"sorrowfully" poems
~I stare into the white walls of space,
Eyes looking at me sorrowfully,
I wish I could just say,
“It's okay- this happens everyday!”
But then they would be even more sorry.~
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
Harken ye temptious ear
To this scandalous tale
Of the indebted lovely Lady
Sorrowfully saying "For Sale."
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
*This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******
How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.
But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.
What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.
For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.
How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******** Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.
But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.
'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
*(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.
It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.
O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
We are two different planets.
You are Earth,
Spinning happily and carelessly around,
Like a beautiful ballerina,
So full of life and too, too, bright.
Whilst I am Uranus,
Rotating in the strangest direction,
Like a ball infinitely falling towards the invisible ground,
So sorrowfully dead and too, too blue.
You and I,
We are two different planets.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Notes on a IPad. A rejected lover’s lament.
What she says and in parentheses (What she thinks)
Oh please tell me,
What will I do now that
You have gone away,
Three days now it’s been,
Lost to me forever,
(And took my wristwatch?
Will I ever know,
the correct time again?)
I gave you everything,
And you crushed me!
(No I mean it, the other night
When you rolled over in bed
You actually friggin’ crushed me.)
Our lips are empty now,
Of each other’s kiss,
Like our odorous love,
our bed sheets grow stale,
(‘cause you didn’t put them
in the machine, like I told you,
Before you walked out the door!)
Life can never be the same,
Oh, to end my terminal misery.
(I’m thinking that notion over.
Maybe this is a positive thing,
My parents warned that he was,
not good enough for me).
I walked alone, along the lake today,
You know, the place we met,
(All those **** Ducks around there,
really make a mess. Got that goo
all over my shoe,)
But I digress.
You are gone now,
My loving arms are empty,
Of your sweet scent,
(Of the Brute Cologne,
I bought you for Christmas
You ungrateful Retch!)
My blurry eyes they do,
so sorrowfully weep,
(From all the pollen in the street,
God, I hate spring time for that!)
We were going to buy a cute,
Little yellow house together,
You vowed to love me forever,
**** Now I’ll have to renew my
Apartment lease, and get a roommate)
(You PIG, did you ever in your life,
Put up a toilet seat?)
You left when you said,
That you never would,
(And just what the hell,
did you do, with my car keys,
I ‘ve looked all over the place)
Truly my broken heart,
My stomach aches
and pines for you,
All Love has flown,
Oh,what will, what can I do?
(Hm’ I wonder if McDonalds has
McRibs back on their menu?)
Ring! Ring! The cell phone beckons.
“Yes, hello. . . Oh it’s you.
(You Son Of a *****
What’s that you say?
You’re coming home to me?
Darling, that’s so great to hear!
Want to meet down at McDonalds
I think they got McRibs!”
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Hobbling out of bed
Half dead
I'm led
To the bathroom
The shower a vacuum
Of my powerlessness
But first i ****
Then get in
**** out the contaminants
Of my ***** habits
And i scrub
I scrub off
The plastic love
The mean mug
And tug on my ****
Plant a vision til it pops
And drop
To the shower floor
Tilt my head back
And gurgle to the gods
For more
Scrub the grill
Lay a towel on the floor
Suit up for a war
Two sprays of cologne
And im out the door
Headphones on
Angels atoning
To the morning
As im floating
Through the fog
Descending in my grog
Along the path
Like a lab rat
For a slab of cheese
Through the swamps
And trees
Trampling
Dead things
And leafs
And im seen
By nobody
As i ascend a hill
To the corporate power
Where ill cower
For nine hours
Before reporting home
Going to bed
And waking up
To do it all again
Its blue collar zen
And im bored
So fraking bored
With my chores
Id rather scribble sounds
Into forms
Verbal storms
Visual cores
Implored
To explore
The tortured
Terms in torrents
Of turbulent
Talks with dead gods
And im born
Into the horns
Ive sworn
To protect
In widows peaks
And deepened
Speeches
I'm infected
With my perfection
Torn
In the muffled traces
Of noiselessness
Among the space-less
Distances
To my sentences
Taking out the crackles
And recording
Over the blemishes
Relishing
The fragile moments
Of eloquence
In **** jokes
And threatening
Gestures
Jesting
The restructuring
Of molesting
Verbiage beat
Over the mic
Delusions enticed
In my writes
Of fights
In long sleepless nights
Of rhyming
With bad timing
And mumbling
Of slimy things
Bubbling in the cuts
Dubsteped to **** fits
Sunkissed in lacking curtains
Disturbing the certainty
Of sleep
And cheapening
My dreams
Rolling over
Planting my feet
Upon wood floors
Hobbling toward
Tomorrow
Sorrowfully
Repeating
The same thing
Washing away the sleep
And fleeing
My creativity
For the rest of the week
(in progress)
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
When, in the graceful misfortune of a woman's eyes,
you are never alone, rejoice your beloved state,
without troubles blind to hell with the song of our lives,
without hearing crying, and rejoicing at this fate,
Content with you, unlike anyone else is your hope,
Hidden unlike her, unlike her with enemies dispossessed,
Wanting nothing of that woman's science, without this woman's scope,
Without what I less bear unhappily most;
Yet out of those feelings of you I am never despising,
Sorrowfully view her, after your state,
Unlike from the mockingbird after the repairing of night sets
To joyful waters, from listening to the lament at hells wall;
For my bitter hate forgotten such poverty discarded
After this I would gladly switch places with peasants.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
My bowl is empty.
