"whished" poems
*This is my grandfather
Or rather
It's his grave
You see
there's just the thing
that he and I never meet
He died before I was born
He didn't even meet his grandson
none of the grandchildren
did he meet
tho' he had always whished for it
So this cold stone
which is covered by grass
is the only kind of grandfather
which I ever had...*
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
For ever distent
That's how I must seem
Never grasping of what you can do for me
But that's not how I am
I am thear when you need me
Just never allow you to know it
That's how I am
You run in my blood
You are my life
And you don't know it
You thank I don't see what you can do
But I know all to well
You grasped my heart the first time I saw you
I can't deny how much you changed my life
I can't demand for you to understand
My heart
But I ask you to seek the truth of the extent I'm willing to go for you
To see I would end my life just to see that smile
Just to cerest you in my arms
I am nothing more than my love
And my love is you
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
At night I look up at the stars wishing you were here every time your no I want to cry. I loved you and you didn’t know it now it seems like you ignore me but yet we said we’d always be friends. My heart pumped when u were near me I felt happy I didn’t want it to end I saw a shooting star and whished on it but my whishes are only for you . I whispered your name and then closed my eyes and when I opened them looked your still not here. Not even shooting stars can bring you back. I know now that all the promises me made are officially broken.
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
Happy Birthday, they called to her
As we met up with friends in common
At a later chapter of our first date.
She hadn't told me.
I hadn't done the research.
I should have known,
I admitted -unnonchalantly- before
She kissed me for the first time
And whispered:
I got what I whished for...
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
for my darling jan
I woke at 2.30am and left you sighing gently as you slept,
checked the trap but found only droppings on the floor
I set the trap again and hoped the rats would leave –
I would prefer not to **** anything.
The dog mawed and moaned at its fleas
rubbing against the rail on the back verandah,
it settled when I whished it back inside to sit
(my mouth made that wist noise, the one you know the dog will hear but won’t wake the sleeping).
I lay on the red couch in the study and read Ray Carver.
A return to Carver simplifying me. If not by sleep I was
comforted by his weave of innocence and knowledge.
Ray started writing poetry in the year I was born (1957),
I don’t know why I mention this, perhaps I feel him like a kindred
spirit and am warmed by even the slightest connection.
Between the living and the dead are the sleeping. However being at rest
is no excuse for ignorance. Ray is at rest - some 18 years.
His poems like me are alive and breathing.
The magpies begin their morning carol as I return to bed at dawn.
Your breath and skin have waited for me.
When we wake, I tell you,
I am grateful our poem continues.
MChallis © 2010/2014
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Nature Wonders
The morning
It was a blue
Wild animals
Whished
They had coats
Like the humans
The sun thawed
Raindrop big as balloons
Exploded on
Impact
Many cars
Were damaged
Rainfall
From a clear
Sky
The sun
Dried its own tears
Dogs barked
Came out of barns
The day
Continued as before
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC