Loss

Loss curls around him
rubbing against his stubbled cheek
he turns his face to it
and swallows it whole

he feels it circle then settle, heavy
and smooth in his belly
like a stray cat
coming home

inside he is windswept
flapping around the dark pit of absence
bleak as the moors in November
and falling
always falling

 

This started out as a quadrille (44 words) but I came back to it, fiddled, and added a few more.  Now it’s linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where they are hosting an open forum.

On Outliving One’s Child

He pads down dark corridors
peering into empty rooms

Loss curls around him
rubbing his stubble

He swallows it whole
and feels it settle
heavy
in his belly

Picking at a frayed seam
he wonders how he can be both
so full
and so empty

 

This is for Bjorn at dVerse Poets Pub where we have been asked to write a poem of forty-four words including the word, “curl”, also know as a quadrille.

When it Hurts to Stay

Ooooh Babe
Don’t leave me now
Don’t say it’s the end of the road
-from “Don’t Leave Me Now,” by Roger Waters

Hold me down, count my ribs.
Show me my blood
in red and white
 
Steal my legs
and then my lungs.
Stick in the needle, drain my veins.
Peel back my hair, my skin, my scalp
 
Burn my flesh
with your tender touch
as you hold my hand and
beg me not to go

 

This is a 55 word poem inspired by a sad song, as prompted in the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  I think I’ve veered a bit from the original prompt, but this was what I needed to write today.

 

 

Solstice Psalm

cold

Photo by Mary Bach

Cold are the people,
Winter of life,
We tremble in shadows this cold endless night,
Frozen in the snow lie roses sleeping,
Flowers that will echo the sunrise,
Fire of hope is our only warmth,
Weary, its flame will be dying soon.

-by Daniel Kantor

 

Pax/ Pox

Every screen
shows us
death
a bombing
and a shooting
and another
and many others
Atrocities abound
 
And we-
we bleed, weep and keep
watch
Moved beyond words
almost
showing our best
 
Until
the arguments start
Who has the greatest
loss
and who is
at fault
whose policy failed
who can we punish
 
Our finest impulses
are buried in
shrapnel, bile and fear