Loss
Missing
do the trees
miss their leaves
in the frozen
heart of winter
does the moon
miss the stars
at the end of
time
does the shore
miss the sea
when
the earth
has burned
to ash
do you
miss me
when you
turn your face
away
because
I
miss
you
Cat Tale
-Photo by Mary Bach
It is amazing how a little pile
of fur and bones
of whiskers and purrs
can claim a human heart
can fill a human heart
and
how its suffering
can break
a human heart
and call from the human
both her best and her worst
and how completely
helpless
that human can
feel
This is in memory of Frank, my daughter’s cat who left us November 24 of this year. It is linked to Joy’s FF55 at Verse Escape, with a nod to the late, great G-Man.
Lost
Photo by Mary Bach: Merchant Seafarers’ War Memorial (back side), Cardiff
Where are we?
Blinded and betrayed by time
Endless skies press down
with the weight of water
Sanded and salted
preserved, we thought
Like a pearl of great price
I am lamented but unfound
scattered, until my ribs
no longer know each other
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.
Almost
I sit cross-legged
in the garden
on the warm earth
Sweet peas
wave to me
from the trellis.
Morning glories nod
and curl into sleep
As night
sets the stars alight
the breeze
whispers you
against my neck
almost as if you were here
I’m breezing in slightly late with a Quadrille for Bjorn at dVerse. He asked us to write a poem of exactly 44 words including the title, and use the word “breeze” somewhere in it.
Dylanw
Endless
skies press down
with the weight of water
blinded and
betrayed by time
sanded
and salted
preserved, we thought
like a pearl of great price
lamented, but unfound
scattered
so far
my ribs
no longer know
one another other
Photo by Tess Kincaid: Merchant Seafarers’ War Memorial, Cardiff
Notes:
Dylanw is a Celtic god of the sea.
Please see Magpie Tales for more responses to the image.
Apology
In my dreams
I am brave and patient
waiting there for you, always,
to leave me.
I am a pillar
at the shoreline
not moving
not wavering
not receding.
Time does not exist
and we are caught
in the amber moment
when shadows draw long
and day becomes night
not inhabiting either,
but balanced between
the two
together.
In Other Words 