#poetryofloss
— a little chat with the wisest man I’ll ever know —
I met him today…
the wisest old man
I have ever known
sat with him
for thirty minutes… maybe more
and I talked—
about childhood
about laughter
about us
… L 🪶 J …
I told him
about the brickyard days
dust in the air
and joy in our bones
about Christmas—
the first one I remember
I was four
and Santa brought a train set
and for a moment…
the world
was perfect
… L 🪶 J …
I reminded him
of his smile
that quiet laugh
that never needed to be loud
to be heard
and then…
I told the truth
about the things
I got wrong
the times I wasn’t there
… L 🪶 J …
Because I was a soldier…
with a job to do
that’s what I told myself
but somewhere between duty
and distance
we lost time
missed moments
whole pieces
of each other’s lives
… L 🪶 J …
I spoke of trees
how we felled them
with axe and bow saw
how we drove fence posts
into stubborn earth
I was only five
but it felt like heaven
… L 🪶 J …
And the donkey—
God… the donkey
always escaping
wandering Carlton Hill
and that poor policeman
bringing him back
again…
and again…
and me—
laughing
because somehow
he was always looking for me
… L 🪶 J …
Standhill Road Infants…
that was my school
that was my world
and for a moment
I was back there
small
carefree
whole
… L 🪶 J …
I laughed…
until the laughter
broke
into tears
just a little
just enough
to remind me
I’m still human
… L 🪶 J …
I wiped them away
a little embarrassed
I don’t cry…
not really
but this—
this was different
… L 🪶 J …
And then I told him
how sorry I was
for the day he went away
how I wanted—
needed—
to be there
to say goodbye
… L 🪶 J …
I told him
I wish we had one more game of chess
even if we forgot the rules
even if we hadn’t played in years
just one more moment
across the board
with him
… L 🪶 J …
And before I left…
I made him a promise
… L 🪶 J …
I will visit
often
now I know where you are
… L 🪶 J …
not in houses
not in places
but here—
in the quiet corners
of my heart
… L 🪶 J …
because you may be gone
from this world
but never
from me
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC
— two stories, one silence —
________________________________________
A father…
takes down a photograph
not gently
not carelessly
but like it still breathes
like it still holds warmth
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He presses it
to his chest
the same way he once held
his child
close
safe
whole
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He remembers her…
the sound of her laughter
how it filled rooms
without trying
how sunlight seemed
to follow her
like it knew
she belonged to it
… 👨👧🖼️ …
A twinkle in her eye
chasing butterflies
like the world
was nothing but wonder
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And he remembers that moment—
when she told him
what she’d become
the pride
Heartful… the pride
that lived in his chest
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He smiled
he kissed her goodbye
like fathers do
like it’s just another day
… 👨👧🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t recognise love
it doesn’t pause
it doesn’t care
about laughter
or butterflies
or fathers
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It writes its own ending
in smoke
in fire
in silence
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And sometimes…
daughters come home
but not as they left
not with laughter
not with light
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but wrapped
in something heavier
than any father
should ever have to carry
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And somewhere else—
another father
stands with another photograph
… 👨👧🖼️ …
This one…
his son
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He remembers strength
growing year by year
small hands
becoming steady
a boy
becoming a man
… 👨👧🖼️ …
Laughter that echoed
not soft
but full
alive
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He watched him grow
with pride
with hope
with that quiet belief
that everything
would be alright
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because that’s what fathers do
they believe
even when the world
gives them reason not to
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And when life twisted—
when the path turned
when things became uncertain
he stood there
steady
unmoving
supportive
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love
doesn’t step back
… 👨👦🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t ask
who is loved
it doesn’t choose gently
it doesn’t spare
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It takes
and takes
and takes
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And sons…
they come home too
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but not always whole
not always smiling
not always the same
… 👨👧🖼️ …
sometimes carrying
things no one can see
sometimes leaving
pieces of themselves
behind
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And in the quiet—
in the stillness
after everything
there are fathers
holding photographs
like they’re holding
time itself
… 👨👧🖼️ …
remembering
what was
what should have been
what will never
be again
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love…
doesn’t end
even when everything else
does
… 👨👧🖼️ …
— Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 9:09 AM UTC
— two stories, one silence —
________________________________________
A father…
takes down a photograph
not gently
not carelessly
but like it still breathes
like it still holds warmth
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He presses it
to his chest
the same way he once held
his child
close
safe
whole
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He remembers her…
the sound of her laughter
how it filled rooms
without trying
how sunlight seemed
to follow her
like it knew
she belonged to it
… 👨👧🖼️ …
A twinkle in her eye
chasing butterflies
like the world
was nothing but wonder
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And he remembers that moment—
when she told him
what she’d become
the pride
Heartful… the pride
that lived in his chest
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He smiled
he kissed her goodbye
like fathers do
like it’s just another day
… 👨👧🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t recognise love
it doesn’t pause
