Contritely poems on Hello Poetry

Robert Zanfad Jun 2010

I have a strange dream
seen in oddest of nights -
the one where I'm bouncing
on an old grist stone
that is spinning awfully fast.
with every push of hands to get free,
gravity pulls me back down
and I'm erasing.
first fingers and toes -
we could live without those -
but then it's elbows and knees

I eventually give up all hope of escape
and actually enjoy the ride for a bit
but opening mouth to say "ahhhh,"
I'm flung loose by centrifugal force,
and in epiphany, realize that
teeth had been griping the axle.
I could have been freed so much sooner
if only I'd let go first.
of course, by then not much was left
a mere twenty five pounds of finely marbled roast,
head still attached, but quite useless

frankincense smoldered in censers
when priests dressed in lacy
white wedding gowns
patted me down with fresh linen and silk.
the head they hacked off and discarded,
the gray not much used
but useless as transplant
and salesman refused it on trade-in.
they anointed dead flesh
in scents of rare oils
and spices imported from India,
solemnly transporting the meat to a pit
built just in front of the altar.

Young boys wearing dresses
took turns at the spit
making mean faces,
but only when no one was looking,
their tobacco juice joining
my fat drips spattered on coals.
finally I was done cooking,
three hours of basting,
and arranged with bruised fruit
on a huge silver platter with handles
that my wife rented just for the occasion.
steam shimmered over din
of all my friends, who were seated,
and family, too, dressed for a luau
in bright floral prints and grass skirts.
After a short blessing, they dug in.

When feeding was done,
dripping chins wiped from curtains
hung loose from the ceiling,
all seated agreed
the meal had been tasty,
though meat a bit gristly and greasy,
especially slices cut close to the edges.
a fat policeman called them to order
and somehow I read from a speech
by chance I had prepared in advance,
like a letter or even a poem,
in which I contritely confessed
I'd always wished to have been more,
but meal finished, and dishes clearing
at least now I'd always be with them.

Shannon Jul 2014

Symbiotic

I thought when I'd turn to moss,
- when i had left myself to root.
When I had laid me down at last,
Than I'd not miss you endlessly.
I did not know I'd find my soul
dancing lithely in a flame.
A spanish dancer I've become
flickering my reds and blues.
I jump from wick to match to ash
and dance my saraband, contritely.
Yet I thought that when I sighed so lastly
undone would neatly fold away
like origami boutonniere
I'd be pressed between your book
something that you'd heave to shelf
and only gather dust and time.
Regrets, it seems, don't like
to die. So
I'm left haunted by my haunting.
And had I known before I wept
that remonstration without intention
was leaving all the notes unsung
by leaving catching in my voice.
I am singing in the mountains, madly
about what does not skip in the fields
and what does not drip from the sapling...
For love does neither frolic gayly
as much endures beyond repentance.
and I am left, on pebble shores
forever with my sharp withholdings
Stubbornly I held onto them,
Now they cut my like small diamonds.
I am glass and they are listless
wasted, mindless, pointless prattle.
Remind me fresh our penalties for
All the love we do not spend.

Sahn
7/01/2014

I have to write, but you choose to read and for that? I am humble and grateful.

#soul #haunting #lovestory #amwriting #poetpower

Terry O'Leary Oct 2013

Dark Black Night (Rubaiyat)

"Once upon a midnight", ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
Black fanged werewolves gorged, engrossedly.

In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly),
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.

Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced, so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.

Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely,
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.

As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.

If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...

;-)

Apologies to EAP

Micrography-Mike D Feb 2018

You Reap what you Sow

You reap what you sow they’ll say
When you’re distraught and things don’t go your way
Or perhaps bring Karma into the mix
If relationships break and aren’t able to fix
‘It was destined by fate’ you’ll hear
Said contritely from lips insincere
Words of console you’ll get face to face
But shallow words that are empty they’ll waste

Those not involved will end up picking sides
Covertly at first making efforts to hide
Initially from the break you'll feel empty
Blood stained lips cracked and chapped from the sea
Ocean's buffet but refusing to eat
Never again will you find such a treat
Became familiar with every single cliché
As if uttering words will tell me which path to take
How life transpires giving to us what’s due
Fortune tellers are shams with no clue
Soothsayers and any alike
Gain your trust; In your back get a knife

