"At my bitter wits' end,"
was her mutter.
"Both of them?"
facetiously, I did utter.
"I'm beside myself,"
emotionally, she cried.
"A split personality,"
jokingly, I replied.
"No, I am but one,
and all tangled up I've become,"
instantly, her rebuff.
"At a loose end then?"
I questioned, off the cuff.
"Tied up in knots, more like it,"
in distress, her response.
"Prepared, like a Boy Scout, I'll be your undoing,"
I observed, feigning nonchalance,
"Give the word, and then, who knows,"
hopeful, I had half a chance,
she heard me suggestively propose.
He had often tried before but always with no success
Always another closed door or making more of a mess
He was really at his wits end where he just didn’t care
Maybe some things don’t mend for life just isn’t fair
A few years had past and he rarely gave it a thought
On his list it was last of what he had now sought
But there just ahead was who he tried to forget
He’d prefer anything instead and then their eyes met
Both trying to look away their eyes once again meet
All those words he couldn’t say weren’t such a feat
And she finally replied so hurt by what he had done
About how he lied and walked out on their son
He knew he was wrong saying he wanted to apologize
Back then I wasn’t that strong but now I do realize
The best thing in my life is no longer there anymore
Losing my Wife my Son, for the first time my heart tore
I felt what I did to you, I felt what I did to our Son
And this pain is so new like something I’ve never done
Maybe it’s s too late and I know we can never go back
Perhaps it was fate that today put us on the same track
The sun rises and the sun sets ,
Drained , my soul lies to rest.
Mixed emotions blend , within ,
I think i need a second , to breathe in.
The sun rises and the sun sets ,
My life is messed up , i should press reset.
I immediately need to start over ,
With these days literally coming over.
Some days , i would feel lifeless ,
Each day , every hour i need to rest.
I need to think things through ,
To tighten up some loose screws.
The sun rises and the sun sets ,
My life , a new day , the same mess.
I am now at my wits end ,
As my life comes to an end.
My pen rights my sins
I can admit my faults
Time and time again
Writing finds me when lost
That’s the fun of it
To lose myself in my pages
If dark then find me lit
By the enchanting words and phrases
I’m embarrassed to admit
Often I don’t think at all
Pink pen seems to vomit
And journal catches it raw
You can read my mahogany mind
Running rabid in the nighttime
Perhaps the best time to create
And escape the world and fate
Music is poetry with sound
Universal is it language like love
Turning smiles from frowns
Perhaps creating turquoise trust
So when I’m at a loss
At my wits end as they say
Music or poetry a toss
To come whisk me to safe place
When stress begins to take control
and you're at your wits end
Just take some time to ease your mind,
Relax a while, you'll start to mend
Some turn to drugs and alcohol to ease the stress
But that only makes it worse
You'll only end up with hangovers
and always wanting more
I'm at my wits end
wanting something new and fresh
seeking something right
When feeling
really desperate
almost at wits end
Wait ~ for you must realize
many folk are so much worse
than you will ever know
So positive thinking
remembering folk
whose life ‘tis near the end
Pray to take away their pain
to free their souls once more
loving souls therefore to soar
in deep blue skies
forevermore…
1291
Brian Strand
“Oh weary hermit, etch these words in stone ~
God is within, we never walk alone”
~ quote by poet
Dear God, give us our joy back;
our life’s reached a cul-de-sac,
with heart caught in desire’s net,
our bankrupt soul’s drowned in debt.
Pathways of sin, a dead end,
for how can darkness defend
soul’s innate bliss, ours to claim,
when our head hangs low in shame?
All seems lost and yet there’s hope,
choosing with love to elope,
breaking free from ego’s chain,
becoming a child again.
In mode embrace and release,
at wits end we’re yet at ease
for lo behold, love and light,
illumines the darkest night.
Seduced by love’s healing meth,
destiny too holds its breath,
carving for us a new path,
each day, a holy sabbath.
Heart’s devout faith opens doors
and as divine grace in-pours,
when we walk, the path appears,
blissful, joyous, free from fears.
07-February-2023
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Only wanted friends until the end,
Until reached all of our wits' end.
The Whitehouse is bracing itself,
interlopers are everywhere.
Not since the times of Abraham Lincoln
has the house been so full
of unwelcome visitors.
The Presidents chef is at his wits end
the throng needs feeding,
they are hungry for answers
and Spam sandwiches will not do.
They are squatting, raising tent cities
among the colonial furnishings.
Our leader is about to make a statement,
a speech about our secure borders,
and how Right Wing Extremists
continue to spread disinformation.
The FBI is of course standing by
their guns drawn
ready to bus them back
to the heart of America
where they came from.
Locating door D-75
Of a large colony on a drive,
At last close, ah D-74!
I must be right at destiny’s door.
But the next turns out B-68!!
What, lost at the very Pearly Gate?
So I felt midway through my poem—
Roots in air, hangs down to earth tree’s stem!
Old wisdom, the time turns when adverse,
I recalled oft-quoted holy verse
From Bhagavad-Gita’s holiest text
Talking of Tree of Life, but what next?
At wits’ end and left with not a clue,
You hope some divine help might rescue.
______________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek sonnet |09.02.2022|
Poet’s note: a sonnet of sort set in anapaest meter.
Before you've done whatever you possibly can
Don't go asking God for miracles
He'll just give you the back of His Hand
After you've tried everything
Exhausted every last trick
When you're at absolute wits' end
That's when God His Miracle sends
How long will he labour?
How long will he stand to wait at the harbour?
Aged but still toiling,
Weary components decry oiling,
He rises early to a routine striving,
He retires home, feet dragging.
His perpetual toil hasn't yielded much,
Life has left him in the lurch,
From his prime to his senior, he scrimps and saves,
All that come are not anything he craves,
Opulence hasn't beamed its light his way,
Neither has fortune come to stay.
He is near the end of his race,
He is at the wits' end of his grace.
March 18, 2022.
A woman can stay dauntless at her wits’ end.
She shields her knight at his old age as a friend.
YOUR BEST RHYMING COUPLET, #4 Poetry Contest
Couplet poetry form only.
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Date: 13-02-2022
Fire raged through heavy wooded terrain,
Blizzard hit the panhandle hard,
Bad windstorm slammed the western plains,
Mudslides hid hundreds of backyards.
Brutal sandstorm swept through arid plains,
Fierce hurricane aimed at the Keys,
Havoc descended on tornado lane,
Earth’s warming threatened baby seals.
Crops were at risk in fertile farm fields,
Crowds assembled for protest walks,
Northwest reached one hundred ten degrees,
Earthquakes possible near the fault.
Hospitals were overfull with the sick,
Medical teams were at wits end,
Some thought the nation’s flame left the wick,
Would never find its fire again.
People had the lowdown newscast blues,
Some feared apocalyptic end,
The anchors said it was breaking news,
And we looked for someone to blame.
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