Write a poem about the end of something

Today is the final day of our Thirty Poems in Thirty Days project. Thank you to everyone who participated. It has been a great month. I hope that it prompted you to write some poems, to read some poems, and to think about poetry.

After you finish today’s poem, take some time and look back on the poems that you have written this month. Take a little time to be proud of yourself.  Writing poetry is an accomplishment, and writing thirty poems in a month is a great accomplishment.

I want to pass on some final wisdom and inspiration before I go. I am mostly out of advice, but luckily there have been thousands of poets before me and more than a few have taken the time to comment on poetry. Here are some thoughts for you:

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. — Leonard Cohen

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.  — Samuel Johnson

Poetry is what gets lost in translation. — Robert Frost

“Therefore” is a word the poet must not know. — Andre Gide

An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way. — Charles Bukowski

As soon as war is declared it will be impossible to hold the poets back. Rhyme is still the most effective drum. — Jean Giraudoux

Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience, the poet, like an acrobat, climbs on rhyme to a high wire of his own making. — Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content. — Alfred de Musset

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. — T. S. Eliot

Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. — Percy Bysshe Shelley

Political subject matter is looked upon either as an intruder into the realm of poetry, or as a matter that requires special discussion every time it occurs, and can’t just be taken for granted like any other subject. — Denise Levertov

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. –  W. H. Auden

A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman. — Wallace Stevens

A poet’s autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote. — Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem about the end of something.

Moving Past the Grape

It was an optical illusion
My eyes could not adjust
Every time I thought the room was empty
Or at least really truly almost empty
I was wrong
What looked bare
Seemed full again
It was always almost empty
Like a shadow eating a grape
The first time I cleared all the furniture
Except for a chair
How did I miss the chair
The next time it was boxes
I must have left the chair
To sit and fill the boxes
When the boxes were full I took the chair
And the room was almost empty
Next came bags
But there was still a box
I must have left the box
For the junk
That wasn’t quite garbage
I filled the bags
And took the box
And I thought it was really almost completely empty
But when I came back I needed more bags
And a broom
And a box
And a vacuum
And a friend
And several hours later
It was really
I didn’t go back
For fear of figuring out
I was wrong again

11 thoughts on “Write a poem about the end of something

  1. @All, this month has been enjoyable. I have enjoyed what I read, and hope that my words have likewise brought enjoyment. Of course, if it has not, it matters not, I enjoyed writing, and that is sufficient for me.

    @John, Again this has been enjoyable. I was wondering when you cut back on posting earlier this year if it would impact the 30 days of poetry. I am pleased to see that the impact was minimal, and that the 30 days happened again.

    Today’s submission is simply titled The End.

    The End.

    For the innocent,
    nothing inhibits enjoyment.
    Politicians speak truth;
    Parents are perfect,
    and a girl can be a friend.
    Each day brings pleasure,
    Halloween is carefree,
    and each stranger is simply
    a friend one hasn’t met,
    for the innocent.

    But then it ends
    unspoken, unnoticed
    with cynicism and pain,
    Razor blades and apples,
    “Don’t speak to strangers”
    You wake up to see that
    politicians are all liars,
    parents are hypocritices,
    and you can’t speak to your friend,
    because sex gets in the way.

  2. End

    I guess this is it
    A full stop
    Instead of a comma

    An end
    Instead of a beginning

    Close the loop
    Finish the sentence

    Because we end here.

  3. Sevenling (Orchids and clover)

    Orchids and clover hung from pots
    on the outside wall of his house,
    and that strange, white night-blooming flower.

    The stars were out, shining clearly,
    and moonlight vied with lamplight,
    illuminating his hanging garden faintly …

    until he moved away, taking not one plant.

  4. In that place of last thought
    a man will think of what was not
    and of all that was and is to come
    It will be seen by some but shared by none
    for in that last breath there is no friend
    except yourself all alone in the end

  5. This cracked, splintered path
    Layered with years of grime and soot
    Trodden, not happily, but sullenly
    With feet dragging beneath the weight
    Of crimes piled on frail shoulders
    With tears frozen in muddy streaks
    On a countenance furrowed by pain
    Ends here

    I choose to leave this path behind
    Step off the trail of tears and
    Look for level ground where footing is sure
    I will shake the dust of past injustice
    And move toward gentle grass
    Planted lovingly by different hands
    Than those that steered me toward
    The road of self-destruction and despair
    It ends here
    I choose joy
    .-= Jenny Miller´s last blog ..Add Your Poetry =-.

  6. An end of an era- friendship

    I look and look at the shadow beside your face
    I ought to look you in the eye, but
    I’ve been looking here all along
    I’ll just go on a little longer

    If we were friends, I would touch you
    I would tell you to tuck the hair
    Behind your ear, it’s escaping again
    I told you a thousand times
    And it’s made no difference
    I wish I had words for this sadness

    When I leave, there will be memories
    But you will have none of me
    And I will ache for the things
    You never learned

    But I will be whole
    And I will be free

    Don’t watch me as I walk away
    I wish you wouldn’t
    It’s no business of yours
    You never minded where I went before:
    When I was wrong about you
    And knew it not- ignorance!

    I’ve stayed too long
    Let me leave- no,
    I must go.

    Your face that day I’ll never forget
    Old happiness cowering in your eyes
    As the new tenant, hopelessness
    Slipped in and beat everyone else out
    I know you looked, I saw.

    But I went, I went, with purpose
    And nothing on my side
    To begin another life

  7. I present this possible present as a present we can only prepare personally.

    I have been lost living,
    Sitting in my apartment,
    Dreaming of a life,
    Instead of living a dream.

    I wake up each day wishing,
    Wishing i was dreaming,
    Dreaming for the death of my life,
    Not worth loving,
    And for the rebirth of a love,
    worth living,
    Love of all life,
    Without hatred and strife.

    If you share this dream with me,
    I ask you to stop,
    Stop dreaming of this life,
    And begin to live this dream.

  8. Oh..It is great..
    My contribution is here,

    The battle field

    Guide welcomed me , when I entered to the country, The country of battle

    I was told by guide “Welcome to the desert , Nothing but roar of the gun is plenty here”

    I borrowed a knife from a boy to peel mangos which I kept in my leather bag

    I felt a bitter taste ,when I ate the mango . I wondered “why”

    The boy who gave the knife told me that they eyes of her sisters been encompassed by that knife

    I asked, Encompassed by whom? “By solders”

    When I travelled to the desert I saw the destroyed buildings and homes .

    I approached to a lake when I was thirsty. I drank from it . I had a bitter taste . I wondered “why”

    The guard of the lake told me that, the place of the lake was a place of a hospital which is destroyed by bomb

    I was exhausted and sat in a bunch which was under a gigantic a tree

    I felt a bitter smell . I wondered “why”

    I was told by someone .Thirteen innocent people slaughtered upon the bunch by sword

    I heard the hooting of a tanker , My guide hide somewhere in pace , I was told to do so but I failed

    A traveler landed the battle field and welcomed by a guide

    He borrowed a pen from the guide and wrote something in his diary

    The colour of the ink was red and he felt a bitter smell ,he wondered “why”

    “ The pen you writing was used by a traveler who was killed by solders. Who wrote for us ” Guide informed him



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