Ruing Poems

Wistful

Wistful, 
       wondering why.
                 Weeping. 
She cried alone, 
      as she sat 
             on rugged rock,
                 ruing she ever loved.


Placed 2

The Prodigal Cries

Deafening 
   rapid fire blasts 
Shatter
   the transluscent margins of
Silence 
   with
Harrowed cries
   gasped

Howls 
   echo from one side to the other
Of the heart’s vast arena
   with a repeating chorus 
    of ruing
Pleas

Of the gone lost
Groaning for home
  in frayed syllables

Grasping 
  at last
To a measure of hope 
Possible 
  in a faith’s apologies
And abiding love’s 
Pronounced touch 
  of forgiveness…





** “I am the prodigal son every time I search for 
unconditional love where it cannot be found.”  
Henri Nouwen: “ The Prodigal Son “

—————————
(c) sally eslinger 2/3/2025

Non-Fiction In the New Yorker

If the subject is appealing,
I’ll, at first, begin to read,
Though the facts with which I’m dealing 
Are way more than what I need.

All the knowledge that I’m gaining,
By the time I reach page 3,
Can’t prevent my interest waning
And I’m sure it’s not just me.

Aren’t the editors aware of
When a story is too long?
For as readers, we despair of
Lack of reining in what’s wrong.

What I mostly end up doing
Is abandoning, mid-stream,
Someone’s effort, rarely ruing
That it might be gaining steam.

Still, I’ll stick with my subscription;
Through its pages I will comb.
What might cause a true conniption
Is an enigmatic poem!

Mundus Novus

Devoid of old qualms and ruing sigh
Wing your arc for purer stratum high,
Past's mortal morsels I urge forsake
For dainty victuals sage angels take. 

As mighty Retribution's brooms sweep
Away avarices that now huddled weep,
Your best plume beyond trite ethers ply
Into loftier climes where finer eagles fly. 

Viral cloud your heaven-sent comrade is
If you’ll hit hardest with no goofing miss,
And task your swiftest flappers out of Old 
Woods into pristine joys of the New World.

Eternal Kindness her illuminator holds
To undim cumuli's ill-bivouacked folds,
And Divine Treasury total expense pays
Till the last of your wise-wayfaring days.

Soar whilst sagest angels' soirée lasts,
As fierce Retribution's viral cloud casts
Nebulous guiles to outsmart hardy foes,
And Kindness her aiding flickers throws.

Is It Too Late

Why such disgust on our last date?
I earned your trust; you made me wait
by piles of rust outside your gate.
Lie in the dust of your own hate,
sigh if you must, ruing your fate.
Spy me nonplussed under such weight
cry in a gust, a stormy spate.
My cause is just - is it too late?

Cupid Clinkers and Blinkers

Love in its majesty and spendour
Visits hearts kind and unkind
Waxing her odour and ardour
To help the love-lost to find

Little spaces, loving faces
Enamoured enough
To rise from surfaces
Where disappointment tough and rough

Lampoons discomfiture
Inflicted in the name
Of a culture whose stricture
Makes the lost lame

With heartbreaks
Torrents of tears
Ruing mistakes
Made as fears

Sprang on the lost the illusion
Baked in their soft centre
In reaction to the disaffection and delusion
That feelings may never enter

Into contests
Where the ruthless inflict maximum pain
Under pretexts
A go at love in the main

Signifies a journey on the back of futility
Backed up by contrary advice
Veering towards the volatility
Love tags along in every slice

Love snaps on suitors 
Mad
Enough to pose as imitators
Of sad

Hearts that cried
Once smitten
To the core when they tried
To tame love forgotten

Into the dustbin of history
Replete with burnt fingers
Whose mixed blessing story
Singe many Cupid singers.

Missing the Mark

saved soul
soiled from living
ruing
the mark that's missed
joy

Love No Love

’Twas raining cats and dogs, 
Then a hard drizzle over the bogs.
I was the one with umbrella in-house; 
But a girl needed to reach her house - 
Beauty this deep must not souse!

This girl I offered to helping, 
But heard me some fellas yelping: 
Your best chance, your best try!
Yet soaking to keep her dry,
Put my umbrella over hairs plaited wry.

If only she'll look me with a smile,
It’ll make wooing a thing worthwhile; 
But all the uneasy way through, 
On her face she wore a forbidding cool
As though I smelled of a kiddy’s stool.

I took her number, nonetheless, 
Promising to bring an umbrella no less
Every time the heavens poured.
But on reaching my place of board, 
And seeing it a figure short was bored.

