Melting Ice

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse BlogSpot #94.  Published also for Earthweal and https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

Melting Ice
“We need to save the Arctic not because of the polar bears, and not because it is the most beautiful place in the world, but because our very survival depends upon it.” Lewis Gordon

It was the full Snow Moon Friday night.
It was bitterly cold but the moon
shone bright and clear in the night sky.
I checked on the feral cats to make sure
sure they were fed and had a warm place to sleep.
I thought of all the animals in extreme weather –
either cold or hot
and hungry or burned to death
or clinging to the last bit of ice.
I need to have hope.
I want to have hope.
So much of my sun has vanished from my universe.
I lay here on my last bit of ice
and wonder,
how long before it melts and I sink into the sea.

Sorrow is Shit

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse BlogSpot.

Sorrow is Shit
“People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can’t rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.” ― James O’Barr, The Crow

the crows were once my friends.
then a great sorrow overtook me
and I exploded in anger and then finally,
deep harsh tears.
the crows left me.
I am alone lying here,
the crow drops a key into the empty
cavity that is now my chest –
sans husband, sans heart, sans friends, sans love.
I wish the crow would replace my friends.
sorrow is shit without friends.

Secrets

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Secrets
“And stare through the wet branches of an oak
In winter, & realize I am looking at the stars
Again.” Winter Stars by Larry Levis

the stars in winter hold secrets
close to their hearts.
their silence tells of sleeping bees
and bare trees and falling flakes of snow.
they hold these secrets close to their hearts –
telling no one except the night sky.
they wait for pink spring
and the waking of the bees.

Love

I chose option 1  for Mish’s prompt – a book that is physically close to me and that means a lot to me – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
A short not-quite poem.

Love
“ ‘You’ll stay with me?’
Until the very end,’ said James.”
― J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I will stay with you,
Until the very end.
I held him until he took his last breath –
my beloved husband whom I love until the end of time.

The Mine

The words. I did not use all of them. solitude, cage, moonless, identical, circle, gravity, canary, root, platitude, apparition

For Skylover’s Word List.

The Mine
“Grief is like living two lives – One is like pretending everything is alright, and the other where your heart silently screams in pain.” Anonymous

January 3.
the smell of petrichor rises
from the roots and
moist air circles me
in the moonless night.
solitude cages me.
an owl drifts across the sky
like an apparition.
I look up from the depths of a mine,
a caged canary beating my wings
against death.

Car Accident

My husband has been in hospital for a week now with extremely bad pneumonia and twice he coded.  So my thoughts have been solemn but still hopeful, but then again, solemn.  I have been comforted with a notebook (which I rarely use) recording thoughts, poems and of course, American Sentences.  This is a grim poem I wrote after I got to the hospital and experienced several bad accidents on the highway within a half a mile of each other.  It is grim so if you don’t read, I understand!


Car Accident

“Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire…. Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It’s real.”
Charles Bukowski

In the blackness long lines of lights.
two bad car accidents within a half-mile of each other –
one at one exit,
the other at the exit opposite.
I see the firemen hosing down one site.
I think to myself:
on one hand, we gawk.
we want to see the blood on the highway,
the crashed cars.
on the other, we don’t want to look.
Death.
It reaches out its claw
and catches us as a raptor does
a mouse in a field.
We want to know we survived.
We need to know we survived.
Death being hosed from the highway.
We don’t want to look.
but then again…

 

 

 

The Future

For Magaly’s Prompt at Real Toads.  We are to take one of the 13 lines listed form Kerry’s Poetry, exactly as the line is written.  a beautiful prompt.  Kerry is a fine poet and an excellent artist, drawer of Tarot Card.  I fell in love with Toads when I found the site.  I thought some of the finest poets in the blogosphere posted their poems there. I still do.  I bow to Kerry in her greatness.  NOTE:  I used to live about 2 miles from the Dry Falls in the illustration.

