Wistfully Poems | Examples

A Mothers Love

I will watch over you 
Till my dying day
I'll nurture and cherish 
The times that we play 

The times when I read 
Of adventures to come
As I tuck you in bed 
And you suckle your thumb 

I will watch over you 
As you learn how to live
To become independent 
From the knowledge I give 

The cruelest of fate 
As I watch you this way
The role of a mother
To prepare for this day 

To live and to love
And to help you be free
Able and strong
For a life without me 

I'll wistfully see 
All the days in my mind
Of watching you growing
To your own special kind 

I'll wistfully dream 
Of the days I won't see
When I will be gone 
From this entity 

I promise I'll stay
In your heart and your mind
In the love that you share
Forever entwined 

I will watch over you
Until my last breathe 
The love is still with you
It does not fear death 

It lives on in the sun
The wind and the rain
It lives on in the thoughts 
Which consume your brain 

It lives on in your eyes
As you see through the years
It lives on in your spirit
And softens your tears 

Know that I'm there
When you need me to be
To comfort and guide you
To set yourself free

aquamarine

gazing wistfully 
through a deep mysterious ocean door 
into a swimming dream of you and me
a confluence of what maybe was
and what might have been

Poet in the House

He hits the snooze alarm twice
before getting up. He’s already
been up three times during the night.
Two cats are waiting for him downstairs
but for now they leave him alone.
He wistfully looks out the window
as gray skies cast a soft glow.
He says he had a good dream
but can’t recall.
He calls out a woman’s name
but I’ve never met her.
His right shoulder aches.
He mentions something
about the years he bears.
A ravine lies at the end of the street
and bare trees reach for clouds
as they wait for spring.
He says that life on a dead end
is more than it seems.
He jots down a line or two
on a blank page. He plays
a song or two on You tube
and lets inspiration stir
for a moment.
His fingers stroke keys
and bring a poem to life
then holds up the creation
to light.
He showers in haste
pets the cats
and they watch him
as he runs out the door
and goes for a drive.

New Years Old Wishes

New years old wishes are
the dandelion fluffs of my life’s springtime.
I blew wistfully on a pappus; its many feathered seeds
wafted – weightless as whispers – in the wind.

To where they flew, I do not know.
Very few of them found their way 
into any of my own new years yet to come.
Did they scatter out into a Dreamland,
to manifest themselves in the lives of others
of whom I sometimes felt a bit envious?

I imagine the tiny dandelion parachutes
of others’ longings as having lifted and then
drifted unexpectedly into some of my better new years.
They had not been my specific wishes; nevertheless,
they were gracious seedlings of yearnings 
that planted themselves and grew to bless my life.

I stopped blowing on candles or dandelion fluff
many many years ago. Hardly any wants -new or old -
do I wish for any more.  Life is what it is.
In any new year, I will take what floats my way.

wee willy waldorf

Willy Wee Walldorf warbled wonderfully
We watched Willy’s whacky warbling, willingly
Waketa Wobblemaster wiggled wondrously
While weird Wormy Wishman watched wistfully.

Ivans Shortcomings

Imperfect indifferent ineffective Ivan Inglebritzen
Was wistfully, wildly, wantonly weird at work.
Not indispensable, but rather despicable, desperate and diabolical.
Cautious co-workers candidly discussed dozens of Ivan’s idiotic decisions.
Determined to alert Alvin, our alluring but not attentive boss.
Bernie, Beaver and Betty bellowed about his shoddy shortcomings.
Providing proof of Ivan’s problematic predictably imperfect performances.
astute assessments failed on prideful, persnickety, president Alvin.
asinine attempts at preventing Ivan from essential employment a bust.
These three did not know that Ivan was Alvin's caustic cousin.
Alvin kept him, not wanting him to crash on his cushy comfortable couch.

Tint Of Orange

Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as  futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight  tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling  cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised  endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally

Nostalgic For The Present

"I am leaving now, my love." I wistfully with misty eyes say,
As he kissed my lips while wiping all of my tears away.
I leave the pasta here, for I know I'll come again every day.

Judge Me Gently

Judge me gently, as I am still a fledgling.
I avoid the pompous, gaudy and bling.
Swiftly simple suffice setting styles.
Abandoning artists amorous aisles.

