slime...
the particles of the dust ready to enter the skin,
with the skin showcasing designer patches,
they never bothered playing in the dust,
roaming around with the deep itchy scratches...
there's no fire,
not a dime for the mere matchstick,
the dampness is breaking the strength,
And so is breaking the house's every brick…
still, they live, they live like mopes,
carrying a soul, with the least of their hopes,
for they believe, a chariot might come to take everyone in their house,
until then they will wait, and they will not let their flames douse…
Categories:
mopes, children, funeral, god, poverty,
Form: Rhyme
Let some hope dreams reach arms
first,
Yet come cope. Seems each charm
burst
Frets from dopes' schemes. Speech
harms worst.
Debts numb popes. Teams preach
warm thirst;
Wet rum. Roped beams breech
barms! Cursed
Vets hum mopes! Streams leech!
Farms nurse
Pet bums? Nope! Gleams screeched
swarmed hearse!
Categories:
mopes, angst
Form: I do not know?
Related Poems