Sorrowing Poems | Examples

Those We Love

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.

A Double-Sided Coin: Playoffs

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?

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?

Graveyard Angels

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?

Elena

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. ~

Alone

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.

When Doves Cry

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.

Lone

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

Water Is Not Greater Than Wine

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.

Nothing There

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.

Be Not Weary

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!

Being

Once by a waterfall,
once in an Ashram, once in a Church,
a boxing match, a fair ground,
a funeral, a birth, Once in the bloom
of murmuring starlings.

Once in a once and only.
Once in every moment given to itself.

Alone in a forest, finding the single root.
watching the swift flowing –
inside the falling, not falling.

Once in a while, in the never-ending.
Once in a war, once in a sorrowing,
Inside, outside and entering.
Killing and planting.

Not shadow nor the substance,
not the swift flow of past and future,
not chased, not running after.

All this instant there is,
not coming, or going -
being.

From a Dream, Three Quatrains Gifted

From A Dream, Three Quatrains Gifted


The Searching

I went forth into the windy forest
Through thistles, thorns and falling day
Crossing umber meadows and flowing stream
Forever seeking that which hath fled away.


The Flying

I went forth into midnight sleeping
From spinning cloud to cloud I fled
Far below, slow breeze comforted Fate
Whilst I slept alone in my bed.


The Denying

I went forth into tomorrow's churnings
As a child lost in the sorrowing haze
The sun there was a ball of distant red
And I, falling into its infinite blaze.

Robert J. Lindley, 4-12-2022
Poetry

Note:
Ok, note becomes the fourth, but definitely was not intended to be..
Thus, editing it now to give it the proper title..


The Understanding

Waking to rise, inking verse to stay afloat
O but a few words to the blue-cast skies
It was Goliath that the flying stone smote
Thus, laying devil low in his flesh-cast disguise…

Note:
"smote"

smite
/smit/
Learn to pronounce
verb
*****past tense: smote*****
1.
LITERARY
strike with a firm blow.

Peace

Look up the sky, 
From this end to the yonder horizon; 
What do you see? 
A vast heaven; 
A limitless heaven; 
Hosting sundry birds of colours; 
Singing solace 
To the relief of the sorrowing world.

Turn round now, and look the skies; 
In the boundless skies, 
Rainbow flaunts its many colours; 
Giving beauties to the fading earth.

Birds of colours 
Respect their own melanges;
Rainbow as well 
Cherishes its many colours.  

But to appreciate the creation of God, 
Man loathes diversities of tongue and colours
In the world as big as the limitless skies;
Giving rooms only 
For hatred and malice. 

But we can all live in peace, 
If we dare to give it a try.

Circus

Insidious fingers of flickering phantoms
Cast in the bloody gold haze of frozen pain, sorrowing.
Reveling players reaching past the present memories, moments
Cemented in ashes.

Merriment mars the perfect surface of poetic sin
Flint and steel, stealing life from lungs, suffocating.
Iron shadows cast upon the flagstones, grating
Perfidious souls.

Bone and metal clash as laughter echoes
Loud in the empty rooms, the sound of finality.
Twisted gnarled chords like chains of death, desolation
Chaotic revolutions round the sun.

Sharp and shallow, shards of breath
Immolation for the amusement of others,
Emulation a thing to be detested. 
Nothingness remains.

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