There is an old bottle
in New York
with a rolled up letter
and a rotting cork
That rested in peace
on a bedside table
near a gray wrinkled lady
--quite unable--
To wash his words
from her thought
--for he did sink
but she did not--
She found joy at least
in our Savior, with hope
of Him wiping each tear away
lest she mope
Every night, Trina lay awake
to pray
she'd see her Samuel
in Heaven someday
Where his wish to be with her
they'd finally realize
and he could gaze
into her beautiful blue eyes
Carrying on with her life
God --till the end-- did bless
but with the tender ache...
of a million laughs less
[That poem was my response to reading "Below Deck on The Titanic" by Richard Lamoureux, another entry in the ‘Titanic-Fare Thee Well” Contest sponsored by Tom Woody. It is a must-read to understand the poignance of my last line! :( poetrysoup.com/poem/below_deck_on_the_titanic_1616315#gt]
POIGNANCE
magniicence
vivid
towering
eloquently
glowing
heraLding
alternatives
lies
impassive
passionless
an
established
longing
&
celebration
of
an
exact
moving
restraint
There's something in Billie Holiday's voice
and sad searching eyes, it cuts...
through the core my soul!
Date written: 01/22/2021
Deep inside my past did stir
against the present's whirlwind blur
No picture, story or recording
could match its poignance, affording
me a veil to lift, to uncover
a past well lived, my secret lover
Rays of sunshine of a thousand suns fill up my heart and lungs
Polaroids arent the only things i have lost
Wars arent the only things i have won
filters on my tongue and screen blur the scene and block the scream
I raise bars and delinquents
Novas shine for my rejects
They're televising our revolution while shedding our blood
Drapes cover my mouth and eyes
They despise , analyse and paralyse
But never dare to relinquish my shrine
The shrine in the depth of my mind is your home
Overseas it's just your confine
Poignance is in resonance but it pauses just for you
your hopes freefalling with aches and i deem solace yet ask
Do you ever count the waves that crash down to build you?
here, in the stillness
in the poignance of silence
the promise of light
© Gail Foster 18th December 2016
John McCrae wrote a poem in 1915,
Called In Flanders Fields about his dead friend Alexis Helmer,
On May the third, after he had presided over his funeral,
Where graves spattered about the poppy field so beautiful and red.
The colour represented the blood that was spilt,
Whilst remembering the energy which was so necessary;
Red for vigour, red for bloodshed, both remembered,
And red for the freedom to be understand with poignance.
Read In Flanders Fields at
http://www.inflandersfields.be/en/knowledge-center/online/the-in-flanders-fields-poem
Mist loiters with poignance
Enchanting... near silence
With distant jubilance, beloved wood pigeon
Praise calls Dawn
Invites her welcoming gaze
She adorns chiffon and lace
Sheer elegance enters
Eyes praise her dew drop smile
She promises much today
Unveil her aura as a slow release
So we may
Observe
Listen
Smile
Inhale her sweetest of scent
Pure as crisp cool linen
As..
Grass bends submissively, weighty dew
Which tinkers delightful
To the beads of life
Movement
Light
Pearlised webs adorn her as dignified jewels
She is oh so smileworthy
As promising as a brand new lover
Unveiling just for us
Thank you Mother
Nature
Shower Thee!Thy wealth,
to the greens that are black,
illuminating them,
heralding rejoice amidst dark.
Oh!rotund illusion,
how can I limn thy brilliance
through pen,for it
may disgrace Thy charm.
Maidens wake to sip the
sweetness of Thy milky nectar,
their eyes, fixed on Thee,
scoff the scorching Sun.
Thy short life,too transient,
engraves an eternal impression
deep in mind's obscure depths,
like a cascade of enamouring milk.
Thee,the solitary sailor,
plunge back to the horizon-
leaving a drop of tear in the eyes
and poignance in the heart.
DATE OF SUBMISSION:27/04/2011.
INSPIRATION:The beautiful moon has always been a constant source of inspiration to me and i'm a great lover of beauty.
Another defeat befalls her day,
finding herself in that poignance dismay,
leaving that yearning minds once again,
grazing by thorns, along that bloody lane.
Dashing hopes, he always grants her,
with her yelling hurt, yet she pleases her dear,
eyes pretending, in dark despair she lies,
her blissful moments, in their everlasting goodbyes.
Farseeing a blind, what awaits her fate,
deprived of a past, in weary she waits,
a downpour it heaps, who else will solace?
victim she becomes, in his devilish disgrace.
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