"tearfully" poems
What ever happened
to the Idea of Freedom of Religion?
What ever happened to religious equality?
I want it back? I'm begging for it to come back.
I sometimes get strange looks
when I admit that I accept all religions EQUALLY
that I would let a Jehovah witness into my home
just so I could learn about their faith.
That I find Catholic sermons tearfully beautiful
That One of my pen pals is Mormon.
People find me strange, they find me fake.
"How can you love them all equally?"
"how can you accept them all?"
It's quite simple really. This is my answer.
What right do I have to Bash what others think?
What right do I have to say
"No your god doesn't exist"?
I wouldn't want people to do that to me and my faith
so Why should I go out and do it to theirs?
There's this thing call FREEDOM of RELIGION
and I stand firm and believe it whole heartily
We all have the right to believe in what we believe in
And no one i mean
NO ONE
has the right to take that away!
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
I wait alone
wrapped in paper
shivering amidst cold
the door pressed hard
against my chest
this time a year ago
I met a similar fate
the verdict returned
cancer
a word my mind
has deconstructed
reconstructed
discarded
as my past
tears erupt behind
my eyes
how can I afford
to fight again
at what cost
and during
a pandemic
the door **** twists
as she emerges
eyes averted
my throat scored
in pain
"It's benign,
come back
6 months from now"
unable to move
I peer through haze
minutes tease silence
then with
trembling fingers
I dial his number
Aiden answers
"Mom, you okay?"
nodding tearfully
with newfound certainty
I finally whisper, "Yes!"
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 6:00 AM UTC
What's that
on your collar Sutcliffe?
O’Brien said
you got some
amorous sweet girl Eddie?
Danny D said
what is it?
I can't see
Eddie said
lipstick
I said
red stuff
where where?
he said
pulling at his white
shirt collar
with the red lipstick mark
he opened his shirt collar
and pulled it downward
how'd that get there?
he asked
your cousin still
staying with you
is she Eddie?
Danny said smiling
no not her
not that bucktooth *****
Eddie said
it must have been
my mum
she insists on
kissing me
before school
can't bring herself
to kiss your spotty skin
so kisses your collar
Danny said
she must have missed
Eddie said
how do I get it off?
who with?
O’Brien said
I ask that question myself
who's the lucky girl
what you talking about?
Sutcliffe said
how do I get
the lipstick off?
God knows
Danny said
soak it salt maybe
I said
but now
how now?
Eddie said
we walked on
toward school
Eddie rubbing
at his collar
with a greying handkerchief
that's the last time
she's going to kiss me
Eddie said
the red lipstick had smeared
more like a stain
it's worse now
I said
looks like a wound
thanks
he said thanks
you did it
not me
I said
what am I going to do?
can't go to school
like this
go home and change then
O’Brien said
I can't my mum's
gone to work
he looked at us
all tearfully
it's just lipstick Sutcliffe
no one's going to care
Danny said
of course they will
he said
especially Thompson
you know what he's like
he'll have out front
for a right pasting
if he sees me
come back to my place
I said
my Mum'll put it
into soak
and you can wear
one of mine
you'll be late
Danny said
you go on
I said
we'll get a bus
we can make it
if we run
O’Brien looked at me
you're all heart Benny
all heart
so Eddie and I
ran back to my place
and he took off his shirt
which my mother
put in soak
and he wore
one of mine
and off we rushed
to school on the 78 bus
Eddie all wide eyed
and I saw Fay
going to school
with her swaying hips
and blonde hair
and all I could do
was give
a keen eyed stare.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
Love only knocks once.
Maybe she can be scouted-
out thereafter, sought and
captured tearfully, like a dog
reunited with the master
whom he'd thought was dead--but
she only knocks once, and then,
I think, gives up. The universe
gives up. I cannot will love back to me.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
~
the smell of timbers,
aging in the sun and daily misting;
neath the shuffling sound,
footsteps of a man,
bucket filled with daily catchings,
the reeling in of memory’s castings,
of creosote's faint lifting,
drifting on the breezes;
of old tackle boxes,
of shrimp and lures;
the gatherings of hands,
ragged and weathered,
the collecting of years;
of hand-me-down hooks,
bobbers and sinkers,
the odd bits of dust,
gathered in corners,
pliers worn by use and rust,
save from drownings
grateful rainbows
one by one,
their too-short lives
extended with each
catch and release.
tired ropes wrapped
’round bent iron ties,
summer-time-baked...
cracked and dried,
by day's too old to count,
the numbers, the flutters,
since this heart began its bleeding,
it's journey beating,
floats of faded red and blue,
recall of a yesteryear
of a grandfather renewed;
the one-time, one-day
he and i walked
hand-in-hand
down a dusty road
to an old, wood fishing dock
on a grassy river bank;
dock and day long gone,
but love-scribed now,
deeply in this memory.
a day with rod and reel
when on a river long ago
a boy and a man,
an afternoon of fishing
to his heart listening.
a wistful day
of boyhood’s dreams
now in wishful haze;
forgotten midst
the growing years,
tumbling out in verse,
those smells, the sounds,
now reel out words
between the tears,
now catch-releasing,
a heart's docking...
and memory’s rebirth.
~
*post script.
funny, this memory thing... how we can be so not conscious of what lies ’neath its surface, but then is reclaimed in vivid, YouTube vision by the smallest sight, sound, or smell. with a childhood spent 8,000 miles and an ocean away from my home country, i have scarce few memories of my grandfather. today i am grateful to reclaim this one, a tearfully joyous recall of a six-year old's wonder-filled afternoon,
caught and released so long ago.*
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
a foolish young person lay breathing his last.
He bled out his guts to the soft-stirring air,
Soothed as white petals, like ghosts, flitted past.
A foolish young person believed those around him,
A foolish young person left Mother at home.
While many would say that she tearfully warned him,
She was one among many who told him to go.
She told him of bravery, bloodline, nobility,
And of destitution, tables yet to turn.
Under the branch that snows down white magnolia,
He bleeds out remembering others’ words.
Under a spice-scented branch of magnolia,
He thinks of the will of a God he knows not.
God would not wish for the sins he’s committed;
This murderer is not on his way to meet God.
He thinks himself hero, and calls himself savior,
Conservator of all that his short life has known.
To keep others underfoot, deprived, and in chains,
He gives up his body, his blood, and his bone.
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
His heartbeat an abacus, he tallies up deeds.
He fought not for money, he fought not for "rights,"
That reasoning is long since lost to the weeds.
He fought not for love of the branch of magnolia;
He fought not for dignity, the saving of face.
He fought for one thing, and one ugly thing only:
A life lived as if of superior race.
One could say he did not know his own motivation,
Because he so fervently deluded himself,
And many, thereafter, denied it as well,
Till they worshipped the rag that led him to death.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
Life isn’t fair they say
When you’re unable to go to a party
Or to a dance
Or on a spring break vacation
Life isn’t fair they say
When you can’t take the car
Or visit your friend
Or see a band live
Life isn’t fair they say
When a girl asks why she only got one present
And her friend got two
Life isn’t fair
Is not what they say
When a boy buys drugs one day
And is found unmoving the next
They do not say
Life isn’t fair
When his mother stains your shirt with tears
And breathes uneven breaths
In your ear
And whispers tearfully that
He loved you all so much
They do not say
Life isn’t fair
To a mother
Desperately clinging to her daughter’s coffin
With hot, angry tears rolling down her face
Screaming for her baby to come back
Because although life may not be fair
Life is living
And death is not a materialistic item
In which fairness is associated
Death comes to all
But when it comes to one too soon
They simply do not say
Life isn’t fair
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
*on the crowded quai of inception
gilded minutes ornately revolve
time is measured in tranches of soul
transporting moments of his essence
never versed in the outside world
an innocent daughter of imagination
boarding a train of transfixed reverie
her departure held fast in sistine release
such a private exhibition on public display
their affection left open to interpretation
a tearfully expressive and inspired farewell
within a shrine devoted to the art of the muse*
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
"But I don't want to die." said a tiny young girl, tearfully.
"You don’t die, not really,
There's another life afterwards, a better life,
Just waiting for you.
You'll be able to see Nanny again,
When you're up in heaven." replied her Mother at once, comforting her.
How do you escape death?
Truth is, you can't.
It's the only guarantee of life,
The only certainty.
Inevitable.
Humans try to conquer their fear of death
By painting wonderful mental pictures,
Creating a mirage of white lies,
Of reassurance.
Hoping,
Convincing themselves that there's a better life.
Dreaming of heaven;
Clear blue skies,
Songbirds chirping harmoniously
From dawn until dusk,
Rewards for good behaviour,
for those deemed obedient enough.
Paradise.
But realistic?
I'll leave that for you to decide.
Heaven symbolises the escape from the fear of dying.
An attempt to comfort,
To put minds at rest.