Wasted life ever searching by you
At the same time no search needed too
On a star wishing for her to stay
Unfulfilled, now that she's gone away
Sad tale of loss like needlepoint you’d weave
Sole candle’s flame defiant to bereave
A horse with blinders you ran through life’s race
By yourself so no matter what place
You take could be anywhere between first and last
Entire race ran while peering into the past
Running backwards and pointing *** first
Deftly explains the low value and self-worth
Donkey or court jester is all you are
Spelling out why in life you didn’t get far

Your perception of what’s ‘getting ahead’
Results in you falling behind instead
Not realizing the self-destruction within
Playing a game not possible to win
A headless chicken running every which way
‘Such a disappointment’ is what they will say
All this talent and capability
But the war inside they don’t see
All that is gained inevitably will be lost
Gifts and gestures have attached hidden costs
A Civil War but not North versus South
It’s you against you in this bout

So how did you ever possibly
Think love’s capability is something you’d see
In another when not found in yourself
Common sense locked away on the shelf
When self-value is equal to zero
Your fairy tale is a story without hero
Disgraceful loser and failure is what you believe
Through this lens is how you view and perceive
So if you’re someone you hate and despise
Regardless of partner or how hard you try
If you feel that you don’t deserve love
Then down your throat it could be constantly shoved
But never will you successfully share
Intimacy with another or be able to care
For another with sustained success
when you view yourself as one who’s worthless

So, I know it’s cliché but it’s true
The first step is you must learn to love you
Happiness is something found from within
When you’re okay with yourself you will win
And the grand prize at the end of it all
Is a life where you don’t feel so small
Like a spec of dust who no one would care
If you ended it all; no one’s feelings you spared
Instead filled with satisfaction and peace
A balanced space inside yourself you don’t lease
but forever forward you own
The infinite nomad no more wandering; now with home

Because no matter what’s rattling inside your head
Self-loathing thoughts or remarks that were said
I grab your face and locking eyes engage a stare
Begin to scream at top of lungs so all can hear

YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL AND SPECIAL EVERY WHICH WAY!
LOVE POURS IN AND OUT OF YOUR HEART EVERY DAY!
DON’T EVER DOUBT HOW AMAZING YOU CAN BE!
YOU HAVE PURPOSE AND YOU MATTER; SET YOURSELF FREE!

Written: February 6, 2018

All rights reserved

#reap #sow #love #hate #self #loathing #doubt #depression

Riq Schwartz Aug 2013

Vice.

She was 19, he was dead.
She took his heart and gave her bed.
No softer things were ever said.
They were together nightly.

He told her how her words could make
his voice to shudder, knees to shake.
She said it was a nice mistake.
She said so quite contritely.

She left him there to reminisce
of how they'd speak, of how she'd kiss,
then momentarily remiss,
his manners grew unsightly.

They say he took her by the hand
and brushed aside her hair of sand.
He spoke aloud the words he'd planned.
His eyes were shining brightly.

He told her she would never leave
his mind to wallow, heart to grieve,
that she would be the one bereaved,
his fingers gripping tightly.

Her bones were breaking, face was pale,
her eyes had formed a stormy gale
that sent her makeup setting sail.
She spoke to him forthrightly:

"You are the devil, you my doubts,
you are the hope I live without.
You'd have me cry and scream and shout,
but I'll say this politely.

I'll take my chances, starting now,
and set my heart to disavow
my head to take another bow."
Her words so sharp and sprightly,

she broke his heart, his hand, his hold,
and at his weakest, he was told,
"I'm not the type to be controlled.
Don't **** with me so lightly."

I once wrote a song about an abusive relationship, the whole thing being a metaphor for the struggle I was having with lust, and where I was the victim in the relationship. This is kind of along those lines, only with more abstract divisions between the literal and metaphorical elements. Take this however you see fit.

Jamin Feb 2014

Contrite

I am the same as
My empty sandbox

I have nothing new to say
You're still same when as when you saved me
I'll come to you contritely
I have so much on my mind
and it feels like I'm trying
to access it all at once and it's tiring.
I'm weary but restless
I notice every bit of discomfort that can usually just ignore
It's like I think I'm supposed to be cold but I'm sticky and sweaty
I never was able to talk to you without some sort of agenda, always wanting another song or testimony.