Argh! howled I in a voice so mean,
Ruing the guile she wreaked upon m’being.
So next time the rains were to fall, 
Swore I the darkest oath of all,
My umbrella she’ll never have this doll!

Maryann Sage -- Part Uno

MaryAnn Sage

Approximately one and a half score minus seven years ago
this then naïve and innocent early twenty something, 
   now a middle aged, diamond in the rough, jaded
   two plus decades slavish married male did not realize 
   his fare maiden perfect form, she a capricorn 
   (who also shared same January 13th birthday as myself,
   though a half dozen years Mycenae senior 
   hovered in mine immediate proximity,     
   a mere hello kitty whisker away, 
   which accompanying cat’s eye soft nose a pet smart appetite    
   saw me weight tool screwed up 
   to revere mother of pearl opal mate ideal beau 
now ex post facto finds yours truly ruing foregone soul mate to crow
in vain, though I cannot help pining and lamenting where art thou – dow
ting she (MaryAnn Sage, a young whirled, wide webbed childless divorcee, 
   a couple of years shy of thirty)
   ponders whereabouts of this contemplative, furtive 
*         *         *         *          *        *          *          *        *        *

Ubiquitous Man

a false man, a true man
a crooked man's strife
a litany of sins, as long as his life

a young man, an old man
a man for all times
a scale that will measure much more than his crimes

a thin man, a fat man
a man as he's made
a price not to bargain, but simply be paid 

a cold man, a warm man
a gentle man's fate
a changing for better, before it's too late

a strong man, a weak man
a just man at last
a chance now to live life, not ruing the past

a live man, a dead man
a peaceful man rests
a time to reflect on his worsts and his bests

a rare man, a common man
ubiquitous man
a time to come home now, to where he began

The Burden

Saved soul
Soiled from living
Sin rues

Ruing
Of the mark missed
Joy

Joyful
Burdens lifted
New lease  

Written: December 01, 2014

Syria 2012

Tearing through flesh
Shattering bones
No organs spared

Beautiful child playing with her friends
A fearful confused young rebel
The baker trudging to work at dawn
An elder reflecting and ruing the past

The bullet has no conscience
No memory
Only an inevitable path

Why?

Michael Newman MD
Doctors without Borders

William Shatner Dies

William Shatner Dies

 By Elton Camp

 Earth scientists eagerly scan the sky
Signs of intelligent life hoping to spy

 Whatever its nature they don’t care
Just anything to know they’re there

 If the aliens the same thing are doing
Could mean that some will be ruing 

 Television signals at light speed
Could be all that the aliens need

 To know intelligent life’s been found
That maybe they should look around

 At “I Love Lucy,” they did sneer
Later came signals that brought fear

 “Star Trek” showed a people growing
Who about space travel are knowing

 “This race has become to us a threat.
So it’s an intervention they’ll get.”

 “Captain Kirk’s their leader it’s clear.
With him dead, there’s less to fear.”

 Zorkians came to Earth at warp speed
They found old Kirk to do the deed

 “Stop.  William Shatner’s my name.”
Is what their victim loudly did proclaim

 But then the awful news the actor heard
For “fiction,” Zorkians have no word

 The phasers the aliens took off of stun
Then for poor Shatner, it was no fun!

 An actor confused with the part he plays
It’s dead on the ground that he now lays

My Mission Statement

I'll be as kind as I can be, practicing sincerity.
I'll do my best at what I'm best at doing,
but what I can't do well, I won't be ruing!

For Rick Parise's 1-3 Line Poetry - 
Your Life "Mission Statement" Poetry Contest

A Universal Truth

A Universal Truth

By Elton Camp  

The kings orders, his subjects hasten to obey
But in his own castle it doesn’t work that way

He can give commands when he thinks needed
By his wife you can be sure they’re unheeded

The prince can give the princess instructions all day
But it’s almost certain she won’t do what he may say

The duke may tell the duchess what she’s to do 
If he says she obeys, about other things he’s untrue

The serf may tell his wife what she should be doing
But the day he tries to enforce it one he’ll be ruing

So great wealth or power don’t really mean a thing
True of any man when into a house a wife does bring

The man who thinks a rebellious wife he’ll slap down
Is probably one of the very dumbest ones to be found

For if by violence he forces her to his will to comply
To never go to sleep and night, he sure needs to try

To stay alert both day and night he had better prepare
Lest she finds a chance to damage him beyond repair

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