Religion:
Created to make people feel less frightened, and
followed by those scared of death,
scared of the unknown.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
Wind blowing, Birds humming.
Trees growing, Flowers blooming.
Treasure these in heart,
For the soul needs to feel the art of nature.
Smell the morning grass, wind in hair,
The song of nature be so tearfully blessed.
Water crashing against the shore,
The sand beneath our feet we adore.
Wind lifting my worries away,
While the rain clears my mind away.
Laying on the grassy hill,
Staring upon the sunlit sky be thrilling.
Nature be the spiritual healer I see,
Nature becomingly strong within me.
One needith not look for angels,
One just needs to open their eyes.
To see nature is the angel,
To feel that nature has the light.
Like an angel nature is beautiful,
Like an angel nature heals the soul.
Stare upon it's roots to believe
Stare upon the land to be relieved.
Nature can be your angel you just need to see, rain washes your doubt sorrows gulit the wind lifts you up the sky shows you that dreams can be real. One just needs to see the potential within thy self.
So when down remember you can awalys walk in nature's embrace to heal your soul and know that everything is not bad.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
When I was young,
I had a dream,
Just a small house,
down by a stream,
Far away from all that mattered,
All the dreams that ended shattered,
Just a home where I could roam,
And be me....
Call it causality, maybe reality,
Call it a God, who looks
Tearfully, down at me,
Call it an arrogance,
call it ambition,
Never conformed, you can call it
Attrition,
Call it a fantasy, call it
My lunacy, call it
my dream...
But in my madness, and still,
In my sadness, There's something
I cling to with hope and a prayer
That one day I'll find it, or worse,
Leave behind it, but still it remains
Like the chains that bind it to me...
When I was young
I had a dream,
Just a small house,
down by a stream,
Call it a fantasy, call it
My lunacy, call it
my dream...
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 11:27 AM UTC
Looking at the heart wrenching image,
Moved my whole being to tears,
Laying lifeless, bloodied,
Entry wood to her temple;
The husband craddling her head,
Tearfully looking down,
At the love of his life,
Never again to cheer his home;
She left the home that morning,
To oversee elections,
To serve her fatherland,
To contribute her own quota;
But all she got,
Was a bullet to her head,
The robbing of her life,
Abrupt end to an unfolding story;
Two children have lost their mother,
Parents have lost their daughter,
Sibblings have lost their kin,
And a husband his confidant;
Would she like many others,
Be a little statistic,
Some unfortunate incident,
Lost to unending callousness?
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
Hello fellow poets and artist Finding this site made me smile. I look forward to reading everyone's poems and art.
"Let tomorrow sleep and peacefulness will turn to you. Free yourself and go with your razor sharp emotions. Even the twisted flow is the proof that you're alive. I invite the tearfully-indulging sorrow."
Dreamer..made the best of being a misfit...I have a close bond with Emily Dickinson.. she speaks the most to me.. I'm an Aquarian.. I help people much as i can..
Sea salt and tentacle love letters scatter into my aromatic wind like snowfall in the Arctic. Prevalent. Soft, sweet layers of flowery smoke linger in my midnight lungs. Dark secrets revealed here. Passions unleashed.
To me the world is made of poetry spoken and unspoken
I apologize here and now for butchering your lovely language. Not my first
Doesn't Make Any Sense. Trying Hard To Be A Poet.
Under construction.
Don't stay too long, it's dark in here.
I'm not a good conversationalist, but feel free to message me still.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
looking d
o
w
n on this earth,
the moon sheds iridescent liquid pearl gems,
Lamenting for EARTH,
a earth that's
pregnant
WITH
sorrowful burdens,
how must I not feel despair,
feeling the moon's magnificent repercussions of sudden eruption,
feeling of sheer dread,
tearfully pleading for it to end,
In shock, for a moment,
muted are my words,
my tongue asleep,
Fingers crave, mind agonized...
martyred for words.
My pen bleeds ink,
innovating a remdesivir,
to cure the world,
if only there were a cure for
ONE
&
ALL!
To cure the world of the pandemic burdens of HATE, INJUSTICE and VIOLENCE,
but until then,
we must not dabble in silence!
~SacredInkedBlood
Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 10:19 PM UTC
The left wing and the right
Well you need both to fly
This bird of black and white
Tearfully looks up to the sky
And you know why.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
I saw You today.
I had no words for you,
You walked past and didn't even notice me.
I heard it threw a friend you was moving,
To find ya self.
I guess like you told me.
I saw her too,
holding your hand & gazing up in to your face.
