Posts Tagged ‘sad poetry’

Poem about an Amusement Park
that shuts down
 over the
 death of one
 of its
young patrons.
Graphic Art by Susan Joyner-Stumpf (aka sonnetwolf designz)



Even the air spun wrong

it felt the blow of leaves like circus bullets

two things that should never happen

a Fair should never run out of ice cream

and a Theater should never close.


Slice the breath with a kitchen knife

space is out sick today

having a hard time catching the sky

the cement paths of the park

emptier than the

the silence of footfalls

that only echo past loneliness.


An assembly of shadows

gather to mourn the loss of realism

swirling and screaming around with

spectral jealousy

why is it

we look at them as extensions of ourselves

but shadows look at us

as what they used to be

not remembering how to call us back

to them.


This can’t end good

statues feel the severance of

hands that molded them from

vats of liquid bronze

their likeness to austere form

feels the tendency to melt

beyond recognition of solid mass

now apertures having lost the

human-quality dream.


The rifts and shrills of laughter

weep in another dimension

cascades of grief slide down

walls of alien fortitude

we hear it on Earth

as the change in subtle wind

knocking at our tears

not reasoning why a sound

we cannot hear, only feel it

as the smile that will not



“Something special will come of this,”

says the entrance Billboard with the

face of a scary clown, lips moving

in slow-motion, reinforcing the

petrifying cracking lines of an

exaggerated, painted face.


Why is it

somewhere in this nameless town

a little boy dies

and his memory shuts down

the flow of life and whispers here

he remembers the Cotton-Candy Man

and wonders where he is today. . .


And why for this little boy

do suddenly those wooden horses

on a quiet carousel

come alive with welcoming whinny’s

that only HE can hear?



© Susan Joyner-Stumpf


Graphic Art by Susan Joyner-Stumpf

(aka sonnetwolf designz)



Born at the time

Of moon when all is yearning:

At the moment of equinox,

A primeval tap into deep deprival

Of stillborn longing.

Love and grief:  i ache the same.

A torture ignited

By the celestial sigh

Of tearful smile

And laughter unwept.

I am the mistress of sorrow:

Flesh to flesh, i don’t bond so easily.

Intimacy paves the path towards

Infinite loss.

I am approachable in dreams

Wavering between the thrust

Of dawn with twilight ~

(when most loneliness happens),

Where the fire of passion is sinister

Because it’s the spirit that reeks surrender

And ultimate seduction.

Born at the time

Of moon when all is yearning:

I was that shooting star you held in

Your stain-glassed eyes ~

yet you blinked,

never to see me fall.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

Fatal Oblivion


A morning

remembered only

for its damask entry

a velvet touch

along hemlined



This leisure waking state

nebulous of prism-light

golden-stillness enfolding

a noncommittal fog

of half-twilight, sinking.


Shadows flit then tease

broken, seeking form

from invisible placenta-thought

retinas thrust inside blindness

external visions impaired,

neatly aborted ~

fatal oblivion.


Memory, snow blanketed

with intermittent waves

of fire and cold

tug from quiescent core

weeping through

fabrics of mortal reluctance.


It’s at this moment

we are most vulnerable

abandoned even in love.

Your arms wrapped snugly

around me feel a distant

world away.


As you kiss the air between us,

all realism asunder,

bent in the coil of an

arctic caress,

my lips acknowledge

a measure of unspeakable hunger,

the first light rays

of unintended emptiness.



© Susan Joyner-Stumpf



Two years it took in the making to down grade

Where else that soup of metaphor

And caustic pride

Over worn in the stark beak of night

Its bite cold and without regret

I could get by on iron alone

But vintage lace calls me

To a more sophisticated time

So I’m lost between eras

Invisible to stars

As I stumble to reach the mainland

Like a Dolphin I leap high

As though to escape extinction

Aren’t I worth saving, saving

The voice of the Sparrow told me so

And I love you so much it hurts

Antarcticaclimbing my backbone

I’m all about forgiveness

As long as its more genuine in miles

Than shorter on deceitful inches

What makes your face so sad

The smile I could make love to

If you weren’t always so far away

I forget about mirrors

I want the life inside of there

More than I do out here

As I waste away to a sun flare

That regards me as a Dinosaur

In the evolution of intangible things

Hungry for their own off spring



Can dreams be so cruel as to

Lead us to drought instead of

The flood of all for which we strive

At the cost of wounded ambition

Crippled in the war to fight there ~

For everything ~


So as not to be nothing, nothing

When time ends and we are the golden ticket

That failed to touch the talisman of victory

That hung by a thread and out of reach

Until we waved like flags, burning, turning,

Its own stigmata across our Souls

Do we answer as far-seeking each question,

Tumbling, tumbling

On frozen tongue


Is your kiss such a whiplash that I

Long for its searing pain

How I would die a thousand deaths and

Never whimper loud enough into space

For you to hear that I cannot live without

You though I felt as though I already have

Bleed the blood of my tears

Suck the vampire of my astral pools

This voice sings out of wedlock

Spin eternity inside out

And then you shall be dowsed with

Revelation that I was as much

The breath of you as was the alpha

Pulse of dying, screaming,

Planet Earth


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf










Who thought not

enough of you


to feel the thickness

of their own blood-black Soul


its drip

down icy stems of poisoned leaves

left to gasp and wither

in the acrid air.




anything at all

that loved you once


remembers your unconditional    gleeful





if human,


the beautiful way you smiled to everyone

in the face of tragedy or un-Godly betrayal.


Both ~ ~

With your infinite

and insatiable

impulse to always forgive . . .


Both ~ ~

Could not have known


you were soon to

outwardly face head-on

the opposite side of the coin

as evil winked in.


For all living things found

in dump heaps


I think you go to a special place


a place where Monarch butterflies

fly from the juicy ripeness and sweetness

of your lips


where song-birds speak for you

as though coming from

your own throat


where a million wild flowers

bloom inside

your brilliant heart.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf



The wick of our passion

Has finally died out

I try to resuscitate the embers

But its fire refuses to re-ignite


And I stare blandly into the lonely

Thick of night, wondering if

Your eyes also strain to find me

Despite the burning smoke and mist


Or is it solely I

Scrambling for one last match

To rekindle this blind, cold world


Who squeezes me to its hollow breast

With breaking sound barrier silence

~ alas to its fatal, indifferent,

And suffocating embrace




© Susan Joyner-Stumpf