Where There are No Shores

Clutching a bag in his arms, he looked once more at cemetery; gated, as if to keep the departed within. The flowers on the grave that mattered to him were still fresh. He had added his own bouquet to it that morning. Wiping away his tears, he turned and walked away.

Rule 1: Read the story above and write your own story in a poem.
Rule 2: The poem should not exceed 200 words
Rule 3: The poem should adhere to the story line.
Rule 4: The poem should be a new one.

Inviting all DUP friends and family to join in the competition.

http://www.theglasgowstory.com/images/TGSE01009_m.jpg

Eternally Safe

He always believed without reservation he would outlive her…
Yet, there he stood looking through the gates of the cemetery
once more, as he had done many times in the recent days since she left
him that ill fated afternoon and was laid to rest in what was now her new
home away from his side...
Clutching a bag filled with her fondest memories of the
times that they shared, with the most unspeakable daze painted
upon his face, wiping away the many tears that now fall so endlessly…
The flowers on her grave were so vibrant and fresh,
just as she always enjoyed, the others scattered around paled in
comparison as he knew her best…
The love of his life was now gone forever, he couldn’t fathom
how his own life could ever continue without her…
He felt a sense of peace with gates the contained her, a peace that
she would now eternally be safe where there are no shores…
He’ll be back tomorrow and possibly even tonight, for tending to the
grave of his greatest love, will now surely be his newest and permanent
of plights…

CriticalMass, wow. Your poem is beautiful and poignant. Thank you for entering it in this competition.

Grace said:CriticalMass, wow. Your poem is beautiful and poignant. Thank you for entering it in this competition.

Thank you for the inspiration Grace,
couldn't have done it without you...

                Drown
A dirty smelly bum clutches his belongs; his life in a single bag. He spends his days walking the streets begging for enough money to drown out his pain, but today he was compelled to come here to this gated cemetery where he stands away from the small group of mourns, their whispers words besieging.

He was once upstanding and successful, destined to wed his soul-mate. Now he just drinks to forget that life his constant jealousy ruined.

News of her sudden death shattered him. He planed to spend his last day drinking. Instead he did what mattered; bought a meager bouquet of yellow roses and placed them on her casket next to the array of flowers.

Weeping softly; he remembers his words, her face, that day.
He wasn’t man enough to listen; her love wasn’t enough to sooth his doubts or eases his fears of infidelity.  He stormed out to drown his suspicions in booze, never returning.

Lamenting, he watches them lower her casket, grateful to have loved and been loved by her. Wiping tears he whispers, “I’m sorry.”  He turns away, leaving his beloved with the gated-dead, to disappear into a life drowning in Bitters and tears.

Glynis, beautiful. Thank you so much for entering your poem.

in the gated cemetery he stands
staring at the angel of stone
with his belongings in hand
for its all he has
after she was gone he did not wish to keep what was hers our theirs
the memories with them only brought pain
as the gentle rain began to fall
he left the roses at her door...
of the crypt she now called home
made of cut marble that once was beautiful
but now was decrypt and old
as he felt
she had been his life
his soul
what kept him tethered to this world
was broken
cut through by a knife
the ends splashed with dry blood
warm as the tears that coated his face
splashed down to join the cold water of the melancholy rain
the sky seemed to cry in merciful thought for his broken heart
it was his fault he had not been there to help her
to protect her
to be her guardian as he vowed he would be
ripping the ring from his finger
he threw it violently and screamed guttural cries of rage at the God he once believed in
and he cried
and cried
and cried
at the loss of his young bride
whom he had loved over everything
and in his insanity...
he thought of Orpheus
and Dante
and the many others
who struck deals with the devil for the ones they loved
traded their souls
and things of the such
he looked once again at the crypt door and imagined her scent
of lavender and Jasmine
her Rosy cheeks
her deep brown eyes
filled with innocence and hope
her kindness the purity of her soul
as his vision began to blur the rain seemed to dance
create images of a better place
and he saw her journey
across the river
to the other side
deep into the valley
of prosperity and youth
he saw her happy and waiting
far from the shore
as he stood up and realized what deal could i strike with the devil
when that's not where she is
he wiped the tears from his eyes as the rain disappeared
a single flower
of deep violet shade
a lavender
grew at the edge of her resting place
he knew she would wait for him
even death would not let them part
he picked up the ring the last remnant of his heart
and walked away to a place far from the shore
for there was nothing here they had all departed
to either sides of the river
of which he would travel to one day

KahakuHiga-Parker, thank you for sending in your entry.

Here, I wrote this up in a few moments, should be pretty nice to mull over for bits of inspiration. Quote is from Charles Ives, but it's altered for fluidity.

- - - - -

with a mess of dissonance
dancing in his head
and while words remain pictures
of the thoughts wished instead
a curtle glower skimmed his throat
choke on his sorrow, eviscerate
garrote, the clock strikes seven
but it did not matter
where there is no shore
"If a poet knows more about a horse
than he does heaven
he might better stick to the horse,
and some day the horse may
carry him there"
but this did not repair
nor wane such despair
care none he did
for life is one
irrepressibly
gruesome bid

Quandry, thank you for entering your poem in this competition,

Grace can there be more than one entry???

drogedarain said:Grace can there be more than one entry???
Actually, dear, only one entry per person. But I would so love to see you in my other competition. You are such an expressive writer.

Grace said:[quote-91502-drogedarain]Grace can there be more than one entry???
Actually, dear, only one entry per person. But I would so love to see you in my other competition. You are such an expressive writer. [/quote]

Thank you very much Grace,
I will have to find it,
and I look forward to your
future competitions for sure...

Haunted.

I am poised with my pen
leaning deep into the desk
my toes curling against the wood floor
in the silence of the after-dark

I feel your shadow behind me
your hands stroking my arms,
and I tilt my head back
into the warmth of your heavy chest

and we just rest here like this sometimes
enveloped by the words you create,
your fingers guiding the ink
like the most skilled of artists

Your sweet whispers
lacing my heightened aura.
I should know better
than to dwell on the love of ghosts

But we are perfect in our suffering
twin-set in our devotion
spirit-fed and possessed
by the shades of our past

and at last,
after a thousand confessions
and equal exorcisms
we linger in blissful purgatory

where you hold my pen to ransom
and like a child, I am lost in you
holding close your memory
until the corruption of time.

No shores where past and present mesh
This gated place, intransigent
Where memories do scar the ground with standing stones
He kneels by words that dare to utter dates
And from his bag some water for the flowers

How bright and fresh the flowers look
Once more on Gaia’s earth that gave of them
Yet soon they too will kneel and morn
On frailties abode all surrender to the grief
All kept within this ring of Hades place

Yet low, small white feather floats
To rest upon a flowers leaf
As if beyond the angel’s share his flow of tears
Doth merge the moments entity
And as they fall he turns to walk away

Harlequin Writes (June 2012)