So Long

So Long

So long now

since you jumped into death –

36 years, bright lad –

embracing the darkness

of the unknown,

rather than

the surrounding, encroaching

pain …

but my loyalty

is to your laughter,

your forthright gaze,

your arms around me briefly,

the words you inscribed on paper,

the flush on your freckled cheeks

and how resolutely

you straightened your shoulders

after that last time,

turning away.

At 'imaginary garden with real toads' Toni challenges us to write in the mood of Mono no Aware, the Japanese term for wistful sadness about loss or change. Well-timed for me, just as I've been having some nostalgic thoughts on the subject of this poem.

Just Do It

Just Do It

You just open

some sort of

inspace that connects

to the outspace

and both are

vast dark / light

from which, or

through, there pours

this thing, poetry,

made of words

you didn’t know

you knew how

to put together

and it’s true

you didn’t know:

oh vibrating instrument.

Kim, for the Weekend Mini Challenge at 'imaginary garden with real toads', invites us to write about 'just doing it'.

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me

If you forget me, the Universe will come to a close.

It is not possible that you would forget me.

Through three lifetimes (and those only 

the ones we got in touch with) you did not forget me.

When you had Alzheimer’s, you still remembered me – 

though sometimes you got a bit muddled.

You knew always there was a Rosemary you loved.

You knew this woman with you as your dear wife.

Occasionally you didn’t connect them exactly, but

either way you loved me and never forgot me.

You are busy now, up there with the angels,

enjoying the work you do for the good, I know.

But you don’t forget me, you are just on the end

of a thought; when I think you, you are there.

And you look in without being summoned, often.

I see your face, hear your voice, feel your touch.

It could never be that you would forget me.

But if, impossibly, you did forget me –

I would haunt you in reverse, from earth,

chase after you into the stars, through all Heaven,

shake you by your incorporeal shoulders

with my dense, warm, fierce hands

thrusting my face into yours, and yell: 

This is me, Rosemary, your true love, your wife.

I refuse to forget you! And if you forget me, 

I promise, the Universe will already have stopped.

I decided I wouldn't write to prompts any more, but then I saw this one at 'imaginary garden with real toads': to use the title of a Neruda poem as a starting-point. Who can resist Neruda? Not me!

Missing the Boat

Missing the Boat

It was only

a momentary, passing

flicker of regret 

for an absence

from a place

I might have.…

After all, if

I had not …

or if I …

It’s just – I 

imagined a glimpse

of golden apples,

hints of sunlight

on sparkling water.

For a moment.

Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #431

Phantom

Phantom

She rose in the night

her fairytale was broken

she thought she would sit up and sing ... 

she thought the wind would take her voice

and throw it out over the ocean

but the pearlescent light of pre-dawn 

mocked her, neither one thing

nor the other – just like me, she thought

and dwindled 

far away from the everything that had been

but her story has not yet

reached an ending

and until she decides, chooses

an action a direction,

she must remain listless, ghost-pale

hovering on the outskirts of day

wondering at the restraints

which stop her utterance

and fade the sight from her eyes

as we, too, stop watching.

Sharing at Poets United's Poetry Pantry #428

After Ten Years

After Ten Years

(Reunion with a young friend)


'I'm 78,' I  told him. (I was, then.)

He was amazed. Nevertheless 

he said, of some hinted, unspecified woes:

'I'll tell you later. Plenty of time.'

Just how much time do you imagine 

I've got? I questioned silently.

Off he went again, always the traveller.

Time runs on. The silence lengthens.

Accessing the Eternal

Accessing the Eternal

(Found poems, from online sharing in a Landmark Education 'Wisdom Course')

Looking at the first 

camellia of the season

is heart-stoppingly beautiful,

magnificent every time.

There is just silence. 

Nothing can describe it.

It's the most perfect 

thing in the universe.

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

When I hear  

the high note 

in Nessun Dorma

the world stops

the universe opens.

I'm linking this to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #430

Community?

Community?

until I was 

I didn't have

(one on one)

never had 

a tribe or posse 

because I was half

wasn't always

so much 

as the fact 

I liked 

the deep lots

lovely solitude

I am still 

in many ways

it surprises me

Erasure poem – from a piece of my own writing: a prose draft on the theme of 'community'.

I'm linking this to The Tuesday Platform for Dec 11 2018, at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

Where my spirit is

Where my spirit is

More 'found' micropoetry 
(found in emails received)

grandson’s confirmation –

he’ll wear a white robe and stole

with symbols HE chose

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

autumn leaves and deer,

a mountainside in a forest –

restful, once I get there

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

a glorious, sunny day …

we expect gigantic waves,

logs tossed about

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

I found a place 

to share in rituals,

light a candle 

and meditate – my poem 

is where my spirit is

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

I've closed my wings

for the time being –

getting ready to fly


Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #427