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Poetry Everyday

Feast of Crows​

They came at dusk—
the crows, the crows,
with beaks that spoke my sins aloud.
They did not circle, they descended.
They knew I would not run.

The earth split its jaw for me,
teeth of stone gnashing slow.
I fell willingly,
my bones eager to be
a banquet for the dark.

Somewhere above,
the moon turned her face away—
not in pity,
but in hunger.
 

The Soul Eater​

When the flesh is gone,
the soul does not float—
it screams.
It claws at the ribs of the world,
trying to stay.

But something waits
between the last heartbeat
and the first silence.
It has no name,
only teeth,
and the patience of stone.

It devours not in haste
but in reverence,
tasting every memory,
every prayer you thought was yours.

When it is done,
there is no you.
Only a shadow
that walks without footsteps.
 
This is one I wrote back in 1998 and set to piano music. Unfortunately, I can no longer play the piano due to advanced arthritis in both hands.

You Walk Within My Soul​

Before I loved you Darling my life had no goal
I was a man of many pieces but now I’ve been made whole.
I’m so glad you can return the love I feel for you
I’ll always give it freely and be glad that we are two
Star-crossed lovers in the night living and loving together
Like two morning doves in flight, our love a golden tether.

For You Walk Within My Soul and slip inside my dreams,
Now I’m a man made whole and I’ll love you ’til the end of things. ​

Alas my Love, it’s just a dream from which I must awaken
But until the end of things my love remains unshaken.
And if perchance the Fates decree our two halves be whole
Until then you’re always with me for You Walk Within My Soul.

Yes, You Walk Within My Soul and slip inside my dreams,
Now I’m a man made whole and I’ll love you ’til the end of things.
©NavyRet 1998​
 
I can't claim this one, but I found it going through some old .doc files. Don't know who the author might have been, but I'm sure you will all get a chuckle out of it.

SPELL CHECKER

Eye halve a spelling checker
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marcs four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong or write
It shows me strait a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye kin put the air or rite
Its rare lea ever wrong
Eye halve run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its let her perfect awl the weigh
My checker tolled me sew.
 

The Maw Beneath the World​

Beneath the roots of the world,
there is a mouth—
older than bone,
older than God.


It waits in the black
where light has never dared to breathe.
It does not sleep.
It only listens.


It hears the rustle of your pulse,
the trembling of your veins,
and it salivates.


When the hourglass empties,
you will not rise.
You will not fall.
You will sink.


The maw will open,
and the first thing you will feel
is not teeth—
but the hands that pull you in,
hands that were once human,
once like yours.
 

The Silence That Devours​

Death wears no robe, no crown.
It is naked and infinite,
a wound without a beginning.

When you meet it,
it will not speak.
It will simply reach inside you
and take the name
you have always whispered to yourself.

You will still see,
but not with eyes.
You will still hear,
but only the grinding—
the endless grinding
of the Silence eating
everything you thought was you.

And when it is done,
there will be nothing left
for anyone to remember.
 
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Fire and Ice

Fire and ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice, 5
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Click to expand...

Robert Frost
 

The Black Cathedral​

My soul was dragged through corridors
of stone that breathed.
Each step bled centuries.
The air was thick with prayers—
prayers that rotted into screams.

At the altar stood a figure
shaped from the bones of the forgotten.
It had my face,
but no mouth.

It took my shadow first,
peeling it from the floor
like wet skin.
Then it reached into my chest
and plucked out the small,
pale thing that once
believed in light.

The bells rang,
but there was no sound.
Only the echo of myself
walking away with it.
 

Bone of My Bone​

You are not just the flame—
you are the firewood,
the spark,
the smoke that curls into the stars.

Your name is carved in places
my hands have never touched,
yet my heart knows every letter.

If the earth were stripped bare,
if the seas swallowed the sky,
I would still find you
in the marrow of the dark—
bone of my bone,
breath of my breath.

I was never whole until you.
Now even my shadow
walks with two steps.
 

We Do Not End​

The years will take our hands,
and still,
yours will be the one I reach for.

The world will turn to dust,
and still,
your eyes will be the map I follow.

Even when this body falls silent,
my soul will recognize you—
the way rivers recognize the sea,
the way light recognizes dawn.

We do not end, my love.
We only change the places
where we find each other.
 
I wrote this back in 1998 when I lost a good friend.


Remembering a Friend​

by ​

NavyRet​

​
I knew him only eight short years
But during that wonderful time,
We shared laughs and we shared tears.
I was his and he was mine.

If I was sad or feeling down
He’d make me feel good again.
He could always be a clown.
Yes, Charlie was my friend.

He’d meet me at the door each night
If I’d been working late.
His eyes were always full of light
No matter how long he’d had to wait.

The way he’d dance around, that boy
Whenever I came in
Always filled my heart with joy
Whenever I’d see him.

He gave me love and shared my life
Right up to the end.
Through all life’s stress and daily strife
Charlie was my friend.

He was always someone
On whom I could depend,
For he was more than just a dog;
Charlie was my Friend.
​
 

The Space Between Heartbeats​

There is a place between heartbeats
where time forgets to move.
That is where I love you—
in the stillness,
in the pause before the world
takes another breath.

Not in the noise,
not in the daylight chatter,
but in the spaces
no one else can see.