Bits, spits, and washed out leaves.
The curling twig swims through circles,
Drowning in broken squares that look like triangles.
Crying in Spanish dance halls,
To the smell of jagged smiles.
Leave me a piece, a whiff, a touch,
To sigh, sorrowfully, with sweet incense.
---
Sunflowers and posies,
Nuts and bolts,
Painters of all things lovely,
“Circle my heart,
Cut it deep, with an ‘x-‘
Your riches are buried forever.”
06.2011
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 10:25 PM UTC
A candle burnt through the dark
Light piercing through the shades of doubt
And all alone it flickered and fought
To shine across the barren land
As faint as it whispered cross' the moors
The subtle tune it played ever grande
Catching your ear and welcoming you home
It brought you back to good hands again
Through wind and rain did this valiant light
Best the hurricanes and storm
Blazing loud and ever so bright!
To provide the softest warmth
For those who found this candle here
Resting in this secluded spot
It hoped and dreamed it could brighten your life
When wearied souls thought so sorrowfully not.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
Sunshine
she scatters shimmery splashes
Surrounding Sally's street.
Submerging submissive skies
Swinging slowly
Sluggishing,
Sauntering softly.
Sweeping soft swimming skies south.
Spraying sparkling sprinkles
Shinning splashing springs. Spreading sunshine's shimmery sparkles.
Similarly,
Sing-song sparrows sway, singing sonorously, sky-bound.
Sunshine
She swings, spluttering shinny splashes
Showering sweet solemn shades.
Suntanning skies
Suntanning seas
Suntanning streams
Suntanning species
Surrounding survival space.
Suntanning Sally's supple skin.
Sally stares, squinting.
Sunshine strikes.
Sally stays star-struck. Speechless, sober Sally slides.
Sweetly savouring sunshine's shrewd styles.
Swallowing some sunshine sparkles.
Sunshine,
She swims
Spreading sparkles solemnly.
Sally sees. Sally sighs.
Sally's street saw students scream sweet songs.
Sally's street served sweet shopping sprees. Since suddenly Sally's street screamed silence.
'Stay safe' Sally's screen suggests
Sally strolls sadly
Shaking solemnly.
Sauntering sheepishly,
'staying safe' Sally's shopkeeper's sister salutes, smiling sardonically.
Silence suddenly screams sacred scaries.
Sickness stole Sally's street.
Silence swallowed sweet songs students sang.
Shredding sanity.
Shaming sweet surrounding state.
Sickness seduced stress.
Stress succumbed.
Seducing several sins.
Shattering
Shaming
Stabbing
Slaughtering sanity.
Sad Sally sneaks,
Sitting, sipping snail soup.
Softly sobbing
Sorrowfully singing.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:07 PM UTC
Sacrifices don't always have to come at the expense of pain. How often we recognize, after the fact, that had we done things correctly the first time it would have certainly come out right from the outset. Then again, how many of us learn this lesson and put it into practice? However, when we look at things through a more spiritual light, our questions become more precise. We are then forced to consider the deeper meaning of our existence and what it all means.
