The Angel

The Angel
“In heaven an angel is nobody in particular. George Bernard Show

the angel looks as confused as I.
it’s been looking over this cemetery
for years.  and all it sees are the same dead
put into holes – and covered with dirt
that doesn’t grow any flowers or grass.
tacky silk flowers adorn each grave,
faded in the sun and blown by the wind
to another grave or across the road.
It ponders the people planted in this garden –
a garden that produces no fruit
or vegetables, no flowers or trees.
in rain or sun,
snow or heat.
it just looks and ponders
and continues to look confused.

used by permission of Susie Clevenger

The Kitchen is Empty

If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of resources.

The Kitchen is Empty
‘I’m never a reliable narrator, unbiased or objective.” “I have a tattoo on my arm, that says, in ancient Greek, ‘I am certain of nothing.’ I think that’s a good operating principle.” Anthony Bourdain

the boy at the beach has traveled to places
we could not imagine.
the stars no longer follow his parents
as they drive through the night to their home
from the Jersey shore he so dearly loved.
The kitchen is empty –
his great story telling voice like
dark chocolate ganache is silent.
his narrow face no longer wrinkles with laughter
or sorrow nor do his eyes peer out to the end
of the horizon, seeing things only
he could see.
The kitchen is empty –
the knives lying in their coffin drawers,
stories are silent –
no longer being told with
understanding and humor,
with sorrow and truth.
the kitchen is empty.
the kitchen is empty.

Anniversary

For my Wednesday Muse prompt at Sunday Muse Blogspot. The topic today is “anniversary”. There are all kinds of anniversaries: wedding, enagagement, the death of a loved one, adoption of a child or pet, buying a house…one for every day of the year and to spare.

Anniversary
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom … is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

the days run fast
as a shooting star,
dropping through the blackness
of time.
You put the noose around your neck
and jumped –
falling through the blackness
of time.
I watched my mother dying,
her light dimming as a star
falling in the black ocean.
I remember these times
with tears in my brain.
I remember these times as I remember
the scent of faded gardenias
turning brown in the summer sun.

Haibun: Gifts

a haibun is a Japanese form based on prose and poetry. It is a true accounting of an event in your life. This one is brief in the manner of Basho, the “inventor” of haibun. It is closed with a seasonal haiku. This haibun is less than 100 words.  Haibun are not fiction.

Haibun: Gifts

“Breath is the finest gift of nature. Be grateful for this wonderful gift.” Amit Ray

Years ago, my mother gave me the gift of life – she gave birth to me. All through my life, she gifted me with self-discipline, toys, love, hugs, appreciation of me – she taught me to be grateful for all gifts and when possible, to share gifts with others. Every day she gave me gifts – even when she was lying non-verbal in a bed, dying slowly with Alzheimer’s. One day she died. She gave me the gift of grief and pain. On a beautiful day in June, she ceased to breathe.
June sunshine –
flowers blooming outside –
my mother dying inside

my mother on her deck

 

A Little Drama

For Margaret’s Photo prompt on Real Toads for day 28 of NAPOWRIMO. Two pictures in the several given appealed to me.


Desperation

“The mass of [men] live lives of quiet desperation.” Henry David Thoreau

The cat is desperate.
the woman holds on tightly –
she found the cat in the street
and rescued it, thinking she was doing it a favor.
The cat wants to go to her kittens
hidden under a basket in the back
of the abandoned store but the woman keeps hold,
never realizing she is condemning
the tiny blind kittens to death,
staring out at the street
into herself and not the cat.
anyone can see the cat is desperate.
anyone but the woman.

Unidentified Woman ca. 1950’s – Walter Silver Photographs

She stares out at the city sky –
staring at the almost invisible clouds
eaten alive by the pigeons
who perch on buildings
storming the air with their inevitable
cooings.
she remembers the country
from which she escaped years ago,
the house filled with too many people,
the ragged wash hung out to dry.
all she wanted was to be alone.
now she is alone –
except for this cat she picked up off the street.
the cat doesn’t like her.
but still she clings.
A sad little cat is better than nothing.

House with trees and clothesline – Walter Silver Photographs

 

 

 

 

 

Haibun: The Balloon

For Merrill’s prompt at dVerse – a quadrille.  A quadrille is a poem in any form with exactly 44 words using the prompted word, sans title.  The word today is “rise”.  A haibun in the manner of Basho.

 

Haibun: The Balloon
“Perhaps wisdom… is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

The day I buried my mother’s ashes was a hot summer day. I untied the balloon from my wrist and let it go. I watched it rise quickly to the sky.
balloon rises to heaven
and clears the trees –
my heart goes with it

The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes

Day 19 NAPOWRIMO  Kerry’s prompt at Real Toads – your muse

The Sensitive Plant Frank Dicksee

The Girl With Kaleidscope Eyes
“Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes And she’s gone.” Lennon/McCartney

Sitting in the ancient oak
pondering,
thinking –
his empty eyes
as he hung from the ceiling,
remembering the look in my mother’s eyes
as she lay dying.
Hearing the birds in the forest
and across the way,
the one lone crow.

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