Perhaps
If I don’t get a new calendar
The days will cease to trouble me
Time ease itself into a crumpled past
If I celebrate each day
For itself, its special traits
I will not have to conform
To the heresy of history
We were all born
Why not just celebrate
Our presence in the moment
The coincidental friendship
Of passersby nodding in the rain
A gentle hand guiding a butterfly-like
Wisp of air
Altering the angst of a farewell
We will all pass
As will the fallen leaves
Floating downstream
Afloat on memories bubbles
Guided by the unseen current
Of an un-numbered day
It’s not always the big things that break us—
it’s the shimmer we miss
on the ordinary day.
When grief doesn’t arrive with a wail,
but as a subtle ache,
a missed beat,
a song that plays when no one’s listening.
I remember being happy once—
but I don’t trust the memory.
Too many mirrors,
too much static.
I learned to smile in sepia.
And when the world said, “Move on,”
I walked backwards.
Into the arms of ghosts
who knew my name before I lost it.
I wanted to be a woman who dances,
but I became a woman who waits.
I became a lighthouse with no boats to guide—
only fog.
We don’t always cry because we’re sad.
Sometimes we cry
because we can feel again.
We make altars out of wine glasses,
rituals from selfies and shopping carts.
But when we whisper to the stars,
we mean it.
I mistook money for meaning,
and silence for peace.
But the wind has a memory,
and my skin still listens.
I came here to remember.
To fall apart on purpose.
To dig up the bones of who I was—
and build something truer from the ruins.
Each line the poet delivers
Reveals his passionate heart.
Nuance and beautiful imagery
Set his poetic scenes apart.
Each new thoughtful observance
Is delineated and crystal clear.
In each syllable there is a measured
Symphony for me alone to hear.
He sees what others carelessly overlook.
He feels what they cannot embrace.
Each poem rises with rhyme and rhythm
To the tempo of his God-given grace.
Far above his fellow poets in measured
Skill and well-deserved praise,
He pours himself into every verse
With shining eyes and hopeful gaze.
Sharing wisdom, humor, and honesty,
He draws me in to Read again.
The nicety of life.
I don't conceive it with eyes,
I don't hear it with ears...
I feel and hear
with a vision of the spirit!
I've heard the opposite of love is indifference,
I think something different than that,
It's hate, though the hollows of nothing, far worse,
Solidified matter of fact,
Only through hate can we know of love's place,
Just as sweltering sweat makes us cold,
And the way that the moon steals sunlight for the night,
Day to dark, when cowards turn bold,
In my relative time here on Earth I have seen,
Blinding pain allows joy to exist,
And I think about life after death, God and hell,
Honestly hard to tell which is which,
I seek endlessly for answers to questions unknown,
Choose between keeping peace or to fight,
Finding yin and yang as a guide, always wrong,
But then again, never not right,
All the same, here we are, none and all, simultaneously,
Differentiating between the twos,
When one is the other, the other the one,
Dualities transcend me and you.
the leaves float gently
gather at the whim of a breeze
…envy the geese
a November rose
bows to shivering applause
…one last curtain call
a lone Cardinal
mocks the fiery Maple
…in motionless mime
a soft snow hushes
the sound of nature snoring
…on a silent night
the cat pounces
into the billowing leaves
…a feline frolic
an old man rakes leaves
remembering younger days
…. the children wait
John G. Lawless
©10/27/2022
Softly a breeze dances
across my cheek
Flowing through my hair
as if wanting to speak
Then lifting me up with
its gentle magic
Tenderly stroking my soul
so savory and sleek
As my body becomes
weightless and weak
Snuggling embracing you
so mildly meek
Flowing in sweet dips,
let us ride with an ease
Softest of whispers ask
can it tenderly tease
Soothingly tickling my
essence to please
Removing your stress spoiling
you in many degrees
Purring how my love for
you will never cease
A dreamy calm floats
on the clouds seas
In a delicate nuance as
troubles we will release
8/6/2020
NUANCE OF HUMAN BONDAGE
When I felt the emptiness of the barren landscape,
verdant imagination turning into dead wood
I looked through the aperture of hope
at my life’s kaleidoscope I built with care.