Medicate me
Close my tired eyes
Help me see you
Just let me realize.

The same irritating set of melodies is stuck in my head
Melodies that I used to like
Turns out too much disease makes you hate the treatment

Now I'm starting to feel tired
But I still cannot repose
Or maybe I can
I think I'll try now
Goodbye

No
I can't seem to find repose
And I wish that I knew why
Is it the song stuck in my head
The describes you and I?

is it the way my pillow hurts my ears
the pressing silence of what is soon to be a year

It's been nine months
Since that first night
When you stole my sleep
With your beautiful eyes
They tear through this world
That dampens my mind
All the words I've held inside
I've been deprived
by your demulcent smile
That hurts my empty heart

2012

lila Jan 2020

the last letter I write about you

It's been a year now, I have not changed. A sweet sailor told me once that poems were the only art form that allowed, demanded this much melancholy and I am none the less tragic. You would have laughed in my face had you seen him and I. Soft, silly boy opening up into bloodied lips. Pressing flowers into his hair, contritely convincing myself I was not the monster you wrote me out to be.

I won't tell you that he couldn't love me, that I could never keep him.

I'm sure you already know. That's how the story goes.

lots and lots and lots of endings

#love #loss #angst #letters

Stephen Peters Nov 2018

The Rut

To follow cemented roles
And fill the passage tightly
Brings forth hollow memories.

Affixed in your shallow holes,
I notice you stepped lightly
Through the smouldering embers.

What is found in dying coals
Too deterred to burn brightly
But a warmth not remembered?

Now this trail the frost controls.
One paved, no doubt, contritely
By ambition dismembered.

It sulks here between the elements.
Why didn't you turn around?

Robert Oliva Sep 16

DICHOTOMY

Dichotomy
This explanation so necessary likely won’t qualify
This situation so contrary contritely won’t satisfy
A Dickensian nod prods the worst of confusion
Concurrently claiming Best expected solution
Yet simultaneously indicating this said logic visits delusion
There were and are many days I prayed we could fasten connection juxtaposed as if to achieve balance warped with the wounds of rejection
A passionate Yin and a Yang of fires warmth and it’s burn
A scarred heart first filled with a hope that soon turns to hoping to learn
To run and to hide is the choice rated only
A directioned path to abide
If I didn’t fear lonely
Bobby O

KorbydAngyle Nov 2020

By the Night and Forest Side

Is this not a question? Dense sierra green,
kingdoms of nettles scurry.
"I am the Fairy Queen! Yes, sincerity is
our most prolific talent!"
Jeering, gutter snapdragons- moonlight
spicing the ivy weaving pessimism.
"No. No. For truth saves the insecure and secures... quick set minds full of haymakers!"
Moths stained the dirt with floam or pollen, drenched washed, blue and brown and fettered unto the ground.
"You see the vanity, of denying you've chosen to deny me?... Is it not my choice? So, there, that is my proof and justice!"
A kink walked sentry, then soldier fawned as if intensively thin, yet, woobled back out as the orange and green and pink caterpillar.
"We have deities and we have havens. And we cast doubts as surely the shadows are cast on sunsets daily occasions!"
"Occasions! There occasions! That is it. You must know occasions implies principle, numbers and special touches... frantic distances, and close in feathering and such... as it is..."
Doubled to the repose, a circle enclosed, droops of the large leafed Sycamore and disturbed Azalea demarkedly stretched.
"But, as time conveys, such messages focus their attention... On the goals that are set, or that of the wishes of, the golden sunsets? Is that not it?"
Twirled petals dancing twice, the daisy cast, and furtive roots of hearty Magnolias cramped together, shrugged a suffice.
"So once more I ask... I am the fairy Queen?!
Who does wish to be blessed by the magics
of the fey and the forest
our kingdoms lore?!"
But the delicate words passed off..., thin as pixels of dust vanquished by infinite progress of time, and thought,- whilst the plants had seemed to have recurled back from their torrid gusts...
And that evening the cherub young butterfly found petals free for the taking, on the deserted, yet, thriving bountiful land..
Yet off went the click of a camera from some 6 and 7 feet and steps... confounded humanity contritely fooled...and for a beautiful countryside there a standing sham!

perhaps punctuation makes this easier i think

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