I find myself upon the woodland’s floor.
Adrift am I each time wind starts to blow.
My brothers and my sisters are no more.
How long I’ve wandered I don’t even know!
I yearn for days of warmth when all was green
and birdsong filled the air. I miss my home.
I feel wind’s fury as I now careen.
My fate I dread. Oh, how long must I roam?
My color that changed crimson has grown dim.
Has God a care for me? I've withered small.
The cold comes creeping and the sky’s gone grim.
I tremble, sorrowing to see snow fall.
If verdant bliss awaits each dying tree,
what of its leaves? May snow come bury me.
Vexations after vexations file on
In this temporal succession here;
And even the best zeal and effort
Meet cold uncertainty and fear.
Petty foes give way to petty foes
In strenuous strivings here below;
And even the soberest of hours
Is fraught with sorrow and woe.
And no new joy that melts here
That’s not with fresh sorrows dealt;
Till the merriest hour in this sojourn
Is as close-punctuated mourning felt.
So now let every minute go
And every new hour emerge;
This soul shall no joys expect
But will silently mime its dirge.
another day has passed away
and night again does fall
and this morning when I awoke
I hoped somehow that it would be
like it was so long ago
knowing though it would not be
some how as dreams fade away
it is so easy to believe
that today will not be
just the same as yesterday
and somehow you will be here
just the same as you once were
oh how my heart does yearn
just with you to be again
and to hold you in my arms
but I know it will not be
and yet I did somehow all day
have these feelings that wouldn’t slip away
Sorrowing again throughout the day
as I do now every day
and leave me mourning in the dark
at the end of another day
In a coiling maze
mortars fume.
Crimson cadavers
dye the verdant soil.
Poison spears plunge
craters into young flesh.
Scattered moans rise
into the sorrowing air
of deafened canons
and carbon.
No succour or welcome
for the maimed.
Only ghosts
of peace.
Those we love don’t go away.
They walk beside us every day.
I don’t see this as consolation,
for I’d rather they enter the pearly gate.
Nevertheless, do they follow us,
the sorrowing cheek, somehow caress?
Some picture my mom and twin with
manhattans, a cheer of cherry juice.
At first, my nose held floral scents,
a couple whisps in dream accents.
I’d wake up speedily, as Grandma
was surely at the head of my bed.
I believe, when they go, they’re near.
They leave us with comfort, not fear.
Still they must click their heels
on fine streets of gold and meet God.
So, I’m not sold on my dear one,
being near, but rather having fun.
Can you imagine all the beautiful places
and soul after soul to celebrate with?
Yes, I believe they stay long enough to
say goodbye, to dry our tears, to few.
I long to walk beside them every day,
On the brighter side, they won’t go away.
The roar of the crowd fills the air
The whistle blows, my heart pumping
Bucket for Bucket, foul for foul
A free shot soon to be coming
A needed break for the fans and players
As the game comes to a pause
The team devises their next move
A new perfect plan without flaws
A tense feeling overtakes the room
As the game is nearing a close
As every viewer is on the edge of their seat
A team’s grit and clutch begin to show
The end of a tied game, the tension rises
One chance and one shot each team owns
The suspense, sharp in this one moment
As both team’s fate still unknown
As the ball drops through the net
The crowd arises in loud cheers
One team is left with joy and victory
While the other is left in sorrowing tears
Did I love you then
When first I saw you
Strong at Calvary
When first I saw you
Bloodstained
On the rising Cross?
Did I feel
You felt
The pain
That I inflicted
Sorrowing in hope
That Your crucifixion
Was my salvation?
Was it there
That love was born
Of truth
For me?
Long have they labored
in their mossy wetness.
Weeping stones,
time-etched into permanence.
For Those sorrowing marble angels
are no longer lamenting
A long-buried woe.
Sometimes I think they are God,
the way a field daisy is God.
The outer will reflect the within.
The granite masonry
softens; melts one eon at a time.
A prayer to speak for us all,
uttering just as gently
as any wind-dancing flower.
Those long falling tears,
once so sadly comforting,
they now sparkle
with each sun rise.
Do they live in the light of Gods eye,
just as do the very smallest
of meadow blooms?
North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette
as she enters God's
garden of youth.
The anguish tatters the
sails of my psyche,
as the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky.
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages.
No, please, no,
she is a precious one.
The dew glistens on the
peach-hued roses of
maiden innocence,
as if tears on an infant's cheeks.