it doesn’t care
about laughter
or butterflies
or fathers
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It writes its own ending
in smoke
in fire
in silence
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And sometimes…
daughters come home
but not as they left
not with laughter
not with light
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but wrapped
in something heavier
than any father
should ever have to carry
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And somewhere else—
another father
stands with another photograph
… 👨👧🖼️ …
This one…
his son
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He remembers strength
growing year by year
small hands
becoming steady
a boy
becoming a man
… 👨👧🖼️ …
Laughter that echoed
not soft
but full
alive
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He watched him grow
with pride
with hope
with that quiet belief
that everything
would be alright
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because that’s what fathers do
they believe
even when the world
gives them reason not to
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And when life twisted—
when the path turned
when things became uncertain
he stood there
steady
unmoving
supportive
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love
doesn’t step back
… 👨👦🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t ask
who is loved
it doesn’t choose gently
it doesn’t spare
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It takes
and takes
and takes
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And sons…
they come home too
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but not always whole
not always smiling
not always the same
… 👨👧🖼️ …
sometimes carrying
things no one can see
sometimes leaving
pieces of themselves
behind
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And in the quiet—
in the stillness
after everything
there are fathers
holding photographs
like they’re holding
time itself
… 👨👧🖼️ …
remembering
what was
what should have been
what will never
be again
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love…
doesn’t end
even when everything else
does
… 👨👧🖼️ …
— Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 4:41 AM UTC
And the biggest heartbreak of it all
Was never just that they fell apart
It’s that she had been taught she didn’t deserve real love
It’s that the echoes of her past told her she would never be enough
He tried to show her she was enough
Ghosts from her past left fingerprints on every crumbling stone
She built a mausoleum around her heart
Sealing away the fears that whisper in moonlit misery
He felt the spark in her laughter when she let herself be seen
He cherished the quiet strength hidden behind the armour
He searched for an opening to reach her heart
Praying his love was enough
Love was like poison running through her veins
Bitter yet so sweet and unsafe to swallow
She felt the ache of the “what if”
And ran from the pleasure of “this is where I belong”
He tried to be her antidote
She began to see him as pathetic
She wore a cold smirk knowing that he became broken like her
Now, she dwells behind her phantom-filled mausoleum.
Wrapped in the regret of losing him
Haunted by his absence,
like a chaotic comforting lullaby aching in the background
Struggling to survive
the biggest heartbreak of it all
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 11:43 PM UTC
She could've stayed, and I would've loved her for a lifetime.
She could've let herself be loved, and I would've shown her what that means.
She could've let herself wake beside me on Sundays, and I would've kept making her pancakes.
She could've let herself believe she was enough, and I would've reminded her, every day, that she was.
She could've let herself be my Jessica Rabbit, and I would've made her laugh like Roger every day.
She could’ve let herself slow dance with me in the bedroom, and I would’ve held her through every quiet night.
She could've stayed, and I would’ve kept planning picnic dates.
She could've stayed, and I would've written her poems until my hands gave out.
She could've stayed, and I would've loved her, even when she couldn't love herself.
She could've stayed, and I would've made every birthday feel like magic.
She could've stayed, but she didn't. Now all my "would've's are just echoes in the hallway she left me in
She could've stayed....
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 7:07 AM UTC
In the lap of dusk where tea leaves steep,
He held my world in hands so deep
My maternal grandpa, not merely man,
But angel-wrought in mortal span.
His smile: a sanctum, heaven-spun,
No ego, no pride, no need to run.
A soul uncluttered, pure and wide,
Where simplicity chose to reside.
We roamed the market, betel leave in hand,
A duo stitched by love’s command.
Egg and toast from fingers fed,
While I, the slow cow, bowed my head.
He never tired, never sighed,
As I delayed each bite, tongue-tied.
Even when my breath betrayed,
He sealed the frost with lips of aid
Drawing the chill from my nose bound grief,
Like winter kissed by autumn’s leaf.
Fifteen piggy banks he gave
A kingdom coined, a love so brave.
My whims, his law; my joy, his creed,
He sowed affection, not just deed.
Weekends bloomed with his arrival,
Fast food feasts, love’s revival.
Though Mummy’s hands were novice then,
He dreamt of dishes, now and when.
But now he sleeps beneath the loam,
While I craft verses in his home.
He wished me health, gave Allah his breath,
And walked alone into his death.
His voice dissolved, his limbs grew still,
Yet blankets found me by his will.
A paralysed grace, a fading light,
Still shielding me through silent night.
He built his life from betrayal’s ash,
No venom, no revenge, no clash.
Educated hearts he raised with toil,
From fractured roots, he claimed his soil.
He died one day past my birth,
A cruel eclipse of joy and worth.
I was eight, too young to see
The depth of what he meant to me.
Now tears arrive like monsoon rain,
Each drop a relic of sweet pain.
I speak to ghosts in silent air,
And feel his wisdom everywhere.
He was not man, but mythic flame,
A lapborne star with no acclaim.
And though he’s gone, he walks beside
In every choice, in every tide.
So let this poem be his shrine,
A verse-bound grave, a sacred sign.