Its motif did attest I had a proclivity toward
telling stories of life in lucid verse.
So when I decided I should write the saga of my life
I was surprised at my audacious temerity
for I believed poets are born poets and I was not.
But I had felt how love blossoms in the heart
and how often it breaks.
I had seen how grown up chicks fly away from nest
and the bird often breaks the wings.
So when age is now buckling the spine
I spurt the shrinking marrow
to spark the creative neurons
so they could construct a muse in my brain,
help me write an anthology on my tryst with destiny,
on my life spanning the nuance of human bondage.
October 30, 2018
Natures Nuance
With the early morning rain
The fertile flowers campaign
The red robin builds his nest
The bumblebee starts its quest
Valleys spread their vernal view
As the mountains stretch their peaks
Raindrops dance a spilling spew
Rainbows refract, heaven speaks.
8 lines
Rhyme Scheme - AABB CDCD
7 syllables per line
May.27.2018
Eight Lines
Sponsored by: Joseph May
I stand looking down a long pathway
that bends in the glimmering green;
what waits of surprise or heartbreak or care
in the days ahead, unforeseen?
Behind me a trail, much longer I know,
than the one this new path unfolds
of days and years, of joys and tears,
each a step on my life's short road.
What lies beyond that twist in the trees
where thick shadows pool murky and dark
like a stagnant pond that traps the night
but reflects not the star's bright spark.
I do not know, I cannot see;
I dare not, though gifted some sight;
it is better to wait for my God knows best
how to blend every nuance of light.
Copyright, April 4, 2017, Faye Lanham Gibson
Nice to see the notice
Neatly posted on board
Nuance Needs Attention!
Nurture well each notion
Netted by casting deep
Note each iota jot
Neglect no detail, none.
Eyes of the world opened
Upon another tarnished day
Hardly a gaze un-thwarted
By morality in decay
When nuance of intension
Of what was meant to be
Is buried beneath hatred
Where eyes disdained don't see
Virtue fades to memory
Requiem in stories told
Of how the world should be
Unfilled with bitter cold
I fear for the children
Naive in their way
Faith placed in teachings
Hoping they're not led astray
Alas, this day is over
To bed I’ll find my way
Closing out extraneous
To dream of better days
~JJR 7/20/16
Pink and purple on the horizon this morn
Casting purple onto charcoal gray clouds
One lone Blackbird flies across sky forlorn
Nature close_ jet high in clouds flying proud
Mockingbird chatters as he flies nearby
How can he do all that at one time
Sun now orange as a pumpkin up high
Color is so fasinating like rhyme
Fog comes closer this morn, wraps me in shroud
Damp and cool but feels so light like shawl
Crocheted of lightest lamb's wool for bride worn proud
Lavender horizon like winter's day thaw
A few hours' time can make a difference
In nature; as years' changes are slight nuance
Set the tone
noisy version -
(some) explained boring conversation -
exhausted all rivals -
overcome all objectives -
unique style...
Closed and respected...
Your speak...I know what you can afford...
Closed and respected...
There I was doing introspection on life
or maybe not life, just love...
I’m positive that when the essence of love
Was thought off
no pain went into it.
So why are we going through
just as much pain, when we experience love?
Maybe we don’t know
what real love entails
what makes us choose so wrong?
I'm sure if we had a GPS
of where a relationship
would end up we would not pursue it
but in our quest,
we sometimes look back
and reckon it must have been special
for it to
last that long,
but heaven knows…
God never intended
for hurt to be part of love
so why do we punish ourselves?
Cling to something or someone
That does not reflect love?
Only heartache and broken promises,
in the end closing ourselves off
to the possibilities out there,
turning ourselves off from
that thing called REAL LOVE?
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.