Elena, our ballerina of grace,
death passes into life,
your beauty of a June magnolia
blossom-
charming the angels who
attend you.
Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy
still dwells in our midst.
Your name whispered in
summer's evefall starry music. ~
Sequestered
in this small niche of a loner life,
I am a sheltering lamp
held on high in a cloistered place.
No monk am I
nor hermit,
I walk with the multitudes,
dance the dance of the glad
and the sorrowing.
My small space
is tucked into a greater light,
where I reveal myself as alone
not just under any ordinary sun,
but as the Sun of all suns.
It is Good to be that Alone.
My love has passed away. What can I say?
I could tell so many stories from his life.
Things sad or funny. I could talk all day,
for no one knew him better than his wife.
I want for everyone to know that he
would lift me up, yet now he’s past the sky!
I hope he’s looking down on you and me.
Know this though: where he’s gone, doves don’t quite cry.
Mourning doves – when they cry – shed tears of joy.
They bring us peace though we be sorrowing.
I see my husband’s smile. It’s that of our boy.
Our children’s hopes we should be borrowing.
Loved ones live on through memories we share
with one other till we’ve all passed on
to the shining side, for I know that’s where
I’ll greet my love again one glorious dawn.
Stripped off naked,
She walked past
Through the weary path
She knew not where she went
Birds chirping and hovering,
The sorrowing songs from the crickets.
Trespass her humble mind
Leaving her with no choice than to sob
With her bare feet,
She tries to pamper the noisy rustle
From the dried leaves
Which in turn makes a jest of her
Her shadow,
Makes a Foss of her
Not being tender at all
Forming disfigured figures around her
Her pale body,
Bearing the benevolence
Of a rumbling and grumpy stomach,
The worms and intestines entangle
Deficiency she wears,
Her hair all scattered
Like that of an impotent rat
Lingeringly looking low
Patched with pains,
She looked above. Seeing further,
She reached for what she saw.
There was a rotten apple
As if the raven had witty pity on her
Alas she found peace,
When she hopelessly
Laid her heavy head
Amongst the pine
And distressed in the pool
Of her bleeding juice
Stop teaching people The Wrong:
“Water is not greater than wine?
I’ve heard one this tell a big throng
And for response got from them Fine”
For Normal thirst Water The Head,
During marriage Wine far ahead.
Water for who has just been fed,
Wine for The Sorrowing, two eyes red.
Water for The Visiting Saint,
Wine for whomever loves its scent…
But don’t, either, tell one The Flawed:
Wine isn’t sweeter than Water:
Wine drunk one cup too many floored;
You might make love to your daughter.
You left. I’m not full of anything but nothingness.
It’s an interesting feeling, nothingness. It hurts so badly you’d think something was there. But when I check, it’s empty. There’s nothing there.
I wept. My eyes burn like a thousand blazing suns, full of dust and grit that scrapes away my sclera until tears of blood drip red tracks down my cheeks.
There was something there.
No words. They erased my poetry the day you left. The words are forgotten and tasteless on my tongue. I lit a candle and seared my flesh to burn away any trace of myself, like a thousand blades tracing red lines into my skin. Was something here?
No songs. You took my voice with you beyond the veil of human sight. The phantom whispers will forever echo into the speechless abyss of my mind. Feeble scratches into my frail human papyrus, a promise never to be fulfilled. Were you ever here?
I’m empty. An emptiness so full of hate and pain and grief that I will never again be filled. It soaked into the lining of my chest cavity until every breath I take is drowning, seeped in sorrowing despair. The vivid imagery of a charnel house in human flesh. Death is here.
Oh happy day, dear friend: happy birthday
All the past you left behind
Now taking up a new task
Bear in your precious own mind
Not the burden to chasing rank
But the real good lessons
As you go through this unknown ways
The lord God's grace will keep your days
Happy birthday, dear young pretty dear
With success ever awaiting
Do not yield or falter
Through the battle, through defeat
Keep moving yet never stopping
Though we are mortal
And all the joyous, all the sorrowing
They are of us and with us to beat
God bless and increase you, Rowland
Believe it, Nigeria shall arise through you
When the long awaiting hope will be over
Keep the hope alive; history will appear
Do not be weary cos heroine march alone
There won't be many but few
Your unrelentingness will be the crown
The dream will never be shattered
Hope you had enough fun Joanee, cheers!
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