BEAUTY FORMULATED-:-
timeless
ideals
derived
pure
parallels
of UNFILLABLE LONGING
austere
quintessent
expressed
fundamental
tenets
of INNER VALUED
measured
complicit
identified
unencumbered
complexity
Never afraid to express what he thought,
His convictions came through loud and clear.
By sharing, in words, what in life he’d been taught,
All his comments were kind and sincere.
There was rarely a day when he didn’t respond
To a poem that I happened to post.
Now that he’s taken leave from this earth to beyond,
It’s his goodness that I’ll miss the most.
Rest in peace, Milt, and know that on Poetry Soup
You have left an unfillable void,
For your writings gave many (I’m one of the group)
Ruminations we greatly enjoyed.
She danced with the moon
For the stars in the sky,
Then into my heart;
I’ll never know why.
Her laughter, contagious;
Enchanting her looks.
Lept right of the pages
From storied old books.
She sings up the morning
And tucks in the night.
That lilting, sweet voice
Tells me everything’s right.
When she’s gone, I’m empty
And filled with despair:
An unfillable void,
Black nothingness there.
And then she returns
On the rays of the sun,
Glittering, sparkling,
Like gold thread, finespun.
She danced with the moon
For the stars in the sky,
Then into my heart;
I’ll never know why.
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for the POEM ON POETRY MUSE Poetry Contest
sponsored by Beata Agustin
written on 03/23/2022
Too many of late,
Especially for "us",
The last of the
Baby Boomer generation,
And the reality of our placement
In the flow of existence,
Is that the realm of oblivion
Reaches it's sinewy fingers
For all of us ... with
Greater frequency
Each day, it seems.
Those "larger than life"
Mentors and icons,
Whose creativity has
Provided the soundtrack
And accompaniment to our lives,
Are no less susceptible to
Mortality's cold kiss than
We are, though that
Pedestal we place them
On sometimes seems
Higher than transience.
As with each such a loss,
The sun will rise a little
More hesitantly tomorrow,
Its rays will settle a bit less
Warmly on our faces, and there
Will be a "void unfillable"
In the world of music ...
A sour silence, the
Remedy for which only
The ears of angels will
Strain to attend.
I write a poem tonight and I wonder
what is the value of my words?
Who decides their significance
if not I?
I cherish my poetic soul.
When I’m not writing, I feel less than
whole I borrow words to fill
an unfillable hole.
More often than not I question
my poetic worth.
Still I write and feel less alone.
In this fast-paced cyber world it seems to me
few slow down to breathe in
God, life, emotions, creation’s
infinite colors –
dark and light the beauty and ugliness of it all words.
So, I wrote a poem tonight more than words for an audience of one.
If one becomes two, then four then more –
I am grateful to share my love a piece of my soul
but I am at peace with an audience of one.
there is a sadness to your life's regret
Your eyes are full of doubt and debt
Your lips tremble and hold the lie
Your cheeks wet from the tears you cry
Your arms are empty because of the lost love
Your hands seek another that once fit like a glove
Your legs are weak from your worst mistake
Your thoughts wonder with a dreamless wake
Your heart is broken leaving you an unfillable hole
Now nothing remains not mind nor body nor soul
Why do I worry, worry
Worry all the time
I know what I feel
I know what I think
What I don’t know is how do I make them meet?
She said he said (running in my brain)
Looks feeling words
Washed away
Hypocrite.
Over and round and round about
Feelings
Brain.
Connection?
Jumble tumble rumble bumble
Bumbbling mistakes.
In so deep but not deep enough
Trying to fill the unfillable hole
Trying to reach the unreachable depths
The bottom, so close, falls out.
Why does the wrong direction always look right?
Why is there no simple answer?
Impossible to figure out
Impossible to surmount.
Too proud, too fallen.
Impossible.
Strangled cry wrenched from bleeding lips.
Always there yet far away but out of reach
The echoes of her great song, still heard
It will never end till all that felt her joy also join the choir
And she that passed in the springtime of her being, gave so much, more than
she knew
Giving so much, she left an unfillable void that can only shrink, slowly, slowly in
time
Love lost the hardest way, with no choices, only acceptance
Through all though some comfort can be found
In knowing that all she knew was love and trust, what more could any ask.
And all that came within the sound of her song, gained, and were honoured
To have known her was a gift from above, a treasure
But the closest to her can only ask and never know…why?
Her spirit still sings, her echo’s sound on.
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.