Everything In Life Has a Price
Pain and suffering which we are often forced to endure
are an anguish of the mind which we cannot ignore
at times we have tried to help someone in need
only to receive in return greater troubles to heed
To lose the power to do that which is right
nothing worse other than the greatest slight
while the more we might struggle to be set free
the more these troubles increase in their intensity
As we contemplate what the end will bring
sometimes seeing nothing but sorrow for everything
then our friends bare witness, what have we become
a confused conscience is all that we have won
As time goes by, left is but a single memory to recall
when this too is gone, what remains but our own downfall
so we seek an escape, some refuge, anywhere to run
but we find it is too late, our web has already been spun
Everything in life has a price, only sometimes we realize to late
how much precious time we wasted, as we approach our final gate
while the clock ticks away, and with the inevitable growing near
sorrowfully reflecting on our past, for in the end who would care
A smart man learns from his own mistakes, this he will never repeat
while a wise man learns from the mistakes of others, and becomes complete
why continue to waste time, why suffer from that which cannot be made straight
there is great benefit in choosing wisely to avoid pain, and avert that terrible fate
Reconcile yourself with the facts of life, real happiness comes only with sacrifice
it is foolishness for one to think, you can have both worlds living a life of vice
just weigh the temporal pleasures you so much sought, and what they really cost
in the world of truth we will find, only righteousness is ours, all else will be lost
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Beneath such grim lit skies, the migrating clouds,
o’er the autumn forest, leaves dancing to the ground.
The grey path, cracked and torn, leaves smothering its face,
red, brown, and yellow, blending together so nicely that it creates an
artwork in itself. Dark grasses litter the pathways flanks,
coursing like a cement river.
Remnants of recent rain caught in the midst of short blades,
catch upon the rough toes and soles of aged leather shoes.
The wind penetrating his tattered jacket, a bag slung over his
shoulder, it being somewhat used and expiring.
His feet neither cheerfully nor sorrowfully scraping the ground.
His eyes catching little of the days light, but the lack of light did not hide
his tears, his lonely life, he wanders the paths of the nations,
walks down the roads into the horizon,
into the sunset and away from the dawn,
he only ever wandered, he led a simple life,
he was not homeless,
but instead quite rich,
he did not like the suits, the jewellery, the houses, and
banquets, the business, he hated them all, the meetings,
the lifestyle, the expectations, he wished them all away to wander
the great expanse the great wilderness of earth, tame and un-tame.
He hated company, he hated humanity,
he hated nature, he hated war, but hated peace, he
hated work but hated laziness,
he loved to be alone in all that he hated.
He loved to wander alone.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Being alone leaves me lost in infinity
Ever chasing for my own ecstasy
Searching for something happily
Longing for another so sorrowfully
But together I just hate another
Disgust for life and the other
Hate myself and every other
Misanthropic, people lover
Lonely days fuel love and desire
But my days spent together
Leave me too tired to bother
God and the holy father
Have only ever abandoned me
Left me on a raft lost at sea
So I ice my pain with cold tea
And say "well, let's wait and see"
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 1:08 AM UTC
The old tree on Maple Lane stood unwavering on the cold December night
that the young girl ended her plight
it creaked sorrowfully
as the child that once swung from its ancient limb
was buried on that evening so grim.
The old tree on Maple Lane danced to the rhythm of the wind
that glided all about, completely undisciplined
it flowered wonderfully
as the joyous winter that brought it innocence
was replaced with a warm immanence
The old tree on Maple Lane
had seen so much beauty
and so much pain
The old tree on Maple Lane
was completely beautiful and wise
Until it was slain.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
Repeating with
The frequency
Of apologies,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
While my head
Spins, and my
Innards lurch
Like carnival
Ride children,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
The chaos,
The orderly
Passage of red
Faced spectators
Drifting through space,
Their classic attempts
To embrace and
Disengage,
Grinning at what
Can't be erased,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
Like the sound of
Hopes cast into
The depths of hell,
Glinting tokens
You can't see
Seconds after you
Drop them in,
I'm the air,
I'm the disillusionment
That lets you know
When to be scared,
The anvil in
Your gut telling you
To stop,
I am the sweat
That drips
Like morphine
Into post-mortem
Pathways through
A needle
That needs sharpening,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
This is just a test,
As they say,
It'll all be ok
Once some obese
***** wails,
The levees are stressed
And the horsemen
Idle and wait for the fail,
For the flood
Of repentance,
Of common
Indecency,
For the blood
From Ahab's whale
To initiate
The shackling
Of the sorrowfully
Undeclared,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening."
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
I've loved
I've lost
I've pined away for someone who didn't even know I existed
I've bled
I've cried and sobbed sorrowfully
I've moved on
I've contemplated on ending my life to end my suffering
I've triumphed
I've achieved
I've met my goals just at the deadline
I've crossed the line point of no return
I've loathed myself
I've been kind to a perfect stranger
I've given loads of my time and energy to a worthy cause
I've wondered
I've pondered
I've doubted
I've sat in silence
I've pursued what speaks to my soul
I've lived
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
The devastating sink
Always returning, like the moon orders the tide
Submerged to the neck
Swimming against the storm
hindered by the trouble that cannot be released to its grave
to call the deep sea forever home
Heart open
only to receive nothing but crashing swells
Invading the lungs, forgetting how the fresh breath once felt
Skin crumbling as the ocean erodes life
The glare of the empty ahead
beats the eyes to a dry, bloodshot wince
Desperate for ground to stand on
but the helpless float in years of time
leaves the feet sorrowfully accepting of the futile kicks to live
Like a nightmare, occasions bring rescues
through the path of the reaping current
But none casting a saving line
for a last grasp of hope to cling its blistered fingers to
as if the beast of the waters should be left to dangle
And when the ocean swallows the fire of the Sun
and the moon calls for all life to retreat
the sharks come out for blood
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
History is a pendulum
swinging perilously
back and forth
over our shared humanity.
Slicing bitterly
at the air above me
with a visceral hatred
for all the good things
I hoped we could be.
Kinder to hater,
forgiving to denier
loving to crier
sharper it slices
cutting the air cleanly
leaving me feeling it keenly.
Wild rhetoric
going viral,
virus of white power words
spreading like the plague,
a poisonous and bubonic phage.
I struggle to stop it,
this rising tide
of tired tirades,
republican charades
turning different skin shades
into the enemy.
These neighbors are our family,
but the pendulum sees them
separated by the serrated blade,
exhausted by the hate
and violence that blazes.
History returns to sicken
my sorrowfully stricken
heartbeat.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
On Death's midnight hour I had not dream
The days hath gone away -- I couldn't deem
That the elder of these angels left the throne
And flown so sorrowfully by thee alone --
But thy lonesome soul shall limn to see
Not one hovering spirit free --
And where -- shall the asperity scythe cast
Over visions of the shadowed Past --
Of torrent of tormenting trauma
Filled with Manichaean mount and karma
Restlessly rolling down necropolis
Past foot-hills of the dread that drop polis --
Or of the sound of a susurrus winged-sylph whom soar
Yet thunder her voice in a stricken Lion's roar
And uphold herself on heavens vault
And dare to curse that its all my fault --
So what now -- what now when the worst
Is the Devil's tempest durst
To ever define me to what I am today
To ever price my soul to what I have to pay
When the final price was paid when the Lord bled fast away.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
.
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
All that was told were lies,
Yet they were blinded,
For your friend is a friend, they believed,
Dancing always, in the same circle,
Little did they know about the game Judas played,
To hug and to kiss, with a mind to rebel,
Poor lil kids, betrayed by a so called “dear” friend,
Now they sob sorrowfully day and night,
So innocent and so defenseless yet brutally attacked,
With spiteful words, a hug then a kiss,
For the love of money, the master is gone,
A shame, a shame, a shame, poor lil kids,
You ain’t got no silver nor gold,
But only a sincere and faithful heart…
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 11:48 AM UTC
Hello Darkness,
We meet again, the last time we spoke, I believe I was young, about the age of ten. I promised you a secret, and I thought it was deeply hidden, but you slid incognito without my permission. Wherefore art thou a stranger of mine keeping--at which hour thou art near mine own heart, at each moment, reaping. Every window has lost their blinds, and replaced with the kitchen table. The wood hangs distressed, and sorrowfully-- they pray in their heads waiting under the rubble.
Darkness, I must admit, the blood seeping through the cracks and the screams became a symphony. An ensemble that will be played before our collective agony. I confront you today, because I am deeply ashamed of my cowardly ways and unconscious thinking. When lives are at stake, you force my love to lose all feeling.
Every strike against my village appears to only strengthen our bond. That is why this must be our last encounter, because you see, you have killed them all. Farewell mine own h'rrid darkness, mine own monstrous conceit. Thou has't birth'd a savage within me.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
sit, sit, sitting,
sorrowfully laughing
at the conclusion.
sweet, sweet, sweetheart,
i played prophet,
yet was surprised when i called it right.
no, no, yes
i think i will never exist,
just your projection.
do, do, don't
feel guilty, i, the wrecking ball,
finally crashed into myself.
see, see, cease
the reassurance charade,
i just wanted you to mean "i want you".
oh, oh, okay,
i will try to keep my hands at my side,
talk to you polite.
just, just, just
don't turn away, because
if my heart never breaks,
what was the point anyways?
what was the point anyways?
what was the point anyways?
what was the point anyways?
i'll ride the wave.
i'll war civil,
i'll smile,
i'll hold you, dear,
i'll step aside,
i'll drop all analysis,
i'll stay away.
did, did, didn't
i fall at your feet?
did, did, didn't
i lick each of your sores?
will, will, won't
you ever tell me what was the point?
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
This is not a poem.
I just discovered I have Taylor Swift Syndrome. The subject matter of my poems seem to always be my life's tragic dismay at the hands of an "ain't **** man. I thus must sorrowfully self-diagnose myself with , as well as possibly be the first to officially coin the term, Taylor Swift Syndrome.
What is the cure you ask?
Simply taking control of my actions and not writing bitter *** "why don't you love me" poems. Most specifically my continued volunteering of my heart to people who I know are incapable of nurturing it in the way is so desires and then proceeding to ***** and moan through my creative talent about them not doing what I know they are unable to do MUST STOP!!
Treatment you said?
A complete subject matter shift of my poetry for the next 3 to 9 month, I'm honestly unsure of how long it will take but if 9 months is enough time to create a human being it is surely enough time to change a mindset. From this point until either August 2013 or February 2014 I shall no longer be a he woman, man hater poet.
Let the journey begin.
-Dr. Rab.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
Bound and shackled, I suffered.
Even small adjustments were impossible.
My life consisted only of confinement.
My hands were bound by neglect stronger than I could fight.
The chains at my feet were made with links strengthened by hate.
My mouth was gagged with lies of worthlessness.
Blinded by fears and doubts I decided:
My life, full of suffering, was not one I wanted to live.
I pulled and fought my restraints until I bled.
Crumpled on the ground I knew it was time.
It was time to end my confined suffering.
I would rather face death than the pain of life.
With a new resolve settled the door to my cell opened.
In walked a man that did not cause me to react in fear.
He sat next to me, in the dirt and filth, and said nothing.
We sat for hours, days, years.
He still said nothing.
He held my hand.
The man smiled. “Why are you here?”
The question angered me, could he not see the chains?
I turned from him; not wanting to hear more.
He continued to speak of a man that was not just a man.
As I sat in the grime he spoke of a father that loved me.
And a son that died.
I rolled my eyes and laughed.
My new friend was clearly insane.
No one could love me.
As he continued my bruises slowly began to fade.
I would not believe these lies he told.
I knew I was worthless.
My cuts healed and I continued to refuse his words.
He turned to me sorrowfully.
“I’ve done all that I can do.”
He continued to sit but said nothing.
He stayed by my side and said nothing.
He cried and said nothing.
My cell opened once again and words were spoken.
“Will you let me help you?”
This did not come from my new friend.
“Let me help you?”
I quietly wept.
“I can help you!”
Over and over again I was pleaded with.
This stranger kept asking to help me.
He wept and asked again.
I whimpered and tugged at my constraints.
I wanted to speak but was unable.
My heart yearned to accept his offer.
My new friend smiled at me in excitement.
“You can leave.”
I looked at my wrists in amazement.
The bindings on my hands turned to dust and blew away.
The chains on my ankles shattered and faded.
My mouth was clear to speak.
The stranger grabbed my hands and helped me up.
“Come to me and I will give you rest.”
I was free.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC