Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nigel Finn Aug 19
There's a man who will not talk today
He's afraid to show his weakness.
He thinks no-one will understand
That his life is pain and bleakness.

All his life he's displayed strength
And he will not stop that now,
So he researched the noose's length
And the when, and where, and how.

He will not know the pain he's caused,
But it's what he feels himself;
The feeling of sheer helplessness
That destroys our mental health.

He thinks, in time, our wounds will heal
Or that, perhaps, we will not care
And that we'd all be better off
Without his presence there.

But in the last message he ever wrote,
Which caused us all to worry,
He acknowledged our own weakness with
The tender words; "I'm sorry".
You are not alone, the world won't be better off without you, and you are incredibly ******* important.
  Mar 17 Nigel Finn
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
  Feb 16 Nigel Finn
Toru Dutt
A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mango clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red—red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.
a war poem

you told me one time
that your first memories
were of artillery shells
raining down on your orchard
for three months solid
no r.e.m. sleep for anyone
back in the bad old days

you were pushed down a well
to drown like a kitten
when you were just three
by a mother half-crazed
by fear of those ruskies
just a half a klick away
and goebbel's **** lies

you lost your dad
that very same day
marched off into a vastness
that he never marched back from
a simple fruit-grower
pressed into a service
where he had no choice

you spent your whole childhood
with siberian drunks
as your only day-care
as your mother and sisters
were worked half to death
in the fields every day
and back at the gulag
huts ***** in front of
you and uncle jake
every single night
forced to watch

escaping to the west
(could you ever escape?)
coming to that
small prairie town
where every family
had lost at least one member
to those **** blond-haired krauts
a **** blue-eyed ***** just like you
german as a first language
was not the best one to have

i don't blame you
anymore at all
for my childhood miseries
for drinking as you did
for cheating as you did
for beating as you did

i can't do that
it's not my place
to pass judgement
or assign or detract
from any capabilities
on a dad that just might
have been one of the very
the last casualties of the
second world war

i pray that much
of my past might be
understood by those
i hurt with some sort
of similar understanding
june 13, 1941 - june 11, 2015

simon % garfunkal - the boxer
  May 2019 Nigel Finn
does not
make the
grow fonder.
the love becomes
weary the mind
out of fear.

Distance makes
the heart
and the world
is enveloped
in a thick
While you
are nowhere
to be found
you said
you’d try but
you haven’t,
and neither
have I.

and ignorance
the heart is loud
its beat
pulsing forever
becomes quiet.
You cannot
hear my heart
from wherever
you are
so far away
I can’t hear
yours either

I cupped my hands
behind my ears
but distance
makes the heart
grow weary
  Feb 2019 Nigel Finn
Druid Black
I think of ways and roads oh my!
And paths to take and travel by
And ways both false and sometimes true
But none of them leads me to you

Am chased by ghouls and wraiths of yours
The thought of you is now my curse
You never said we'd chart this course
Now am pursued by ghosts of you

Why? I'd ask. And my reply
Would be that love does multiply
And hearts are eager to comply
Am chased myself but not like you

I was captured and my captors taunt
They let me leave then set to hunt
They give me all the things i want
But deny me sweet old thoughts of you

The faces here are sweet and fair
The leaves are green and flowers here
Here's fragrance more than I can bear
But all is not that's not of you

All the land that has you not
All the games that played you not
All the tales you hadn't taught
Are false and so cannot be true.

I see your pain and feel it too
You swore as I and daily do
This depth that aches with woes and rue
Cannot be whole except with you

I know, but know thee I am naught
Then what? Pray tell becomes my lot
Am gone and life is what you've got
But life alone is life with you

I've broken turns and  brokered terms
I've come to great tormenting harms
I've waited, prayed and done the psalms
Just to be again with you

Been years since your teeth were beams
And since my tears had streaked in streams
And since the earth had claimed your hymns
Since I'd been lost in dreams of you
The tales of loss are oh so common and they never grow old.
Next page