"tearful" poems
I live in a forest of fallen sunflowers, old and wise, they speak to me of the days gone by
When the sun sets among the wilderness blaze, they tell me night is befalling, and I must make my departure
They tell of decades ago, how they’ve watched as humans lived their lives, most rotten in nature
They spoke of the one that used to tend to them, how gracious and kind, how pure and warm
For the sunflowers spoke with melancholy, for they knew that their former caretaker was well gone
So for a moment they wept their tears of seeds, and sung soft melodies of their former caretaker
They spoke to me and warned of the evils of humanity, how they were too once the victim of the evil
They asked why humans destroyed what’s beautiful around them, why they wish to sabotage what keeps them breathing
But they spoke to me and said I was a rare human, one that had good intention, and a sensitive heart
As night began to fall, I left the forest of sunflowers, carrying their tearful seeds
To spread as I walked away, to maybe rejoice and create life once more
The forest I hope will remain tomorrow, that it stands the test of time
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
The plates below are shaking
The house & lands on earths are moving
I can see the fear on people's face
Moving here &there; in fear, without interest
Hopeless face and tearful eyes,
Praying for their God, thinking, how to survive.
Dear Earthquake, Why you come?
Not only once but again and again with more
AFTER SHAKES.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.
Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.
He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.
His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.
Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
15.4k
sunflowers lean in the direction of the sun
although this sunflower leaned in the direction
of the warmth that came from the moon
the mysterious light that attracted the flower
not from what it was familiar with
a new experience and a new way to bend
--
although the moon sung with the flower,
pampered its petals with faraway words and
danced through shadows that felt so close
the moon was in the sky
the sunflower danced, lone
in its own lonely patch
the sunflower was the sun of its own
danced to its own tune, smiled, laughed
was so sure of the world and its offerings
but the moon had its own tune
a slow, cautious, steady, unsure
dance.
the sunflower thought to please the moon
whenever it could with its own light
to dance as the moon's stage and to love
but the sunflower could only dance
for so long, until a petal fell
from its yellow petal crown
the sunflower could not evaluate why
it danced for its love. it simply had
to keep dancing
although the sunflower knew that
its petals were falling off
and the sunflower had bent too far
the sunflower had its own frustrations
but the moon hurt wherever it shined
the moon's songs were so achingly
tearful
the sunflower hardly had any petals left
when the moon began to shine its light in another direction
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies
12.9k
Lost Love
He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.
He returned home early
from work,
eager
to rest and nurse a cold.
Eager
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.
Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.
He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
calamity,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.
He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
Why?
What about the future lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and honor...us.
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.
He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?
Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.
That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.
LR-5/4/17
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
whispers of sea
where the cold storm
gathers in the grey
sky, and the waves
pound the shore
running back
pushing down
arching like
fiery cats,
the ache of the storm
a tearful cloud
the song of
a poem.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
Compassion is a
Smile
An open ear
No judgment
Compassion
Is a hug
Warm
And accepting
Compassion
Is a tissue
For the tearful
And my last dollar bill
To a stranger
Compassion
Is a thousand fold paths
Of daily acts
Of kindness
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
i want to tell you.
i really do.
i'd love to spill my secrets, my issues to you.
yet i can't comprehend it.
i can't communicate it to you.
and the fact you could leave me.
it makes my heart a tearful blue.
you already look at me as if i'm broken.
what do i have to lose?
i want to tell you.
i really do.
yet i can't cope with the fact.
the fact your presence may fade.
vanish without a trace.
except you'd still have that key.
the key that can unlock the darkness in my brain.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
During my manic episodes, you found me fun, fervent, even amazing. You told me that you wouldn’t trade my love for anything.
You told me that I made the butterflies dance in your stomach,
and made the demons disappear in your head.
With every “I love you,” there was a smirk and a kiss.
You told me that I was one of a kind
and you’d be there for me no matter what because you couldn’t imagine living without me.
After my first bad episode, you started telling me that my love was overbearing and you needed space.
You told me that you felt suffocated and I was like a child craving attention from their mother. You told me I was too repetitive and you just wanted to go get high.
Every time I said “I love you” you looked at me, shrugged, and said “me too.”
I asked you what happened to “forever” and you said only sane girls keep their prince.
You acted as if I got to pick and choose what disorder I wanted. As if being bipolar was a luxury I wasn’t taking advantage of.
When you got sent to a mental institution for attempting suicide, I searched for you for six hours until your mom told me where you were.
After you returned,
I helped you find yourself again and lost myself in the process.
I sacrificed everything for your well-being,
and you had no interest in mine.
You made me believe that being bipolar made you a terrible person, but then I looked at you with tearful eyes,
and got a peek at what terrible really is.
Thanks to you, I know who I am.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
I can't wait till I'm awake..
Plugged into the wall.
Nothing noted until the shell of the capsule
collapses under the weight of your trembling hands.
No there is no notation for what was said between us, just figure-less voices and a strenuous pain that strained our throats for the fear of nothing being communicated between the exasperated gasps of what was less than incommunicable silence.
Ugly is not a word but a feeling applied with meaning, applied to a certain truth about that metallic taste in my mouth, that tearful pain jostled in my chest and that consuming fear.
I know little of what this ugliness could mean other than it harbors shame in my corners. This shame is not inborn in anyone, but it builds it's presence as a drunken braggart who shouts obscenities and believes he is a prince of highest regard.
His ugliness is in what he slings from his tongue and his criticisms of all who in his mind toil about. But he is simply a angry troll with no heart and delusions of grandeur, frittering away time.. for time stands as an eternal judge and measure.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Standing at my window with an aching in my chest
Looking out the window as the rain poured down
Pondering hard if I could withstand this test
Fixed in a lost gaze; in tearful helplessness I drown.
The raindrops burst as they fall and hit the ground
Into a million droplets merging back into a puddle
Like muffled drumming, chaotic yet calming is the sound
Spellbound by it's sight, so beautiful...so subtle.
My eyes grow weary but still I wish to witness
These glassy beads falling enchantingly from the sky
Hoping it'll wash away the miss and all of it's madness
Felt the moist in the wind as it kissed my cheeks dry.
This magic before me, I can stare upon all night
For I love it so, it brings the solace I so have craved
Much like my love, I'd gaze upon her till the break of light
Wishing I could tell her of the love I've saved...
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
You've always been in my heart
Where you've stayed since the beginning
You're like a little sister to me
Like the twinkling stars are to the beautiful sky
Like the driftwood is to tiptoe across
Like the romantic couples are to sandy beach strolls
Like the glowing campfires are to cooling nights
Like the soft music is from crashing waves
Like the white seashells are to listening ears
Like the gigantic ships are to the rolling sea
Like the wiggling fish are to the squawking seagulls
Like hungry people are to their picnic lunches
Like the playful families are to the never-ending coast
Like all eyes are to the breath-taking view
Like the smiling faces are to the digital cameras
Like the crying children are to their tearful goodbyes
You're like a little sister to me
We've always been, one way or another, the best of friends,
And we'll forever be, until the end
Copyright 2014; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
Yesterday
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….
Remember?
Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter guards
On the pandal
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.
We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
Scared
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.
The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.
I am like the faces
In the house of deceased
Sobbing
At times
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.
Sometimes
I am all the faces
In the house of the dead
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.
Sometimes
The wedding house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.
Just like you.
My dear bitter guard,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk?
Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
Of wholehearted love?
Translator - Shyma P
Shyma P : Works in Payyanur College, Payyanur. Translator and film critic. Has translated poems and articles in Malayalam Literary Survey, The Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Literature, online magazines like Gulmohar, Readleaf Poetry as well as scripts and subtitles for short films.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
.
*I hope you know
how much happiness
you bring into my life...
When all hope
seem to have failed,
you were there
keeping me alive...
I'm so grateful for what
you have added to me...
I couldn't have asked
for a better friend,
to help open my eyes
so I could finally see...*
***My days
were filled with
tearful gazes.
Eyes drifted
away
to far off places.
But today
the sun brought out
the green in mine,
A promise
of a future...
In my heart does shine.***
*You and me
together...
Hand in hand
anything is possible...
This is only
a bump
in the road.
With you
here next to me,
nothing
is impossible...*
***Together...
We could leap
into
tomorrow's rays.
Without care,
fear
nor
concern...
We now rule
the fate
of our days.
With...
Sceptres in hand
and
flames in our hearts
that burn.***
Cat aka catbrd
ryn
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
the happy hearts,
the broken hearts,
the sparkling hearts,
the hurting hearts,
the tearful hearts,
the lost hearts,
The confusing hearts
the beating hearts,
the silent hearts,
the tearful hearts,
The sad hearts,
the blessed hearts,
the blooming hearts,
the childlike hearts,
the old soul hearts,
the dreamy hearts,
the beautiful hearts,
The poetic hearts,
No matter the journey
Through thick and thin
as long as we are together,
we are not alone
The game is never over
Rise with grace
And win the race ❤️
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 2:36 PM UTC
I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered
and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out
and we had
a hell of a job
getting it back
in the cage again
so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought
keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this
o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair
and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes
shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked
back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee
looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying
for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't
Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen
I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door
to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages
to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border
of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more
of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that
I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park
on the swings and slide
I said
I see
she said
looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag
it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road
she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words
and pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian
to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said
looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
When you know who you are and find out who you are not, how can you bother sleeping at night? When it holds us down and it’s done dreaming of the enslavement of billions because it has come to life inside our minds. The days’ endings are coming and seem worse with each passing slide of childhood memories and tearful age. Who you know is so tired. Each and every of the billions’ voices is stifled.
