Tag Archives: broken love affair

Memories of Loves Past

Memories of Loves Past

To improve those ancient feelings regarding love that’s past—
all of those sad endings for love that didn’t last—
relate the facts as comedy. Banter about life’s failings.
Laughter serves you better than retroactive wailings!

Actually, the past love I’m fighting sad feelings about today is the 22 year old Royal Poinciana tree that they are cutting down today. It had root rot and was in danger of falling so it had to be done. So, unbeknownst to me, I gave myself good advice in writing this poem which started out to be about love of another variety.  Here is the tree in all its former glory:

Prompt words today are ancient, improve, feelings, related, banter

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Tree of Love: For Wordle 559

Tree of Love

Your hair, tangled in the breeze, streams wickedly away
as though that breath that moves the clouds has you in its sway.

The seeds of love that you have sown grow  branches that deceive,
for as I try to climb them, they offer no reprieve.

The song you cast upon the wind is no boon to me,
for as I climb ever higher in affection’s tree,
the effort steals my breath away and in my lovelorn greed,
both hands and heart are pierced by love and begin to bleed.

That mouth that bestowed kisses earlier on the heath,
as you turn to chart my progress, has suddenly grown teeth,
and as I recall your kisses, no matter how sublime,
I decide that their rewards are, alas, not worth the climb.


For The Sunday Swirl Wordle 559 the prompt words are: tangle breeze stream clouds sway reprieve teeth bleed seeds climb branches boon.
First image by Adrian Fernandez on Unsplash. Second image by me.

Expiration Date

Expiration Date

Love is a narcotic that makes us think we’re wise-—
nature’s slick conspiracy for matching girls and guys.
It hangs around in barrooms, obscured in eyes and talk,
and before you know it, it makes you walk the walk
down rose-petaled aisles on your way to say “I do,”
in something new or borrowed and something old and blue.

Then love becomes a train wreck, beginning with the pastor
and continuing through daily life until the last disaster
when “I do” becomes “I won’t,” and all love’s vows once-spoken
wind up in love’s dump heap—abandoned, crushed and broken.
Blame it all on Cupid, that chubby little liar,
who never warns us that our love is likely to expire.

Prompt words for today are conspiracy, guys, narcotic, wreck and talk. Image by Niki Sanders on Unsplash.

Wrong Decision: Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #518

Wrong Decision

Candlelight feigned the light of the day
and wheels crunched the gravel as he drove away.
I knelt down on the carpet and let my tears fall,

then rose to my feet and walked to the hall.

Too late for touching, I opened the door,
surprised at the flowers placed there on the floor.
Recriminations were all I expected,
but as I opened the card and inspected

the words that he’d written, they opened my heart
and I wished that I hadn’t let him depart.
Instead of surrendering to my misgiving
that he would be angry instead of forgiving,

that I’d opened the door and invited him in.
If I had, now I wonder what might have been?
I might have been living to this very day
with the love of my life that I sent away.

 

This week’s prompts for Wordle are: land, carpets, line, down, kneeling, tears, flowers, late,
wheels, touching, living and candlelight.

The Refusal

The Refusal

Though you seek to amuse me, instead I’m aghast
when you stir up these tales from your vagabond past—
how you set out with no education
upon a path with no destination.

When you tell what you did when down on your luck
what you’d do for a dime or a quarter or buck—

I don’t want involvement with one of your kind—
one who’ll do anything, caught in a bind.

How can you think that your tales of abusing,
of wooing, beguiling and loving and using
could be aphrodisiac is hard to see.
They only insure your next victim’s not me.

So I’ll say ta-ta, au revoir and so long.
I won’t be a lyric in any sad song,
and when I dress up in wedding apparel,
I’ll make sure my groom is a good deal less feral.

 

Prompt words are aghast, amuse, destination, involve and quarter. Illustration by Uyen Nguyen on Unsplash.

Return to Sender (For the “Let It Bleed” Prompt)

Return to Sender

Tell it, please, to Cupid and to the cooing dove.
I don’t require a second chance at the game of love.
I’ve said goodbye to mystery, nostalgia and the moon.
I find the very topic of love to be jejune.

Once I was its addict, but I’ve quenched my lovelorn thirst.
I’m immune to its magic, its betrayal and what’s worst,
its transitory nature which conspires to betray
all those yearning feelings one collects along its way.

