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Sift And Shift

with grief are black veils of women
trying to filter the gleaming of tears
with grief are the hands trying to
sift and shift the sounds of the cries
with grief are women
mourning for the deaths of men
for the loss of children
for the rape of the earth
the thin crust of morals
dirt of the feet
dusts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Freedom of expression for M lady Christine Kerr

Freedom of expression

A woman cries when she is glad
A woman cries when she is mad.
A woman cries when she is sad.
Tears of pleasure, rage and grief
all bring some measure of relief
and that is why a woman cries.

But men are not supposed to cry.
Forbidden by society,
though no knows the reason why.
Men may not let their feeling sho.
Men must appear to be macho
and that is why men do not cry.

Though women claim equality.
The truth is different obviously.
Women can expect to be
allowed to cry quite openly.
But men are still inhibited
for them tears are prohibited

Although I only theorise
I’m wise enough to realise
that some men taken by surprise.
Will weep and wail as women do
and demonstrate the way they feel.
Their rage and grief is just as real.

As anything a woman a woman feels.
Why should a man try to conceal
what his hot tears clearly reveal.
That he is sad or mad or glad.
Perhaps its time to think again
what is appropriate for men.

27-Feb-09

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sad Women.

Sad women always get up
to make breakfast for their children,
To tell him, ''have a nice day''
Sad women go to work and always do their best,
they make lunch and always sit last,
Sad women buy groceries on the way home,
make phone calls to hear someone's voice,
they are faithful to their promises,
Sad women take upon other's grief
Sad women comfort others and say
''everything will be okay'',
they don't let their sadness to come out,
Sad women don't have time to be sad,
Sad women cry when lights go out..

poem by Daria Domitrovic
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Hope in Heaven's Day

Grief be mine, I ask you so,
If not for you, I wouldn't know,
How life once was and then be still,
How so precious, that death do steal.
Because that grief, won't go away,
Learn to let it have its way.
The link to love, a precious one,
Is met with grief and still not done.
The days do come, and nights do go,
Grief will stay as time is so.
And so a loved one passes on,
And grief comes in and carries on.
Does grief get better, I will ask,
It's hard to say, while at its task.
There is grief to help us cope,
There is God to give us hope.
Grief will surely go away,
On that glorious heaven's day.
But while its here, there's just one thing,
Pray our Lord, for peace he'll bring.

poem by Arlene Dery
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Unknown Grief

Unknown Grief
Mark Kelly Wassenaar (AKA Wazzy)

You never expect to know the word grief
Until it comes to you
It comes in, like a thief
Then you take a critical review

Who really knows what grief is
It could be you, or me, or your teddy bear
If only we could see his
Come with me, I’ll give you a dare

All I ask is that you’ll see
What grief does to you and me
Maybe at the end we’ll all agree
That it need not be all for thee

Have you seen death of one or more
Have they been of love or worse
Does it cause a whole body war
Does it put you in a hearse

If all these apply to you
Maybe you know what grief may be
All this time you withdrew
It makes you feel like abductees

If you like, you may join my cause
Get together with your bands
To end all grief within our paws
To clear our enemy from our hands

poem by Mark Wazzy
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The Pain of the Earth

DOES the earth grow grey with grief
For her hero darling fled?
Though her vales let fall no leaf,
In our hearts her tears are shed.

Still the stars laugh on above:
Not to them her grief is said;
Mourning for her hero love
In our hearts the tears are shed.

We her children mourn for him,
Mourn the elder hero dead;
In the twilight grey and dim
In our hearts the tears are shed.

poem by George William Russell
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Not With These Eyes

Let me not see your grief!
O, let not any see
That grief,
Nor how your heart still rocks
Like a temple with long earthquake shocks.
Let me not see
Your grief.

These eyes have seen such wrong,
Yet remained cold:
Ills grown strong,
Corruption's many-headed worm
Destroying feet that moved so firm--
Shall these eyes see
Your grief?

And that black worm has crawled
Into the brain
Where thought had walked
Nobly, and love and honour moved as one,
And brave things bravely were begun....
Now, can thought see
Unabashed your grief?

Into that brain your grief
Has run like cleansing fire:
Your grief
Through these unfaithful eyes has leapt
And touched honour where it lightly slept.
Now when I see
In memory your grief

There is no thought that's not
Yours, yours,
No love that sleeps,
No spiritual door that opens not
In the green quiet village of thought
Shining with light,
And silent to your silence.

poem by John Freeman
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Tutorial in grief

A lesson in grief

I struggle to find
Inside my mind
Thoughts that will offer
Some crumb of comfort
Black calligraphy,
Brave, brush strokes
Across the blinding stab of pain
That comes with loss

Ah, but then there is darkness.
Impenetrable, like none you imagined
And you will put every effort
Into figuring the exit route.
Wasted effort.
Sit my friend.
Rest, and in its own time,
It comes.

Grief has its own timescales, agenda
You will wish without ending
For a last day, an hour, a minute.
Yet if you search inside yourself
You will know,
Exactly, to the word,
Everything you would both have said.
It is not for you to deal with grief.

For grief will deal with you

poem by Sue Stone
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Beyond the grief.

It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.

But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.

I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.

When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.

I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder

people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.

No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.

poem by Mahfooz Ali
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What old sadness can I let go of by sharing it today

How can we measure the grief we feel and and how we could put up with it. Doesn't the grief of death weight a ton or more. Doesn't it strenth out to a month a year or still longer. Is the grief of failture lighter then then the grief of empyness. Wheather we try to ingore or make light of it our grief like a ton of feathers or a ton of rocks is all the same to us. This much is sure if we lock our grief it will weight more on us. Andlengthen out if we open our hearts with weeping and words others will help carry it away. written and Posted 1/1/10

poem by Susie Sunshine
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Emotional Scavenger

And now in the cold light of day,
Grief casts her shadows long,
and grey
Draining warmth & blinding me
To the glorious hope
Of day;
Grief would steal my soul and hide it
In blackness,
Whispering reminders
Of pain,
And loss,
And death…
Mocking hope's insistence,
Spurning love's comfort;
Grief watches,
Expectant, she waits…
Grief, scavenger of emotions,
Is ever hopeful.

poem by Jinge Norvall
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Grief-Song

New grief, new tears;-
Brief the reign of sorrow;
Clouds that gather with the night
Scatter on the morrow.

Old grief, old tears;-
Come and gone together;
Not a fleck upon the sky
Telling whence or whither.

Old grief, new tears;-
Deep to deep is calling:
Life is but a passing cloud
Whence the rain is falling.

poem by John Bannister Tabb
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Grief Is Never Having To Say I Grieve

Your grief has been too heavy

I don’t know how much grief buries you down

Please let me weep with you

Please let me weep with you

Like the others, I adore you for keeping up with life

I could imagine how you cry in your thoughts

How like blade, grief cuts your heart, your throat,

the top of your skull - slowly

Like wars in history, there are no exits

and there are no choices

If you were there, you had to face those rattling guns

Plead, please plead

Remember “Our Lady of Sorrows'

Mary carried part of the grief Jesus has

been carrying to save us, during the crucifixion

Mary had no one with her

She was helpless, yet in those moments

God’s strength kept her unmovable and brave

How long does grief stay?

People are not things

How long does grief stay?

If you lost something, you can always build it again

How long does grief stay?

If you lost someone, and someone, and someone

again, in any way – they are part of you

For as long as you live, grief changes into

remembering happy days with each other

Grief becomes faithfulness

Grief changes unto faith

Those drops of blood, while Jesus prayed in the garden

Is grief

Grief is never having to say “I grieve, ”

but “I love, ”

This is how long grief stays.

poem by Rosalinda Flores Martinez
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In my grief

In my grief
I have forgotten I have a friend
I have not remember there is YOU
Who are willing to wipe away my tears.

In my grief
I have hurt you my friend
I run hiding in my own cocoon
And left you alone wandering where I am

In my grief
I ignore you calling my name
I have close my eyes for your need of a friend
And left you alone in your lament

After my grief
I look for where you are
But couldn’t find you anymore
Coz you grew tired waiting for me

poem by Tear Drops
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Untamed Grief

What comes out of grief dissected, I ask
When it’s mutualised for its pain to mask
Does it settle down like blown dust?
Or disappear like sun rays at dusk
What transcends from grief suppressed?
Does it fly away like a raven?
Or it stealthily searches for another haven
In the subconscious of the beholder
What proceeds from grief deferred?
Does it abscond like the morning dew?
Or it keeps on gnawing like a tumour
And denying a soul of all humour
What incarnates from grief embellished?
Does it pierce like a sword?
Or it exterminates softly without a word
Grief is the reality of life
But shouldn’t eternally blanket a soul with strife
And though every life is garlanded with petals of grief
The stint of its tears ought to be brief
So the taste of living can always be rife!

poem by Valerian Mwenda
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A grief ago

'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
a Stoic, those for whom
all life presents a lesson
to be learned from,
and then, to move on from..

