Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems

Exploring the world of life and grief through poetry.

Category: Self Expression

  • Dreaming of Mom

    Dreaming of Mom

    In the night you visit my dreams
    Sitting next to your gravestone,
    Alert and at peace.
    You gather me into your arms,
    Just like when I was a child,
    Holding me gently, comforting me,
    Telling me I’ll be okay.
    The tears slip down my cheeks
    As I rest my head against your bosom,
    Feeling safe and shattered at the same time.
    The ether of the dream evaporates,
    Leaving me alone in my bed,
    My face wet, wanting to hold onto you
    And longing for the respite of sleep
    To ease my grief again.

  • Blank Page

    Blank Page

    The daunting blank page
    holds an invitation to create.
    It embodies endless possibilities.
    It gives space to the words that
    Have been longing for a place
    To escape their home in my mind.
    It beckons the paintbrush
    That lingers in the air to let go of perfection
    And follow the vibrant colors where they lead.
    The white sheet whispers, “Transform me.”

    I’m that paper, forever being shaped and reformed.
    I may just see the blink, blink, blinking of the cursor
    Demanding to be filled with something, anything
    As my hands hover over the keyboard.
    Sometimes, the colors of my mind are
    The steel gray of a rainy, wind-swept day.
    The promise of life is that it will change
    And bright colors and words will emerge.
    In their own time. Patience, my dear.

  • In the Arms of a Tree

    In the Arms of a Tree

    I sink down on the stone bench
    And let the tree envelope me in her arms.
    Its limbs reach out in all directions
    Providing me space to drop the weight that I’m carrying
    With the promise that they will protect me.

    I close my eyes, and breathe deeply,
    As my body releases its tension,
    Allowing my ears to be my guide
    To the message that nature needs to impart
    As I take a break from the world.

    The water falls from the small fountain
    With its steady trickle
    Drip, drip, dripping a rhythmic beat
    Into the pond below.

    The birds provide the choir
    As they call each other.
    Each sings their own tune,
    Whistling and trilling as they look for their mate
    Or for the joy of being alive.

    The shuffling of feet along the path
    As people wander back and forth in this alcove
    Provides a steady hum of life.
    Voices muted as they take in the beauty that surrounds them.
    Overhead, planes fly unaware of the quietude below.

    This tree is my haven,
    A steadfast presence no matter what is going on
    In the world or my head.
    It’s rooted in my consciousness, bringing me calm

    Even when I’m not in its presence.
    I’m transported to this tree in my mind’s eye.
    My breathing quiets
    And I find my serenity again.

  • Broken Lens

    Broken Lens

    Nature’s beauty spreads before me,
    Begging to be photographed
    But the lens is broken when
    I take off its cover.
    Sometimes, it’s spider cracks.
    Other times, chunks of glass are missing.
    Each time, it takes me unawares.
    How can I forget that my lens hasn’t been repaired?
    But the camera sits on the shelf, in pristine shape.

    It’s my brain misfiring, straining my eyes.
    I still see the beauty.
    The ability to capture that moment is still there.
    With folly, I put myself out there like I’m the old me
    Snapping away as if I can trick my brain.
    But my eyes, my eyes, they refuse to cooperate
    “Rest,” they say. It’s too much.
    It will cost you. Are you willing to pay the price?

    And so, I must listen to the wise voice,
    The one who cares for me,
    Being okay with the unknown future,
    Finding new ways to express myself.

    This poem was inspired by a dream that I kept having. I would be somewhere in nature, see the perfect shot, only to have an unusable camera. It was only after I realized it was my brain trying to deal with visual vertigo and I wrote this poem that the dreams stopped.

  • Under Construction

    Under Construction

    The blockades are set up
    And the caution tape skitters in the breeze
    Warning, merge left, merge right
    Detour this way,
    This road is under construction
    Until further notice.

    It’s uncomfortable having the road torn up,
    Reshaped, uncertain of what it will look like.
    Every day the street looks messier.
    Will it be days, months, years
    until it is back to normal and
    traffic adjustments and restraints are done?

    How glorious it is when
    The barricades are removed.
    The wheels move smoothly over
    The fresh black tar roads, relief replacing
    Frustration and despair.

    I will find joy in driving on this
    Quiet road for as long as it lasts,
    Knowing that potholes will return,
    And it will be upended again.

    This poem was inspired by the continual road construction that is going on. I always feel a sense of frustration with the delays. Then I turn it inwards, reflecting on how my life is constantly under construction. Those times are often overwhelming, and I wish I could skip them. But once I’ve walked through those changes, I come out feeling and functioning better than when I started. This perspective also helps me when I must undergo another excavation, knowing that I will continue to grow.