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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Ripple Effect #poetry #oldage

Ripples of Life

 

a blurry reflection in wintry pond

from my pocket something priceless falls

“plop” is the sound I hear

I consider as it silent calls

“ninety years is too soon”

says old, wizened but sharp of mind

two wives I never intended to bury

for the century mark, I have time

I ponder his possibilities

friends mostly gone

better save your pennies

your days are long

a blurry reflection in wintry pond

from my pocket something priceless falls

“plop” are its last words

I consider as it silent calls

 

Sharing this with Poet’s United the prompt this week Nineties

 

The Amputee #poetry

shoes

It was cold down there

where my leg once hung

I never talked to my limbs

now I hold long conversations

with something that is forever gone

We made memories

palled around as friends

we were a team you and I

well we were

I guess good things all have to end

Think about “Us”

If you could do it all over

would you run off

at the first sign of trouble

leave me without cover

I always thought

you’d stand and fight

misconceptions run in my family

you were more concerned

about being right

*** For all those who have suffered amputation it is not an easy thing you face. That part of you will never get better and your diligence is required everyday to prevent infection. I met a man at the hospital  and he was one his third bout of losing more of his foot. He had a great attitude about it I might add but his feet I could tell had become his friends.

Your Poem on the Wind #poetry #loss #photography

sandpipers
Finger traces words
pages escape in the wind
poetry never dies
*
I clasp the memories
near to my heart
those warm days
and you and I
chasing shore birds
we dance in the sea-foam
our laughter joins with the sea’s chorus
“come frolic with us in waves of eternity
just beyond the sun”
A tear muddies the poem
the one you wrote
of your love
tied in a bundle
with so many others
invisible fingerprints
caress the ribbon
that has untied your sentiments
too many times to count
brown and brittle are the pages now
a piece breaks off
and is caught by the breeze
I scorn its warm glow
it too wants a bit of you
finally I crumple your treasures
to brown papery dust
setting you free for the last and final time
a silent petition I raise:
“let me join you
to frolic in the waves of eternity
just beyond the sun”
sun and wave foam
 This poem is inspired by Anna Akhmatova a woman who knew the glow and loss of love.
Today at Poet’s United Midweek Motif the theme is “A Woman’s World.” One thing women have long known is the value of love and the weight of loss and yet we endure.
poets united

All I Have Are Ashes #Akhmatova #poet #societalcancer

 winter scene

I’ve cried for seventeen long months,
I’ve called you for your home,
I fell at hangmen’ feet – not once,
My womb and hell you’re from.
All has been mixed up for all times,
And now I can’t define
Who is a beast or man, at last, 
And when they’ll kill my son.
There’re left just flowers under dust,
The censer’s squall, the traces, cast
Into the empty mar…
And looks strait into my red eyes
And threads with death, that’s coming fast,
The immense blazing star.

~above is an excerpt from “Requiem ” by Anna Akhmatova*

Tears mingle in the dirt
whose ashes are these?
they look familiar
momentarily my tears sparkle in the mud
“oh yes that was my first love
he died at the hand of Lenin
my son is still awaiting my tears”
the ashes have worked their way
into the fabric of one shoe
clinging to memory
“please God  give my frailty a purpose”
this shoe I ask that they not take 
I must cling to it for warmth

when the winter breezes dry my once fresh skin
kiss my cheek with remnants of him…
~mdw

(my echo of a poem to this Russian woman who knew such pain)

Anna Akhmatova is known as one of Russia’s finest female poets. She lived during a time when freedom of artistic expression was unwelcome. Her losses were many…

This is being shared with Poets’ United Midweek Motif the topic Cancer.

This recent poem Winter’s Accusation deals with cancer the disease. I write occasionally about it but I usually try to stay clear of those doors.

Frozen #poetry #winter

 

pink begonia

 

She always seemed to wear pink

like a spirited blossom

that always embodied spring

where once we sat

there is a cold covering

nothing speaks of her warmth

dawning day in starry eyes

heat of molten sunsets

her flower petals drop

I traverse this white  path

her bare footprints covered

frozen is the fabric of my tears

that fall like icicles

and I sit on our bench

waiting

alone

winters bench

 

I went far afield on the Poet’s United prompt today. I am snowed in at this beautiful getaway – so the snow covered bench and the rambunctious pink begonia stole the show which was supposed to be focused on “Fashion.”