Week 281 (October 9-15). Poems. Topic: The Last Goodbye.

[Ryan]

You have until the 15th of October to post a poem, and October 16-17, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a poem previously used in this group.

Your poem can be any length.

This week’s topic is: The Last Goodbye

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a poem about anything that has to do with the subject but it must relate to the topic somehow.

Have fun!

Thanks to Garrison for suggesting the topic!

[Angel]

Death’s Door

That knife
It’s stuck in deep
It won’t sleep
Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing
Reaping my soul
Leaving me swollen
Making me pay the toll
Keeping me from reaching my goal
Burning me like hot coals from the inside out
I can’t get out
I’ll never get out
My gift, my love doesn’t hold much clout
The snout of the beast smells my fear
And it’s like an aphrodisiac
Drawing it near for one more attack
I lack the energy to fight back
I let it take me
Let it make me do things that I know I’d never do, if I wasn’t under the influence of its poison
That knife is stuck in deep and it won’t let me breathe, be freed

Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing
Leaving me swollen
Cutting me open
Burning me to death
Ripping out my chest
Until there’s nothing left
That knife is stuck in deep
And will continue to earn its keep
Making me bleed
Making me weep, until I’m just a heap on the floor
Finally dead at Death’s door.

[Connie]

I liked this poem. That knife seems symbolic for there are different ways to 'die' in this life.

[Connie]

REMEMBERING THE YOU OF OUR WE

Fragrances of you linger long after I
close the door of my heart in protection,
from the loss of your countenance
in my presence,

Years bonded us, never contingent
on expectations but on the sharing, the
good the bad, but most important, the
love, growing through the years

As I sit here alone, I am reminded
of being held in those arms, so strong
and accepting, how I long for those
times, my head on your chest,

Listening to the rhythm of your heart,
beating as one with mines and I weep
in mourning that you’re gone, I can’t
believe that it has ended

How can I be expected to move on
knowing you are gone from me,
forever, why couldn’t we have
left here together,

The way we lived, over the years in
this marriage of minds, hearts and
bodies, in harmony; we were blessed
to have found each other,

You made me strong just being near you,
though I know that you had to leave,
that knowledge does not appease, as I
prepare to live my life without you,

For the rest of the years allowed me, until
we meet again on the other side of this
realm, I will always miss you; R.I.P.
my love

[Rania]

Title: I Stay

For the sun will set
And the moon sometimes lose its shine
And darkness is all you see
When you're not next to me

Though vacant may it be,
When you sleep with not me
When you wake, she is not me
When she smiles, with not my gaiety
Now what you see is not clarity
Her loving, still your heart is empty

Yet the sun never skips its rise,
And the moon never lose its holding to earth
Yes, love, simple and evergreen, never leaves

Although I left, should you still hear my heartbeat,
How it races when you say my name, when you touch my skin, when you taste my lips

Should you dive into my eyes,
And entangle your love with mine, see the truths lie within, see the realness of my feeling

Although I left to venture, should you still feel my love

Should she fill the void of your heart

[Edward]

Title : The Last Goodbye
Poet : Edward Davies

The morning was just like the rest
The usual routine
I didn’t know it was to be
The last time you’d be seen

You left the house as usual
I thought that you’d return
I didn’t know your car would crash
And that your corpse would burn

We hadn’t had an argument
For that I can be grateful
There was no sign of raw disputes
Or conversations hateful

But that just doesn’t change the fact
That death has come to greet you
It spun your car off of the road
And ventured to unseat you

I sit at home, alone right now
Remembering our life
Remembering the good, the bad,
Of you being my wife

The memories hit home, they hurt,
They bring tears to my eye
As I recall that gentle kiss
That spelt our last goodbye.

[Angel]

Connie wrote: "I liked this poem. That knife seems symbolic for there are different ways to 'die' in this life."

Thanks!

[Jim]

open for critique. as always.

-o-

Human Patience


By the time you read this, the five men
who had to climb up a tree to escape
Sumatran tigers would have been
saved or devoured. It is Tuesday
and I read about their ordeal
on Sunday, four days since it began

with the accidental trapping
and killing of a cub. It is
an echo of a comic scene
from “Quest for Fire.” The last
leaf eaten or blown away
by the wind, the eyes

of men who have seen
the end of a companion
who could not scamper fast enough.
The dwindling rainforest
in the jaws of biofuel production
and human impatience

come together at this particular
and soon to be forgotten
junction. Not a single
note will be played
from an unwritten piece
of exit music.

-o-

[Guy]

What Was The Last Goodbye
      by Guy Duperreault. (FB and C welcome)


I was fidgeting with the remains of my lunch,
a few wilted greens and dried bread remnants,
the unwanted onions,
the discarded, now broken, toothpicks
used to stabilize the tall sandwich halves.

The cafe was mostly empty this mid afternoon
winter’s day.
I had seated myself carefully
to ensure that I had a clear view of the belled door.

I put my hands around the large now cooled coffee cup,
picked it up, set it down, turned it, touched the rim.
I sipped the cool coffee,
and quickly covered it’s opening with my hand
when I saw the young and eager to please server perk up
and begin to move towards me with a fresh brew
and the hope of something to do.
I smiled at him
and he crinkled his face in unspoken puzzlement.

I turned my head at the sound of the muddied bell
with less excitement than when I had sat there
two hours and forty-seven minutes earlier.
And two weeks of hoping to see her,
to erase the last time as the last time.

Without looking at my hands,
I touched the rim of the cup.
I watched the affable city strangers
alone or with others, walking by,
talking or texting or listening to private,
ear bud or ear phone,
noises.

The stranger who had rung the door’s bell
moved to the table across from me.
And after unloading her hands and
shrugging off her coat and scarf and hat,
she looked at me, and smiled hesitantly, shyly,
as she sat down.

I acknowledged her smile with a half hearted one and slight nod,
and then turned my head at the clinking of the door’s bell.