“I know my heart and I love my family. They give me joy though I watch them suffer every day. Of racial profiling, religious hate and sexism. I pray the young will be spared my fate. So I pretend not to see and enjoy all my moments with them because all I can clutch, keep my control of is now, is this very moment. Now is all I can see. No influence on my future comes from me.”
© October 27th, 2013
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)
I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal
Far away from you and home
I am dying, the hours I am counting
In what I liken to my grave that is Rome.
All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace
Moments of respite thinking
Of you and our past exchanges of affection
Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending
Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained
Tears are comfortless and what is to come
Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown
Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb.
I can’t understand and it defies reason
The human heart should bear so much pain
While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song
Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain.
Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now
Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever
Where the old and infirm hang their heads down
In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever.
And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this
The saddest schemes of things should share
This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft
I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear.
John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
Yet I Am Ready
Watching the waves eat away the castles made of sand
Staring at the way wind is churning at infrastructure land
like a big bad wolf who found the fear and lean foundation of a brick house
I am ready for her hand
I am all ready
Traversing fields filled with fruitless wonders
burning tundras rolling thunders
A Man attempting to put out its grand made funeral pyre
with nothing but a Jack and Jill bucket filled with reverse osmosis electrolyte infused hydrogen oxygen expired prayers
I am Ready for no man land
I have a radio already
Listening to Nokia raven chirps and bubble bee gyrations.
Evergreens whispers as wild blooms break concrete and asphalt and building plans
giving smiles to homeless man and woman
dreamers flowering in the night lights that were supposed to replace stars
I am ready
for the woods to takeover the hoods
for bear feets to take over the streets
for napkins to become extinct
to write with my god-given red ink
so that my being will dye into stone and dirt
To leave my DNA on my mothers belly and hear her cry
As she covers my mouth closes her eyes tearful from radioactive winds
let her know that I loved her and hugged her every chance I could
I am ready to give up me for we have not given back enough
We have devoured the essence and forgotten how to seed and harvest
the nothing has become us
which is why Earths flesh is colored rust
like blood mixed with scratching dust
we have bruised the body
and wonder if we can blame something someone else
but US
Every time the finger points the object of our deflection disappears
Rearrange the letters she was trying to help us HEARt
Rearrange the letters EARth is trying to make us Heart
I'm trying to make us Ear
These MTHFCKRS are among US.
We have bred them with our love lust
still unaware that they a fungus
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
they save a life to **** it from us.
they manufacture fakes to stunt us
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
Ideas devoid of what we need to come up
She must go now and rip it from us
We must shed our blood just to fund us
Cause these MTHRFCKRS have out done US
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
have you ever
sat
and wondered about
the putrid smell
of corpses
and what happens after this--
all types of magical forces?
have you ever
stood
in line for hours
waiting only
to be
insulted by cowards?
I've often
wondered in the morning
over
my donuts glazed
how you can
not talk to me
for several days;
but when you do
it fits like a shoe,
and now just what
are we going to do?
have you heard
sad words
whispered from a lover's lips,
and if so,
did it bring a tearful kiss
or
was it more like
a lustful hiss?
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
Morning sunlight lighting the dark hardwood floors
Pages being turned and voices no louder than a whisper
People shuffling in and out the doors
The rain coming in at last
Shifting the clouds
Now to overcast
Watching silently just barely a glance
Observing life as it is
Hoping for the chance
To feel something more
Become something better
Moods always changing
According to the weather
I sip the burn of this morning roast
Nibble my eggs
Crunch on my toast
People in the park sway on the swings
Probably thinking
Of such trivial things
Man on the corner of the street
Checking the time
He's got somewhere to be
Getting back to the daily grind
A tearful woman sitting on the bench
Crying her heart out
From the guy who called her a *****
Life appears all around us
We choose what to ignore
The sick, the healthy
The rich, the poor.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
Just to last to a brand-new sunrise
That’s all I ask of me
Just to last to another sunrise
Find out what victory means
Just to last to another sunrise
That’s all I ask of me
Just to gain a stop on this great ride
Towards the victory I seek
I need to last until sunrise
I need the sun to see
That I’m more than my nightly low cries
No more will they define me
I’m fighting for my sunrise
For my last chance to see
A life beyond this shadow
A smile just for me
Just to last to another sunrise
Just to say without forced luck
Good morning, Peaceful Sunrise
Good night, Tearful Dusk
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Dear Trusting Nurse-Maid, must we Speculate
The Favours your Leader asked has mulled
Far healing cry a tearful Reprobate
And supposed Cheerful Innocence has dulled
As soon as the Red Tabloid goes to Sin
And whips the Pink Horse we all fantasy
Your Prince suddenly squeezes on a Whim
Which the Next Frustration will testify
I envy you all. Despite Fashion's Change
Like Solemn Dakinis prayed for Support
Cry the Call for War; And within a Range
Mark him a Target then file my Report.
I have lost that War. And the Battle as well
Yours straight to Heaven; Mine a Journey's Hell.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC