Poetry Blogs (Loss)

Elegy For Days Lost

Another day has come and passed

Left pain and sadness in its wake

The seconds, minutes, hours amassed

The sun will give the moon will take

The distant friends the loved ones lost

Amid the times of dread disease

Each family will count the cost

And curse the name of days like these

And yet the sky was clearest blue

I wrote a poem, sang a so...

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Some Words

I had been her son all my life

                But not all of hers

When she started calling me

                By her brother’s name

                Not my dad’s

                Her bother’s

Dead for these past 10 years

A stroke will do that to you

                Make you forget what you were saying

                Struggling to find the rig...

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Once when I was young I chanced upon a flower

Wild and free it was the most beautiful thing I had seen

And I wanted it for my own

To care for this flower

To show it off to the world

This beautiful flower that was my own

Through spring and summer

I  watered, I watched and I helped it to grow

And the flower basked me in its glory as it did so

But I had to le...

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Wave after wave of grief washed over me,
sadness so profound 
the world seemed desolate and forlorn,
like being exposed to the stinging rain 
and blistering wind
on wave crests at the height of a storm

Between bleak crests were moments
of consolation offered by caring friends, 
or comforting memories,
perhaps a joke to soften the pain, 
like valleys between waves 
give some respite 
...

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Echoing words through my head

Of all the sweet things that you said

Of times and memories of what we used to do 

Just a little thing to see me through

My dear, it's clear 

We aren't what we used to be

My dear, I fear

That’s the way it’s supposed to be

Blurred lines are once again made clear

It’s you with her

And me with him

That’s the way it should be in ...

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Bedlam

The greying morning

Barked like a dog

Trapped in a well

A sound so hollow

It shattered glass

In the cabinet where

She kept her memories

Tied in knots

The braying moon

Shone silver needles

Into the face

Of the weeping child

Screwing its hooks

Into soft flesh

Making the lanterns

Quiver with rage

In the ragged garden

Tendrils...

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The rain falls

My soul weeps

Masquerading

All the secrets that we keep

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She was a spectacular tree.
People called her the flame of the forest,
for she was obviously striking, vivid and classy.

I need not narrate the superlative majesty
of the flame – tree, for one time or the other
we have all been breath-taken by her peerless glamor.

What matchless artistry!

I am here to quickly share
my ruminative gloom for that lovely assembly
of flower, leaf and wood, which grandly stood
in...

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Is it still love when the cracks fill with lies?
And you know that you shouldn't crave their presence,
But they make you feel alive.

Is it still love when you long to break away?
But the notion of their absence compelles you to stay.
Is it still love when you try to forget?
But nothing will fill the void that they left.

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it’s 6:21 and when I look out my window from the corner of 29D, 

there’s a subtle hue of blood orange outlining what looks like the perimeter of 

a space

of sky

and a breeze of clouds, lighter than feathers, so thin, as if it forgot to carry the mist it was designed to pour tonight 

but that’s okay, because it found itself a new purpose:

your shrewd orange spirit is now perf...

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We track the oblique, sly fireflies
that keep popping fitfully by.

While life swarms invitingly by the side
we remain rabidly hustling
recklessly trailing
those brusque cracking stars
      ...shifty, deceptive, volatile
in onyx-bronze, raven nights

❋

We: the tenderfoot novice
bulldozed on many a graceless trip
half-cocked, peripheral, stoned
and profoundly ill with pitiful

short-sigh...

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