I hereby vent my sorrows and hold a mirror to
all those scattered memories to bring them into view.
Zesty looks that falter and  vows that always fail
fly away to shadows and the wintry gale.

Passions pause with time and hearts once flushed and tender,
offered up with love are now “returned to sender.”
Love blinding in its brilliance is destined to depart,
creating that inevitable sunset of the heart.

 

In the above poem, I used all of these words given for the Randomness Inked, Let It Bleed prompt :
addict, always, betray, conspire, fail, fly, goodbye, love, magic, mirror, moon, mystery, nostalgia, pause, scatter, second chance ,shadows, sunset ,thirst, time, transitory,, vent, winters and zest

For Randomness Inked, Let It Bleed.

Junk Drawer

 

 

 

This is the prompt:

  • First, find a song with which you are familiar – it could be a favorite song of yours, or one that just evokes memories of your past. Listen to the song and take notes as you do, without overthinking it or worrying about your notes making sense.
  • Next, rifle through the objects in your junk drawer – or wherever you keep loose odds and ends that don’t have a place otherwise. (Mine contains picture-hanging wire, stamps, rubber bands, and two unfinished wooden spoons I started whittling four years ago after taking a spoon-making class). On a separate page from your song-notes page, write about the objects in the drawer, for as long as you care to.
  • Now, bring your two pages of notes together and write a poem that weaves together your ideas and observations from both pages

    Click on the arrow on the album to hear the song.

For NaPoWriMo 2021, Day 10

When First Love Expires (Not a Reblog)

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When First Love Expires

Go tell the young ladies. Go tell the young men.
Those shattered by lost love will find love again.
We recover from passion. Rarely does it kill,
and there’s plenty more of it over the hill.

That queen of your pulse, that king of your heart,
may not be your ending. It may be your start.
Don’t retire with your failure, but once more begin.
Take the leap and try love all over again.

That sweet grass dried up, we harvest as hay.
First love is a beacon that just lights the way

for your next lover—an adequate light
to create a harvest from yesterday’s blight.

Love is a virus that’s hopelessly catching—
a miraculous egg that just goes on hatching.
So do not despair if your first love expires.
Make further use of the lust it inspires.

 

The prompts for today are beacon, adequate, recover, leap and king.

The Other Shoe

The Other Shoe

Because it’s winter.  Because you’re you—
an annoying pebble in my shoe.
My darkest dream, my shuddered sigh.
A tear unfallen from my eye.

You call my action radical.
I call your action terminal.
No more the tiny cringing wren,
no more the clucking, docile hen.

This time, your insult vilely hurled,
my reflex impulses unfurled,
my anger at the optimum,
I call you ingrate lazy bum.

I kick you out into the cold
in an action brave and bold.
I lock the door and pull the blind.
Not cruel, but suddenly I’m kind

to myself, so long obscured
by all injustice I’ve endured.
On my bed, once shared with you,
I sit and drop the other shoe.

Better alone with what will come
than with a selfish doltish bum.
I square my shoulders, fall to sleep.
No Lord my soul will have to keep.

Don’t know where this came from. It’s fiction fueled by past feelings of escape from a bad love affair, I guess. Blame the prompt words.Prompts today were winter, because, radical, optimum and wren.

Swift Retribution

 

Swift Retribution

Out of all who came to court her, she had picked him as the winner.
It was later, after the wedding, that she discovered he was a sinner.
He had planned her initiation to the gambling and the grog—
her debauchment, his ego told him, easy as falling off a log.
But she had not shown an interest in the wild life he preferred,
so though he vowed that with his marriage, his earlier vices had been cured,
his sporadic bad behavior had her climbing up the wall.
His raw language and deportment weren’t acceptable at all.

Like she hadn’t known his weakness, he did not know her power.
She was not a wife to follow nor a girl to cringe and cower.
When they married he had few prospects—not a nickel nor a dollar,
so when he came home one night with lipstick on his necktie and his collar,
she chose not to be tearful, nor to scream or make a threat.
She just threw him into the driveway sans the keys to his Corvette.
And as he hoofed it toward the highway, perhaps he felt his first regrets
as he learned that one who gambles always has to pay his debts.

 

Prompt words for the day are sporadic, raw, winner, initiation and log.
Photo by Zach Rowlandson on Unsplash, used with permission.