Shes beautiful.
You always did know how to pick them.
I kept walking thou, But silly me I did turn back.
I had to get on last look,
One last glimpse of what use to be My everything.
I saw her Today.
She came in to my shop,
I almost hit the floor.
She said she was looking for a dress.
A beautiful off white dress is what she picked out.
Creme colored with pearl tear drops and laces entwined.
the head dress Well she settled for a Crown
I kept my composure ,
Never saying anything of importance,
I couldn't let her know who I was
or what I meant to you.
Her Mother was teary eyed and so Happy,
I hear her Say
Your the luckiest man in the World.
As She laughed she said She was the lucky one.
I know just what she means,
I too once was lucky to be with you too.
Everything you did was almost too perfection.
I ruined it and Now I'm helping Ya fiance pick out her gown.
I walked home after closing shop,
As I walked in central park I think to myself,
I wish I was her.
I saw you TODAY,
You were running out of the church,
Which was packed,
And everyone was all lined up on the steps,
As you run down towards your limo, You look up.
Smile to me from across the street.
You don't even say Good-bye.
I hope She makes your life complete&happy;!
I hope YOUR happy,
I hope you have and receive everything you
desire in this life.
I know as these tears fall,
They will one day dry.
I saw You today & all I can tearfully say is.....
Congratulation's!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N
1977-2008 All right reserved
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
looking d
o
w
n on this earth,
the moon sheds iridescent liquid pearl gems,
Lamenting FOR EARTH,
a earth that's pregnant
with
sorrowful burdens,
how must I not feel despair,
feeling the moon's magnificent repercussions of sudden eruption,
feeling of sheer dread,
tearfully pleading for it to end,
In shock, for a moment,
muted are my words,
my tongue asleep,
Fingers crave, mind agonized...
martyred for words.
My pen bleeds ink,
innovating a remdesivir,
to cure the world,
if only there were a cure for
ONE
&
ALL!
To cure the world of the pandemic burdens of HATE, INJUSTICE and VIOLENCE,
but until then,
we must not dabble in silence!
~SacredInkedBlood
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC
my writing, for you, unrhymed,
inspired, collective, untimed.
my wish, expired, worthless dime,
dropped, ignored, some great crime.
my love, for you, heavy climb,
unreachable, too far, too blind.
my ending, our tragedy, your prime,
soulless, tearful, wishful rewind.
our death, my wreck, you seem fine,
your words, my ears, tearfully unkind.
I believe, through days, through time,
but now, I know, you were never really mine.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
Steeped in frigid air,
The winter breeze thrills me.
This sweeping force of change
Has left the landscape unrecognizable,
And barren,
Devoid of people
And as still as the breath of dawn.
This dreamland of snow and ice,
As far as the eye can see,
Tempts me;
I long to abandon dignity,
Control,
And launch myself into a giant snow drift,
Or create heaven on a wind-blown sidewalk
Staring breathless at the starry sky above-
Or possibly assault some poor passerby
With a snowball to the parka.
I just want to soak in the glory of the quiet streets,
The glimmering clouds,
Hanging,
So still in the night sky,
To skip down the streets as though I wasn't freezing my **** off.
I want to pretend I'm a dragon,
Glowering at the pathetic humans
With their bundled ignorance,
And their pitiful resistance to cold.
I want to dance,
And leap,
And play forever,
Ignoring the idea that I'm supposed to be doing something important right now.
It is a wondrous feeling,
To live in the moment,
To revel in the small magic of recaptured youth-
But tearfully,
I turn away from the window;
The vibrancy of youth is wasted on me
In these bleak and stress-filled hours,
Slaving away like the pitied adult that I am.
I can no more abandon my learned responsibility
Than I can turn back time to my long forgotten childhood;
Like the winter outside,
I am frozen-
Stuck like a tongue on a flagpole
To this monotonous drudgery;
Day in,
Day out.
But today,
I think ill share a secret with myself;
I still have that awestruck child within me,
And I don't need permission to let it out
To scamper across the blank hills of snow,
Laughing and shrieking in chilly delight.
I won't be an adult today;
I will let the snow take me,
And like the snowman I used to build when I was small,
Mold me into a new shape,
From a forgotten age.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
Its as though i bang the banjo to an unknown flow, rocking my head, and shaking my hands, singing to the dead, and serenading the land.
I stand tearfully strong in long winded wailing to the scorn, and with each tear, i'm born, anew.
