I wish I had been stoned

because I did not want to look into the casket
perhaps, with some help
I might not have seen her so vividly
or since, not as she was

I wish I had been as brave
as she was
holding her hand
and saying goodbye, no
she held all of us together

I saw all I could side-eye
and the guilt remains
something I could hold in my hand
not hers, cold and without pity

I wish I had been stoned, but
I had not touched the stuff
since 1985, then maybe
the colours around her
would have soothed us all

and I could put this back in the hope chest
with all the other dust

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Blocks

quilting pillow 1.jpg

She sews the pieces together
distracted
with every corner that is not square.

Wanting to please her grandmother
she hopes
that Heaven’s floor
is not transparent.

Little bro

stevie
My little brother, not so little anymore, but still the sweetest boy ever

 

How come we say
that time passes too slowly?
when we all know
it slips out of our grip
way too fast–

I didn’t pay attention
while time has rambled on–
and I remember (don’t forget)
the old times (don’t forget)
I remember some good times
( they weren’t all bad)
and I remember some very bad times
(but they weren’t all bad)

Birthday’s just a day
and today it is your turn
to be man of the day
little boy with a deck of cards
and a magic wand, grown up
come on little brother
show me some magic
’cause I’m feeling tired–

Then let’s toast to the days coming
the ones we look forward to
and the ones that will lead to eternity–
there are many smiles left
daydreams of your reflections–
the golden faces looking up to you
for some good old days.

*

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Luke 12:6-7 NIV

Monday Random

  • It is a pretty day, and I have not been outside since Friday, except for provisions
  • We might go by the Lake. That would be Lake Michigan, a really pretty place

lake blue and breezy

  • I had an ailment that is improving now–nothing serious, just irritating, but I am grateful to get some relief and feel like going out
  • There is something about the water that draws us, me and Mr. Street–and it always has amazed me how one could feel so good just being near it, or staring out over it
  • Perhaps part of its allure is sharing the space with birds and boats

Continue reading “Monday Random”

Monday random: family

  • There was a time I thought I had to get away from my family
  • months and years went by sometimes with only silence
  • forgiveness was a rough lesson to learn
  • There was a time I was so alone I couldn’t bear it, and realized that no matter what, my family would take me in

Continue reading “Monday random: family”

Where’s Dad?

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.

little learner

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.

*************************************************************************************

glopo2019button1DAY FOUR:  4 April

Write a sad poem, but one that achieves sadness through simplicity.  Try playing with the sonnet form.

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Not a painter

for my children

I.
Then.

I’ll tell you now what you want to know
only lay your head in my lap first
and I will brush my fingers through your hair
while I tell you the story of why we are
who we are and why you are who you are
born into a whirlwind, your mother
a bundle of cautions, and your father
still trying to wrap up his own childhood

I had always wanted to be a painter
or a rock-and-roll singer
someone like Janis Joplin, leaving
her heart on the floor every night
and I’d sing in the bathroom, with
a hairbrush for a microphone

II.
Now.

I wasn’t blessed with that talent
with a throat that could create a masterpiece
I’m no Kathleen Battle or Renée Fleming
I am not Billie Holiday
I am that songbird outside your window
that does not shut up when you first wake
the one that gets in the last word

Blessed with words in my mouth from day one
I’ve learned to give them away
give the world something back
that it gives to me every time I open a book
or turn on the radio
each time I sit in a concert hall
how often in the museum
do I sit down in awe

III.
Posterity.

We all are given something, and this is mine
to tell you about your Father in Heaven
though I am not worthy to truly paint Him
I have faith that I will see him when I am done here
I have a voice to express my love to you
fully and completely
and perhaps if I am really lucky
to spread some words across the land

I have gifts in hand
I must give them away

and if I am very lucky

and I pay attention to the wind
when it blows
I might just get some of them back