Listen in Sorrow #birds #poetry #loss

pencil bird

happy you tend to the garden

waking me daily with song

bringing cheer never sorrow

I find myself singing along

*

more work is there in the morrow

gather and fashion a nest

complaints never are filed

rarely do you stop for a rest

*

little one out in the wet storm

no jacket to fend off the rain

grateful for your reminder

sun always follows the pain

*

I take my pen sadly to paper

to write about someone I love

gone toward braodened horizons

taken gently to heaven above

*

spring raindrops

birds joyful refrain

tears fall freely

rain-on-bird4

Today at Poet’s United the prompt is Birds.

This haibun is lovingly written for my father-in-law Robert who left us today.

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Too Late #tanrenga #poetry

This month at Chevrefeuille’s Haiku Kai we are challenged by the Tan Renga that short chained poem written by two poets. Here is the haiku by Buson for your inspiration to create the second stanza of this Tan Renga.

Haiga by Buson

the willow leaves fallen,

the spring gone dry,
rocks here and there

© Yosa Buson (1716-1784)

tears blot candle lit message

death comes too quick for my love

~mdw

t

Repentant Magdalene - De La Tour 1640 oil

Art by Yosa Buson and Georges de la Tour

A Dark Night #noir #poetry #EdgarAllenPoe

Edgars desk

Gather my last notes

sleep never so desired

always more elusive

more muddied in the mire

against eyelash moth fluttered

taunting at my face

stopping for full moments

slumber could not erase

those errant memories

pass me, you and I

never have I slept

since the day you died

 fingers momentary

clasp about my throat

end this misery

 “goodbye” all you wrote

 my end you had predicted

 tables then were turned

shot in desperate dark

the killer in hell will burn

fresh white like a lily

purest scent I’d known

now a dusty red

stained the step toward home

your whisper doth entice

it draws me near the fire

wings might easily ignite

lay next to you my desire

work must yet be done

before I lay my head

I gather darkest dream

you villains breathe in dread

We celebrate your gift of using the pen to write Noir. Thank you Edgar for your inspiration to many writers

Happy Birthday

Thirty Six Percent #poetry

life

I bash my head against another diagnosis

the maze of “I don’t knows”

outweighs “this way out”

I ping the depths for respiration

I drag the bottom, no air to shout

hanging off an IV bottle

add a little more of that if you please

just a little more desperation

drugs can’t keep up with my disease

MDs with their coffee and boredom

“not interesting enough” * you say

what you see stands not before you

patients more anxious today

****

creative she sings

miracles of beauty surround

no time for boredom

*

(*A remark made to me by a trauma surgeon after being airlifted  from an auto accident)

Today’s prompt at Poet’s United is “Boredom.”

I could rant about healthcare and it’s failings when twenty or thirty years ago we (health care practitioners and researchers) were making inroads.

No need to worry as all of those roads now have “do not enter” or “closed for repair” signs.

Lost on the Train #Ukraine #poetry

 

Uneven are the clickity clack

as the wheels slide along rails

It’s hard not to echo silent  words

that I heard on that Crimean train

the subtle all but lost

except in the shudder of the cars

the steel sparking off the tracks

Clickity clack they gossip

“she was thrown from the train – here

they meant to kill her

but the people without faces knew

she was alive”

I caress the worn boards

wanting to hear and see

splinters had achieved their goal

men’s hearts pierced

women and children sent away

my eye captures what would have been a tear stain

had they not cut it out

tossed it after the woman

hoping all the time that society would forget

how to love life

and man would graze with the cattle

women would bray like the ass

children would not feel  freedom

of grass tickles their bare feet

All for the Last Time #poetry #cancer #photography

 

While he is living all his firsts

steps that rockforth  and tumble

words that jumble into Da and Ma

terrible two tempers that rumble

colored flecks in baby eyes

I’ll never know where his future lies

I will be living my lasts

springtime  never been greener

revealing the bulbs with my gardening rake

easter eggs treasures my grandson and I hunt

blowing out the last candles on my cake

placing the last pictures from my past

I will be parting with too few goodbyes

laying my walking friend away

wanting one more dawn to see love in your eyes

so many words I need to say

friends to enjoy hug’s last memory

it’s the last time in my rocker I’ll  cry

walking stick

 

This poem was tearfully begotten after hearing that a young woman (of 19) with a toddler is losing her mother to cancer. There is something so poignant about breathing your last sea salt day and never having time to take pictures of your grandchildren.