Dear Earth, i know you well, i know what you promote, and i know what sells, and if this is hell, then i am faring well, and farewell will be felt in my tells of seashells singing from a cell.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Dennis watched
as Miss Richie
slapped your face
and then stormed off
what was that for?
Dennis said
you rubbed your cheek
fire hot
I guess she didn't like
what I said
you replied
what did you say?
he asked
I asked her
if it was her face
or was she breaking it in
for an ape
you said
Dennis laughed
his green/blue eyes lit up
like pinball lights
what made you say that?
he said
because she would me up
and said I had a discarded look
you said
maybe you have
he said
maybe I have
but that's my face
not hers
you said
the bell rang
for morning break
and so you went down
the back stairs with him
and into the playground
and took out
your football player cards
and set down
by the far wall
and joined in the game
of flicking cards
nearest the wall
but Derek won
the first lot
and you lost
your favourite
and watched
as he handed them
into his winning pack
over in the other corner
plump Miss Richie was standing
arms folded
glaring at you
any more
for any more?
Derek said
count me in
you said
taking more cards
out of your jacket pocket
and along with Dennis
and Derek and Richard
you flicked your cards
and the game
was in play once more
Dennis's card won
and he collected the cards
on the ground
by the wall
that's me out of cards
you said
and wandered off
to where Ingrid
sat alone
by the playground steps
hair pinned back
with metal grips
her grey skirt stained
her cardigan holey
with missing buttons
her eyes brightened
when she saw you
saw you lost cards
she said
yes not my day
you said
not mine either
she said
what's up?
you said
I lost my dinner money
she said
and dad will **** me
when he finds out
where'd you lose it?
you said
don't know
I went to get it
from my bag
and it was gone
she said tearfully
you put your hand
in your trouser pocket
and took out a 2/6d coin
here have mine
you said
I can't
she said
what will you do
about your dinners?
I'll tell my mum
I lost it
you said
but she'll get angry
with you
Ingrid said
yes but she'll not **** me
or harm me
unlike your old man
you said
she took the coin
and put it
in her cardigan pocket
thank you
she said
no other boy
would do that for me
they don't like me
and call me names
she said
I like you
you said
and walked up
the stairs
to the boys' toilets
wondering how to tell
your mother
you'd lost your coin
on that Monday morning
on your way to school
as you opened the door
and entered the stall.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
I BLAME YOU AT&T;!!
For all the tears my baby must be crying thinking I am not there.
For all the calls he is trying to send me and I do not get YOU AT&T;!!
For all the lovely text message I am positive he is desperately sending me, YOU AT&T;!!
For all the "Good morning beautiful's " his strong hands are furiously texting me each and every day AT&T;!!
For all those wonderful "I love you's" he has to be trying fruitlessly to send me throughout the long and lonely days, YOU AT&T;!!
For all the " I miss you baby's" my sweet love must be tearfully hoping I will get, YOU AT&T;!!
I BLAME YOU AT&T;!!
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
I could and would want,
if what is behind me is truly nothing,
if these words stop lying and untangle me,
to fall backward, away from
this circle of attempt.
But then (God) how deep I would fall!
without meaning, inside coiling time.
So again I find myself having to try,
writing helplessly
another repetition.
Just the act is enough (for a while, uncoiled).
But it’s not enough. What can I do?
My written bursts are always
muted in some kind of murk
or otherwise obscuring clarity,
and they press their beautifully soiled hands
against concrete windows,
knowing they will (and must) stay
for another while, at least,
tearfully inside.
The beginning of it is a slow
burdensome churn to widen cracks.
The rest is a ritual for the politely deranged:
******* what little air seeps out of the real,
chafing what little skin I have
(all of which is a little fearful)
with what few rays of medicine light
are handed to me across the cracks
from the real.
It is a ritual (in essence)
to unstifle the strayed confusion I impart
to the in-between two childs,
who blurry, alone, and accepting, fly together
in the midst of this ever-widening green field.
“We should go back to our home
on top of an overturned dust bin,
where I can toss sand in the air and laugh
because I don’t care to know beyond,”
I hear her say to the other.
I imagine my love as this child,
make the hidden screen in front of her past
young eyes coalesce gently
into this hidden now-and-everything.
I see you collect rocks safely
into your pink-striped shirt
as dirt stains your purple pants.
The color of your young hair is the same
it was when I saw it reflected in the
Tyrrhenian, before we reached our ripped end
and you made me fall backward,
somersaulting with eyes closed in sickness
toward the sun we saw that day,
in the garden we agreed was perfect.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC