roads to travel
to honor another, lost
December’s dark days
once again conspire
to deliver sorrow
I’ll be traveling this week, so I’ll be absent from WordPress, but I should be home by Friday. I’m leaving now, Monday morning, to drive to Buffalo to attend the funeral of the mother of a dear friend I have known since childhood.
batter dropped in oil
much more than simple donut
brings sweet memories
Gentle Breeze
In snowfall,
chipmunks nest,
await next snowfall,
wait to revive
chipmunks on the run
to see those walls melt.
Despite the celebration,
feel the gentle breeze
of forlorn memories
of your own loss,
thoughts of home.
Find comfort in its presence
in a final farewell.
MTB: In my end is my beginning, the prompt from Laura Bloomsbury at dVerse ~ Poets Pub was a frustrating one for me. Laura asks that we write a poem using the final line from each of our last 12 (or more) most recent poems (in any order). Each line must remain intact, with the only additions being preposition, conjunction, or change of tense to facilitate flow. And yes, frustrating, because 9 of my last 13 poems were haiku or haibun, pretty much a limiting factor.
If Only
No, I will not grieve
for loved ones lost.
Sorrow that follows
their passing will bow
to celebration for life
and moments shared.
So I tell myself, yet
grief refuses to yield,
despite the celebration.
This my response to No! Vember, the prompt form Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
Murmuring of Ancestors
Never skin-deep, the sense of loss,
like salt in a wound, the edge
of a crevice in the heart that holds
a loved one like a well of grief.
And though it wants their return,
the heart’s bruises will fade
as it takes solace, knowing
their weight has been lifted
by the murmuring of ancestors
who greet them in the Elysian Fields,
a welcome sight even in the depths
of your own loss.
This is my response to Wordle #575 at The Sunday Whirl.
grief – field – skin – depths – edge – salt – murmuring
bruises – ancestors – lifted – crevice – wants
Shared with OpenLinkNight LIVE at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
With Resolve
Would I be that person again?
Am I not, still?
The anger that stewed within is gone,
resolved with understanding. Loss
weighs heaviest when dismissed.
Recognized, accepted, it still lives
within me, an empty space
never to be filled yet always holding
those who cannot be replaced.
This is my response to Reena’s Xploration Challenge #241, which offers this line as inspiration: “The only ghost that scares is a past version of you.”
Shared with OpenLinkNight #321 Blast Off!
Tear Drops
Tear drops,
when held back,
seep far into the soul,
the well that is deep inside us,
waiting
Waiting
for the moment
when it is essential
that our innermost emotions
be known
Be known,
that expressing
the passion within us
must not be considered shameful,
ever
Ever
should we believe
our emotions, when shared,
do not diminish our stature.
Never
Never
easily shed,
and never taken back,
they are always a part of us.
Tear drops
This is my response to MTB: Crowning Crapsey,
the prompt from Laura Bloomsbury at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
The Crapsey (or American cinquain) is a form of cinquain first written by Adelaide Crapsey. It’s 5 lines are not rhymed, and have a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2. A Crown Crapsey, then, is a sequence of five cinquain stanzas functioning to construct one larger poem, with each cinquain being a Crapsey. As it happens, my last stanza came to me first.
Out of Reach
Words come,
go, whether I stop
to think about the pain
or drive it from my mind.
Never really gone,
it rises when I fall victim
to regret, consider wasted
moments when I long
for those out of reach,
no longer here. I reach
for words they will never hear,
never sure if the words
will reach me.
This poem is my response to Poetics: From a place of pain, the prompt from Ingrid at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is “to revisit a time in your life when you have felt pain (emotional or physical, acute or chronic) and come out on the other side stronger.” I don’t think I’ve ever survived such a moment in a way that made me any stronger. Instead, I consider myself just as vulnerable.
Bittersweet Sorrow
This grief that is mine,
that has been mine these many years,
that has plagued me with its persistence,
has lost its bitterness. Bittersweet perhaps,
though never bringing the pleasure
of a cherry that is savored in spite of
its tartness. It still delivers a chill, yet
keeps me warm with the memories
that it stirs. It is those that I savor.
This poem is my response to Poetics: Always in Season, the prompt from Mish at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which offers three options. Mine is in regards to writing “about an emotion or abstract concept,” is to “an emotion or abstract concept. What does it taste like?”
Apologies, for continuing in the vein of yesterday’s response to dVerse. While that one was difficult for me, I was able to write this in a more objective manner.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons
Aware of Darkness
Who is to say one’s grief
is greater than that of another?
Never really gone,
all exist in all they touch,
yet some are touched
in ways that cannot be equaled.
Who is to measure a loss,
if not the one whose heart
cannot find a way to fill a space
that already holds something
that can no longer be touched?
One who sees the darkness
that would consume
the light that fills that space.
One who lives with that grief.
These are my thoughts after reading Beware of Darkness, by Kerfe Roig.
Linked to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
in the darkness
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