because the story must be told
crying twice
since coffee
over questions and fears
your voice comes through
the fog of yesterday
the dog barking
the mask peeling
and your generous love
touches my heart
each time I drop to my knees
even so, Lord
even so
You drop over me
a veil that brings
more tears
with only joy
every green
nourishes me
pulling me further
from the gray
fuchsia and coral
begonia and mother-of-pearl
oh what a whirl
of sight
sound
and color
after paltry days of torpor
I tend to grasp at
so I learn here
what it means
to fill up with joy
I’m a girl
he’s a boy
chasing butterflies
across sun-dappled foliage
I got behind
and catching up
is something like
grape stomping
in a swamp
getting so stuck in the
sweet muck
and no one sees it
so does it really happen
the wineclaydirt slurry
bogged. left. carnival of mud.
first cuppa
with the rising sun
joyous and bright
cup two for discourage-
ment and woe
cup three for I Love Lucy
some laughs
fourth cuppa
to mute out the noise
bring on the joys
of so much good taste
and hot, steamy
give-without-taking
kind of cuppa
Today hurt bad like cuts on my fingers
then slicing lemons for hours
your face, always disappointed, and
I would like to be the girl
to bring light to your eyes
How do I explain why it hurts more
to be misunderstood than kicked
honey, how I wish I could have you here
to protect me now
because I am feeling low
Feeling tired and wondering why
I never fit into this world of woe
come Sunday, everything
is going to feel alright
praise God on Sunday we will dance
and give happiness one more chance
come Sunday
everything is gonna feel alright
A sad story that broke my heart. I am challenged by ‘little learner’–one of the first I followed on WordPress–to be more transparent, when life calls for it.
I don’t know where my father rests.
With no understanding he signed a form,
And when all breath left his breast
All had vanished, his body still warm.
His parents’ house. The family car.
His favourite books. A baby spoon.
His cribbage board, the well-stocked bar.
The TV set. His vinyl tunes.
She took the lot and sold it all
Folded the money and drove away.
Without a word, She left a pall,
Not a thought for her unwitting prey.
By the time we heard that he was gone
There was nothing for us to put flowers on.
*************************************************************************************
Write a sad poem, but one that achieves sadness through simplicity. Try playing with the sonnet form.
He closed like a door
not slammed
the way we hear a warning shot
before the storm
but shut meticulously
carefully
to evoke no more than a soft click
easily missed
It was always the silence that did me in.
I put up with every violation
in a way that no one should
but I never stopped living
until the silence got me
spring’s trumpets
are quiet
not the blasting
of July
nor the glittering
of December snow
spring
you marvelous lover
you serenade
well into the night
birds trains wind