Fingertips searching for contrite meaning.
Mind from one side to the other leaning.
Bringing forward a paradox of words.
Flowing and forming in flocks and herds.

Wistfully winding with wanderlust wending,
Beguiling bounty beyond beauty blending.
Meanings meander, melding misty metaphors.
Liquid amber, sweet honey seeping from pores 

Innuendo intrigues, interest icily intended.
Read and reread and dutifully amended.
Bringing heights of pleasure yet forlorn.
Seeking perfection, my poem is born.

its what faerie godmothers do

maple leaf wistfully wished herself one with the window
for she felt a kinship to the pumpkin-colored candle
her faerie godmother, the wind, came by and noted this
giving her what she wanted; floating her to her desired destination
it’s what faerie godmothers do, right?

YES

Wistfully, she vanished.
"Yes" losing lover,
he stood astonished. 

  Her fragrance hover
everywhere inside home.
Solely to recover ~

   He must roam,
search, else banished 
she'll stay. Alone!

Contest Name-Intro ''POI''-etry Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Hilo poet

Of Lotuses and Dreans

I was a lttle girl, so wistfully in thought back then. 
Wearing a silk kimona, dreams of a sivered, shiny pen.

A special place in my heart, then, suddenly came to be,
Bright pink, soft turquoised robe, quite heavenly.

It was this little girl’s  gifted.yummy yet holy solitude,
The blue moon and stars, gave her freedom and latitude.

I had no dreams to grow to be just like everyone on the 
planet.
Choosing to be my own shooting star, not run by rules 
made of granite!

I fantasized a room of bright, pink floating lotuses about me.
And that personal space, so long ago, lifted me, so I fly freely, 
sans approving commentary.

Words do not impress me, but affectionate and soulful, warm
people do.
They are the ones encouraging me to live my life as a moonburst 
of satisfying breakthroughs.

                      4/16/2024

Scenes of Childhood

Running fancy free into a field,
Chasing butterflies my path revealed,
My arms outstretched into the sky,
I am so happy--not caring why.
Cooled by a fragrant soft Spring breeze,
I trip and fall down to my knees,
Then wistfully gaze into the sky,
To watch the clouds drift slowly by.
Slowly my youthful mind escapes,
Into their billowy pillowy shapes,
As my youthful imagination rages,
Onto life’s unwritten pages.

I reminisce about these scenes so well,
But to them I’ve had to say farewell,
To blend with the accepted propriety
Of my adult world’s fast society.
Though I mostly do what people expect,
I sometimes upon my youth reflect,
And dream nostalgically of my life then,
Knowing I can never be that person again.

Wounded Sigh

A wounded sigh, an expression evincing the pain of hurt,
A bawl in solitude, turbulence of inner emptiness stirs,
When emotions clamor, simmering in angst of regrets,
When mute demeanor, of injured breath, wistfully frets.

Soul desperately aches for a special someone to talk to,
Someone who understands the language of quietude,
Someone who can soothe the trauma, of life gone askew,
Someone who brings to fore, hope of tomorrow anew.

Laments of past echo, moaning upon meadows of life,
Reverberating in heartbreak of grief, bereft of promise,
To rehabilitate devastation of savage emotional storms,
As covenants, deemed eternal, hesitate in broken vows.

Wounded hearts now trace moments of love, sadly lost,
When loneliness dwells in nightmares of past forlorn,
When the abandoned pledges of forever, callously mock,
As muffled wail recalls, life of joy and love, that once was.

Sorrows now seek solace, yearning compassionate voice
To soothe tides of heartbreak, agitating lonesome mind,
As hopes of morrow rekindle in womb of promising night,
When smile-endearing, subjugates cry of wounded sigh.

Elephant and Chimpanzee

Elephant built his own fly away escape
Hot air balloon that most cannot readily make.
The chimpanzee watched him carefully that day
Grabbed on to the bottom and swung along on his way

The elephant was traveling at a tremendous speed
We are having such a great time! Said the chimpanzee, Feed.
They escaped from the circus compound and never went back.
Loving every minute as they traveled past every rail track.

They floated through Michigan, onto Kalamazoo.
They are so high! And so daring! Said a turtle named Boo.
Boo usually could not see a hot air balloon, but he was stuck on his back.
I wish I could go with them he said wistfully; his name was Mack.

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