Poetry Blogs (mourning)
If I handed you,
one hundred balloons,
you would drop each one,
and float to the moons.
If I blew some bubbles
and watched as they float
you’d soar far above
and here I quote,
“If all the world,
was spinning round,
like a red balloon,
way up in the clouds,
you’d anchor me,
Well we went and we were,
Wednesday 7th February 2018 9:06 pm
Kohl By : Mirza Sharafat
night has enveloped, to give me some relief
now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief
where blood quenches the thirst
disloyalty is faith last and first
is the religion my beloved belongs to
I beckoned, red and black r...
Monday 28th August 2017 12:26 pm
They say that the worst kind of grieving
is when the lost antagonist is still alive,
whether sudden as a spring swallow’s dive
or a slow wintered bewilderment in the leaving.
Buried, burnt or butchered cruelly out of heart
that did endure with vexation and veneration,
fear of being alone or guilt of being causation
of their final yield to the wind that blows love apart.
Sunday 1st May 2016 5:19 pm
She pressed her hand against the marble, felt its words,
Ran her weathered finger through the crafted names.
Many faces that had long since adventured,
Left for others lingering to bear the pain.
The autumn sun caressed its face and warmed the stone,
She drew it through her skin and let it stay a while.
Her silver head was bowed, her company her own,
To spend a few more moments in her reconcile.
Monday 2nd September 2013 11:43 pm
A farewell to two poets that have only just passed on: Sandra Fowler and Sonya Florentino. R.I.P., dear friends.
Yes, I will try to be brave
just like you'd want me to be;
here I am waiting on shared memory:
Dear old friend, where might you be?
And where is it that we have arrived:
now we're quickly fading into oft-turned pages
that lay dog-...
Thursday 29th November 2012 1:35 pm
On the day of her
death he didn't cry.
"He doesn't care!"
On the day they
laid her to rest
he didn't cry.
"He never loved her!"
On the one month
anniversary of her
death he was
found lying next
to her grave.
An empty bottle of
Friday 23rd December 2011 6:08 pm
That mourning I went to the woods,
misrepresented by madness.
Life chastened, clouds crept on whilst I cried up on my cross.
I picked obscure rose petals and placed them in abandoned jam jars.
I trampled on my spirit, a quiet cost.
I found an inner peace, like a pardon.
A new diadem excavated encircled my loss.
I danced on wet grass with God, crown festooned.
I grasped but my hand me...
Tuesday 11th October 2011 10:56 am