The Future
“A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.” ― Philip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle

the future arrives just as water
turns into a dry fall
jutting from the side of the mountain.
we walked underneath it
looking through the water at the
river below us –
we stood in the cave behind it and
and held each other close
the future arrives just as water
turns into mist on a cold grey day
turning the trees into mysteries.
the future is there… looking back at us –
trying to make sense of the
fiction we will have become.

Dry Falls Highlands, NC

Lake Moon

For Linda’s prompt at dVerse Poets, for “Prosery” Monday. Prosery is where prose and poetry collide, sort of like a haibun but fictional. Mine is true. I rarely write flash fiction.  It is ended with a landay, an Afghan poetic form written and sung by the women.

 

Lake Moon
“The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation…” Yasunari Kawabata

I sat wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt by the dark lake.  The full cold moon shone white in the black sky and reflected on the water.  Never have I touched anything smoother than the reflection of that moon.  A few wild dogs passed within a few feet of me and lapped up the reflection of that moon.  A line from a poem popped in my head – “A cow is screaming across the arroyo.”  Suddenly I jerked awake.  It was pre-dawn and the crows were waking, cawing.  The cow was far away in my dreams and the dogs had wandered away in their quest for food.  The full cold moon brings long winter days – animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth.

Cold Moon

For Sanaa’s last prompt at Real Toads. She is introducing us to the Landay, a traditional Afghan style of women poets and sung. Typically they are a single couplet – the first line consists of nine syllables and the second with 13. I got this information from Wikipedia. I am keeping mine short and traditional – a single couplet.

Cold Moon

the full cold moon brings long winter days –
animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth

The Chef

For Skylover’s Word List. A word list for thinking persons. I wrote poems about Dorian Grey and his life and times for my PhD in Fine Arts. This is an old old poem re-written using words from the Word List. And this one is for Shay who loves my poems about Dorian Grey. The List For December: https://www.instagram.com/p/B5hHd0alUQN/ And for the prompt at dVerse Poet’s Pub. I am not sure if it is an “apostrophe”.

The Chef
“A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it.” Rabindranath Tagore

Dorian Grey watched the sun
sinking below the horizon,
lambent, flickering out of sight.
chained stars gave the illusion of light
and false camaraderie.
He took the needle filled with
heroin and injected it into his veins.
Beside the trash cans outside the restaurant
he looked again at the stars,
with no curiosity.
in this life he was a chef.
he wore the illusion like a tatty robe
and soon, in the dawn
he would strip it from himself.
indecision – should he hang himself
at dawn or continue to live?
he pulled the needle from his arm.
no. he would continue to live
cursed with eternal life.
he didn’t need to die.
he only needed to look at his portrait.
the chained stars needed to be set free –
he didn’t think he had the strength.
he went back inside to finish the night shift.

Ch-ch-changes

For the Midweek Motif at Poets United -Change

Ch-ch-changes
“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein
 
I stood at the foot of my grandmother’s bed
and watched her draw her last breath.
It hit me then,
I will never be the same after
experiencing this.
I stood by my father’s casket and I thought,
I will never the be the same after this.
I stood in front of the minister with the man
who was going to be my husband and I thought,
I will be different after this.
I watched my mother draw her last breath
and I though I will never be the same.
I am an orphan now.
I will have no children to watch me die.
I will have no children to be changed forever.
I watch the seasons passing
leaves and flowers sprouting,
Rose petals dropping,
Leaves changing color and dropping,
Snow falling in the woods.
I am changed forever.
I am forever changed.

Like the waters

For Rommy’s prompt at Real Toads, Words to Live By. I read this in my early teens. These words have held my mind all these years.

Like the Waters
I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
William Butler Yeats

We cast the ashes of our regrets
into the waters.
We cast the ashes of our sorrows
into the waters.
We cast the ashes of our dreams
into the waters.
All of our beauties we cast into the waters.
They ride the currents to the ocean
and become one with it.
We watch them drift away from us,
we say goodbye and look up at the sky.
The clouds drift by in the water
of the sky and drown themselves
in the horizon.

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