But I wonder about all this:
is grief ever lessened or softened?
Is it not, perhaps, overlaid
in our so various ways?

For some, grief framed and falsified
to ease that grief;

For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs,
left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief
to respond to time, and
become at last
themselves?

gently, gently, the covers pulled
over the loving bed,
the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief,
the memory deep cherished,
gently, gently, folded
into the cupboards of the heart

there to be known, without the door disturbed
until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote -
the cupboard opened only for love's sake
without grief...:
those carefully folded memories
brought out and loved
and lived a while...

not grief, not grief...but
the pure memory of grief

and behold,
life.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Threats To Keep A People In Grief

How can we seek solutions...
When our denials love to bask,
In a pleasing done by deceit.

How can we non-fictionalize our lives,
When fiction is all we seek.

How can we ever expect to accept the truth,
When none of it is believed.

And how is a greatness once perceived,
So willing to feed decadence...
And allow conflict and division succeed.

All of these may be questions!
But the opportunity to answer them,
Become threats to keep a people in grief.

Threats to keep a people in grief.

'Why no one answers them? '

They're threats to keep a people in grief!

'Why? '

They're threats to keep a people in grief!

Threats to keep a people in grief.
'Why no one answers them? '
They're threats to keep a people in grief!
'Why? '
Threats to keep a people in grief.
'Why no one answers them? '
They're threats to keep a people in grief!
'Why? '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Two Sided Love

Two Sided Love
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted 24 2009

Women think with their hearts,
men think with their Johnson.

Women think with their heads,
men think with the wrong head, they have two heads.

Women give love with men,
men give screwing with women.

Women want to touch men,
men want to get abusive to women.

Women want be emotional with men,
men want to be unemotional with women.

Women want have physical attraction with men,
men want to give the abusive apart to women.

Women want sex with men,
men want to give rape to women.

Women wants to talk to men,
men want watch TV and screw women.

Women want to eat out with men,
men want a free ride from the women.

Women want to go to movies with men,
men want play games on computer.

Women want children with the men,
men are children.

Women are independent,
men are dependent.

Women achieve goals,
men half the time never finish their goals.

Women are unselfish even caring to men,
men are selfish besides uncaring to women.

Women give true love to men,
men give infatuation to woman.

poem by Lori Triggs
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Great Grief

William's son, named Hamnet,
died in 1596,
aged just eleven and a half
when Will was thirty two.
Will's great grief
made greater grief
to compensate for loss.
It mixed a wild concoction,
made grieving man go mad.
Hamlet given no relief
relieved sad Shakespeare's grief.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Crying

he says he likes to cry when
everyone is asleep when no one hears his sound
of grief anymore

he wants to keep this grief alone
thinking that no one understands anyway

no one wants a sorrow that will be shared
or a grief to be feasted upon

sometimes he says he cries when he is bathing
under a cold shower to cool his eyes

to appease his heart and when he steps out
of the bathroom

when someone notices how red his eyes are
he tells them that his shampoo has caused it all

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Miserable Happiness

The world, people, have a rethink, is not in good health
Despite what you see; the many developments in wealth
Her sick soul, be afraid; fear, may soon pass away
Regardless of her funding and founding long-life Alchemy

We, the family of the discontents, grief; our cries torrential
Buckets-full grief often destructive for the blocked channels
Pails and pails are our grief for today's freezing baker's oven
We grief, even when sun gives way to nightfall, for the forests chopped

Nigerians, her people, are told to stay happy though
For theirs is a country of the happiest people on earth
Whose grief are held in check by apocalyptic powered happiness
Must they be when the spring of their delight is shrouded in darkness?

Who would help the world children be parents again?
I pray for a helping hand to unchain their future, now mortgaged
A lion to help quench their taste as the sea burns in flare
A galloping whale to the rescue; to help stop motors grinding their wells

poem by segun Johnson Ozique
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