Every glance,
every brush of your hand,
is a universe folding into mine.

And if you asked me
how long I will love you,
I’d tell you—
until even that space
ceases to exist.
 

The Weight We Carry​

Some burdens are not loud—
they do not crash like thunder
or split the sky with lightning.
They sit quietly,
like stones in the pocket,
growing heavier
each day you walk.

And still—
you keep walking.

Your feet blister,
your shoulders ache,
but you move forward
because somewhere ahead,
there might be light.

And if there is not—
you will make it.
Even if it’s only
a single match flame
against the night.
 

The Climb​

The mountain does not move.
It does not care
for your aching lungs,
for the way your hands bleed
on its sharp edges.

It stands,
cold and merciless.

But still,
you climb.

Because there is a truth
that only the wind at the summit knows,
and you would rather die reaching for it
than stay at the bottom
wondering.
 

The Scar is the Story​

Life will tear you—
skin, bone, and soul.
It will write its chapters
in the language of pain.

But scars
are proof
you did not end in the middle.

Every mark is a sentence survived.
Every wound is a page
you turned
when you could have stayed there
forever.

And one day,
when you look back,
you will see—
the story was not beautiful
because it was easy.
It was beautiful
because it was yours.
 
I am back.

Memento​

Memento


When I die,
bury me with my guitar
beneath the sand.


When I die,
among the orange trees
and the mint.


When I die,
bury me, if you wish,
in a weather vane.


When I die!
Click to expand...

Federico García Lorca
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Thread of Eternity​

We are stitched together,
not by chance,
not by time—
but by something older than the stars.

When I breathe,
I breathe your name.
When I fall silent,
it is your silence I rest in.

If the universe unraveled,
strand by strand,
there would still remain
the thread that binds me to you—
the last light,
the last truth,
the last forever.
 

The Depth of You​

I have drowned in oceans,
but nothing compares
to the depth of you.

There are no shores in your gaze,
no bottom to your touch.
You are the tide that pulls me under
and the air I beg for
in the same breath.

I am not afraid
for if I vanish,
if I am lost,
let me be lost
in you.
 

Where I End and You Begin​

Love is not two hearts
it is one,
beating through two bodies,
spilling its rhythm into every vein.

I no longer know
where I end
and you begin.

You are not beside me,
you are within me
a song stitched into my marrow,
a flame that survives
even when I am ash.

This is not love.
This is forever.
 

Echoes​

You are not here,
yet every room remembers you.
The chair keeps your shape,
the walls hold your laughter
like trapped birds.

I reach for you in the night,
and only the cold answers.
Loss is not silence
it is an echo
that never stops returning.
 

What Remains​

Grief does not end.
It only learns
how to fold itself small
and hide in the corners of the day.

But at night,
when the world is quiet,
it stretches—
filling the room,
reminding me
that what is gone
is gone.

And yet,
what remains
is love—
unburied, unbroken,
refusing to die
even when you did.
 

The Empty Place​

I set the table for two,
though I know
only one will sit.

I walk to speak a word,
forgetting,
and the silence catches me
like a knife in the chest.

Loss is not the end of you—
it is the presence of your absence,
the heavy shadow
that moves when I do,
never leaving,
never whole
 

The Weight of Absence​

I did not know
emptiness had a shape
until you left.

It is not silence—
silence can be gentle.
It is not darkness—
darkness at least
holds the promise of stars.

It is a weight,
an invisible stone
strapped to the chest,
pressing down
even in sleep.

The world moves forward,
as it always does—
flowers bloom,
children laugh,
the sun insists on rising.

But I walk through it
like a ghost,
half-alive,
half-remembering.

For love does not end—
it lingers,
it haunts,
it carves its initials
into the soul.

And grief—
grief is simply
love’s shadow,
cast long and endless
in your absence.
 

The Door That Won’t Close​

There is a door in me
that you opened,
and when you left,
you did not shut it.

Now the wind pours through—
cold, unrelenting,
carrying your name
like ash in a storm.

I try to seal it,
but grief is clever.
It slips beneath the cracks,
flooding the room
where I keep your memory.

Some days,
I almost welcome it—
for if the door closed,
I fear you’d be gone
forever.
 

Broken Time​

The clocks do not work
the same since you left.
Minutes linger too long,
hours vanish
without reason.

I measure time
by the distance from you—
every sunrise,
every empty chair,
another mile added
to the ache.

And yet,
in dreams,
you are as close as breath.
I wake with your name
still warm in my mouth,
and the day feels
emptier than before.

For loss
is not the end of time.
It is time
fractured,
forever out of rhythm.
 

Weight of the Invisible​

The heaviest pain
is not the kind the body shows.
It is the weight no eye can see—
the quiet breaking
that happens behind the ribs.


You wake with it.
You walk with it.
It lays down in your chest
when you try to sleep.

And still—
you carry it.

No one applauds.
No one sees.
But each day you rise
with that invisible weight,
you prove something vast:
that strength is not glory,
it is survival.
 

The Thread​

Suffering unravels you.
It pulls at every seam,
every stitch,
until you are nothing
but tangled thread
scattered across the floor.

But even then,
a hand—sometimes unseen—
begins to gather you.

Not to weave you
into what you were,
but to make of you
something new.

Suffering is the needle.
Love is the thread.
And the tapestry,
though dark in places,
is still whole.
 
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