For angels wear no wings or crown
They feed you toast when you feel down.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 11:40 PM UTC
some people seem to carry heaven
in the way they walk—
effortless, luminous,
as though their purpose
is to remind us of grace
i have not known such ease
my lessons came
through breaking bones of the spirit
through the heavy silence
of unsaid words
through desires that cut too deep
and still—
i do not curse the falling
i do not despise the storm
because what it left in me
wasn’t bitterness
but the stubborn clarity
that love,
even when it burns down,
remains the only treasure
worth guarding
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 8:12 AM UTC
If I could still hold you,
In the palm of my trembling hand,
In the depths of my fragile heart,
In the whispers of my restless soul.
If I could still hold you,
In the shadows of sleepless nights,
In the echoes of forgotten dreams,
In the longing that seeps through my veins.
If I could still hold you,
In the silence of empty spaces,
In the void that your absence created,
In the ache that lingers, refusing to fade.
If I could still hold you,
In the fragments of memories,
In the pages of a love story,
In the etchings of a bittersweet past.
If I could still hold you,
In the tears that flow like rivers,
In the laughter that dances on my lips,
In the moments we shared, forever cherished.
If I could still hold you,
In the depths of my imagination,
In the realms of a parallel universe,
In the hope that defies all reason.
If I could still hold you,
In the symphony of our intertwined souls,
In the symphony that plays on, undeterred,
In the symphony that refuses to end.
Then perhaps, just perhaps,
Even in the absence of physical touch,
Even in the void that separates our beings,
Even in the vastness of this universe.
I could still hold you,
In the tenderness of my love,
In the strength of my devotion,
In the essence of who we once were.
For love knows no boundaries,
No limitations, no constraints,
It transcends time and space,
And etches itself onto eternity's canvas.
So, if I could still hold you,
In the depth of my being,
In the essence of my existence,
Then know, my love, that you are forever mine.
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 10:20 AM UTC
_autumn tears..._
falling for you
__all over again__
we’re just friends
in the __present tense__
making amends
like cracks filled
with silence
__tears of yesterday__
still
water my lawn
i’ve been banking on a love
that never matured
just an emotion
__on loan__
tell me—
do you rest your hand
under your chin
like I did
when you’re alone?
sharp edges
on my mind
but it feels
__pointless to forget you__
to accept you
is to accept
__not having you at all__
the drink of your love
I could never finish—
you were
too tall
too much
too deep
__too far__
you poured yourself
out for me
and I drank
greedy
we kissed
like language
like memory
and I felt the shiver
__escape your pores__
so why
can’t I
__escape your love?__
Jun 12, 2025
Jun 12, 2025 at 3:02 PM UTC
Once, the heart
expressed itself freely
listened without resistance
but nowadays
my heart has fallen into silence.
No longer inclined to read
no longer willing to write
my heart shows no interest in listening
it seems to have lost its sense of purpose.
I’m clueless about its whereabouts
my heart, nowadays
no longer resides within me.
-०-
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 10:25 PM UTC
Everybody keeps saying how they’d dance in the rain —
sway their bodies, feel the drops,
let the water wash away their pain.
But I say —
why romanticize what you barely understand?
You sing to storms like they’re songs of healing,
but don’t you know?
Rain is sorrow.
Rain is memory leaking through the cracks.
It’s the sky mourning something it lost,
not some magic meant to set you free.
So when someone smiles
and whispers how much they want to dance in the rain,
I look away and answer softly:
Everything but the rain.
-Asher Graves
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 10:03 AM UTC
He once told me
he wanted to die in a place
that looked like a poem.
I told him
I wanted to live
like I was one.
We were doomed by aesthetics—
too many soft glances,
not enough spine.
He held my wrist like a snow globe
but shook me too hard.
He said I was all feeling,
no logic.
As if logic ever begged anyone to stay.
Once,
he told me I reminded him
of a girl in a painting.
I should’ve asked
what happened to her
after the gallery closed.
I used to count his heartbeats
when he slept,
just to know something
inside him still worked.
I wore my prettiest dress
to the argument—
just in case
he needed reminding
that I’m not easy
to walk away from.
He looked at me
like a cliff he might leap from
or photograph.
I stopped saying his name
and started writing
in second person.
It still felt like calling him home.
Even now,
I write you into metaphors
so I can pretend
you were never real—
just a concept,
a cautionary tale,
a ghost that rhymed.
You wanted tragedy.
I wanted truth.
We got
whatever this was.
Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 10:29 AM UTC
I lost someone who still breathes,
But the heart that once knew them is hollow,
A ghost in a space where dreams should be,
Stuck between what was and what could follow.
A version of me never came to be,
A story left half-written,
In the silence of what was never said,
A love that was forbidden.
How do you grieve when the ending's unclear?
When they’re still here, but gone all the same,
When your soul is waiting, but they disappear,
Leaving only ashes and a forgotten name.
I stand in ruins of what almost was,
A place of longing, without a sound,
And though I pretend I’ve moved on,
I’m still here, waiting to be found.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 10:52 AM UTC