Tag Archives: poem about lost love

The Blade of Grief for dVerse Poets Chaucerian Roundel

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 The Blade of Grief

The loss of one with whom our life was built
will come to be the loss of our life, too,
We view the rest of life without a clue.

The blade of grief thus buried to its hilt,
we hope that it will do what such blades do,
The loss of one with whom our life was built,
will come to be the loss of our life, too.

We view our hopes for death with little guilt,
for death is that new love we hope to woo.
We seek no other lover that is new.
The loss of one with whom our life was built
will come to be the loss of our life, too.
We view the rest of life without a clue.

For dVerse Poets Chaucerian Roundel

To read other roundels created for this prompt, go HERE.

Vixen

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Vixen

You are a crafty sorceress who holds men in your spell.
You clutch their hearts within your grasp where you squeeze them well,
then drain their living hearts of blood and leave them with a shell
with which to fend off, for a lifetime, loves which may be true,
but which they do not trust at all simply because you
have branded them for life with doubts  perpetually new
each time they try to ply love’s trade to find something’s amiss
as, still again, a rueful fog envelops each new kiss.
Thus, with sketchy prospects, loves two, three, four, five, six,
are extinguished by that first cursed love that blows out all their wicks!

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 625 the prompt words are:  sorceress sketchy life , you, brand six, still, fog hold spell fend ply

Retablo  by Judy Dykstra-Brown

 

Number 9 Blues

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Number 9 Blues

Those eyes,
that song,
A bird the color
of the moon
we met under.

The wind
a ribbon of sadness.
Cold hands,
broken heart—
all the hue
of a trumpet’s lonely staccato.

For Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Pick a Number.

Moonshine

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I’ve been having a conversation with Jez who is astonished that I’ve completely worn the letters off ten of the keys on the keyboard of my MacBook Air.  I jokingly said it would be fun to try to compose a poem out of only those ten letters. Actually, nine letters and a period that will come in handy.  The letters are: e i o a s h l n m and . (the period.) The joke is on me, however, as I then felt compelled to actually do it.

Moonshine

Me is I.
Oh.
I am
me.

Shine on
oh moon
on all
I see.

No man
has
his
name
on me.

I am
alone
on
ashen
sea.

A shame
oh shame
anon
anon.

I shine
on him.
He shines
me on.

A sin
a sin
I moan
I moan.

On
a sea
alone
alone.

Seasons
mesh
on moon
on sea.

I am alone.
Moon
shine
on me.

For the final word on those worn-out letters, go HERE. See-saw!!!

Wallpaper for Flashback Friday, Sept. 30, 2022

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When Fandango asked us to reblog a blog from the past, I had over 9,000 to choose from, and for some reason I chose this one.

For Fandango’s Flashback Friday, we are to repost a blog from the past.

lifelessons's avatarlifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

DSC09880

Wallpaper

Clinging to the wall
like an old wallpaper scrap
are the words
I want you, I want you, I want you, I want you.

Their refrain slides up and down
the musical scale—
an old country tune,
plaintive and clear.

Why do I want you?

The first time I met you,
there was something about the curl of your hair.
Your eyes, so familiar­—puzzled, as though
you, too, were trying to remember.

After that, it was
the set of your shoulders—
the arm stretched between your seat and mine
with your hand on the back of my seat.

All of your restraint an aphrodesiac.

The truth is
that I pined
for two days after I left,
then went on with my life.

Still, that scrap
of wanting
comes up early in the morning
as I waken

and my mind walks,
looking for someone to pin it to,
and every…

View original post 10 more words

Love Lost, Love Gained

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“Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.”

Love Lost, Love Gained

Since my true love just up and left,
there’s no relief. I am bereft.

No matter how much I expound,
help is nowhere to be found.

Come, wipe the memory of his face.
Let, then, a new love take its place.

“Us” bleached out from my memory,
kiss wiped so a new kiss may be,

and so forsake this moan and vetting.
Part of love lies in forgetting.

For the dVerse Poets prompt, we were to take one of the given lines and to make a poem of it, using each word of the line, in order, as the the beginning word in each line of our poem. The the line I chose precedes the poem: “Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.”

For dVerse Poets
To see other poems written to this prompt, go HERE.

After the Storm: Wordle 549 For Sunday Whirl

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After the Storm

My former blithe spirit is rocked by the rain,
but I’ll dry it out and use it again.

I fold up my heart and tuck it away
in case I should need it some future day.

The lingering legs of love walk the floor
long after the time he walked out the door.

Preferring the narrows, the reefs and the gales
to the calm of safe harbors, his  ship stretched  its sails.

Now he sits in a vase, secure on my shelf,
while I pace in seclusion, all by myself.

The Sunday Whirl prompt words are: ship lingering legs instead narrow stretch door heart vase fold rocked rain

Cold

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Cold

Furniture leaves stick by stick.
His cold furnishings in the storehouse
while I put away my feelings
one by one.
He suggests we still be friends
while we wait for new friends to happen,
as though he’s drawing closer
as he pulls away.

I keep creeping closer to the truth
that lies
in eyes
cold.
Cold
eyes,
nothing written there.

His hand edges closer
on the seat between us.
Like a deaf-mute,
all communication
in his hands.

But those hands
don’t know all
my languages.

Handless bodies
in El Salvador
might think
my demands on them
less foolish.

My mother’s hands
drumming fingers
while she told a sleepy tale.
I was always in it,
in dark forests where the bears lived,
and although she acted
like she didn’t know it,
I was in the forest, lost,
expecting bears
while only drumming fingers
foretold the presence
of something
cold.

 

For dVerse Poets
To see the prompt, “A Little Repetition,” go HERE.

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

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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.

Reunion

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Reunion

We perambulate the meadow, our eyes drinking their fill,
our memories straying farther up over yonder hill.
The tirades of an angry world do not survive the climb,
leaving us to peacefulness simple and sublime.
The higher up thoughts wander, memory grows hypoxic,
screening out the terrors of a world that has grown toxic.

Wild poppies sway and bend to currents fresher than below
as what we both remember overtakes what lies below.
We draw fresh energy and joy from everything we pass.
The cicadas churr rain’s promises from the obscuring grass.
Small creatures race for burrows, unaccustomed as they are
to the human menace that approaches from afar.

But our thoughts pass without harming, for memories pose no threat,
and we shed years and worries the higher that we get.
Remember all those years ago, those passions that we shared
with each new faltering kiss and each new secret that we bared?
Though the present is what nourishes, youth vanished way too fast.
What harm can be in going back for a light repast?

Prompts today are memory, passed, thought,  hypoxic, tirade, perambulate, fill.