They’ve come to take me home

For Kerry’s prompt on Real Toads, How does it end? Write a last line. Build your poem around it. Use it as the title, a line to be repeated, use it. She read an article with five suggestions to use a last line. I picked option number four, use the last line for a title. warning: graphic suicide verbiage in poem

They’ve come to take me home
“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s OK. The journey changes you; it should change you… You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” Anthony Bourdain

No one knew his thoughts
as he stepped off the edge of the tub
and fell into infinity,
the tie around his neck,
his legs kicking,
the breath being cut off from his heart and brain,
his last thought as his heart lurched and stopped –
*you can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.
It had been building through the years –
Depression deepening,
The spaces between pure laughter
and love of life widening.
One day, he did it.
He ripped off a tie from the hanger in his closet.
He tied it around his neck
And then to the shower rod –
you can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.

* line from Solsbury Hill

WE CAN ALL HELP PREVENT SUICIDE. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals. 1-800-273-8255

ko no ha no ame

Sound of leaves falling like rain is the Japanese title translated to English. Yes I know we are in the midst of hot summer *up in the northern hemisphere) but autumn is my second favorite season. I wrote this a few years ago and since it is a rainy day, I brought it from my notebook and did some work on it.

ko no ha no ame
rainy autumn day –
a burial of dead leaves
swept from branches by
bitter wind – even the crows
are silent – only the howls
of a stray dog breaks the grey
silence – I walk with the weight
of the heavens on my mind –
leaves fall – sorrow on sorrow.

 

 

The Moon in my Yard

Today at ReaL Toads, #30 in 30, Sanaa is giving us the The A L’ Arora, a form created by Laura Lamarca consists of eight lined stanzas. The rhyme scheme is a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f with no syllable count per line and the minimum length for the poem is 4 stanzas with no maximum length stipulation. You can also opt to write one or two stanzas in case you find the length a bit overwhelming. I chose two stanzas hoping to keep this short.


The Moon in my Yard

My yard is bathed in cold silver light,
the moon looks down at me, I look back.
Sitting on my steps I watch ragged clouds ghost
across its cold face.
In daylight, clusters of wisteria hang in
fragrant fountains of lavender.
Tonight in moonlight, they are white shrouds
hanging limp and torn.

No full moon madness here.
Only melancholy sighs and empty musings.
What was is vanished.
Whited out by moonlight, colored dreams
morph into pale wraiths
of what was and is no more,
what is and nothing more.
Truth and cold light.

fair use

The Errant Stars

For Kerry’s Prompt over at Real Toads – Camera Flash!  I will also be posting this on Poetry Pantry.

 

The Errant Stars
On the other side of twilight
errant stars begin to twinkle
in the bloodstained West –
A feeling of grey covers the earth
and birds go silent.
The wind sloughs across
the fields of gold
the same way it blows over the sea.
The wheat ripples
and the sound is like
that of the sea.
A silver ribbon stream sings its way
to the bottom of the hill,
reflecting the silent sky.
But birds are quiet now
and errant stars twinkle in
the bloodstained west –
And grey turns to black
over the murmuring sea.

Crepuscule – Heinrich Kuhn (1897)

dVerse Poetics: Time

Today, Tuesday Poetics, Lillian wishes us to write about time – I had the time of my life, it’s about time to go! As long as we write about time and use the word time, we should be fine.  Sorry for the sad poem.  My mother is with me now and is slowly dying of Alzheimer’s and complications.  Tomorrow we discuss hospice.  It is a grey day in December.  Rain slowly drips.

Trees and Time
death knows no seasons –
death cares not about Christmas lights
or spring flowers or summer tomatoes.
death watches the first snow falling
and looks at the trees,
bare of leaves and rising like bones
in shades of grey and sepia.
death only knows when it is time…
and moves on.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

Pewter Landscape III

This is the final poem in the series taken from my tanka, Pewter Landscape, with lines from the tanka used in each poem. The quote line is from Shakespeare’s Richard the Third, act one, scene one, 1-4.

December night sky –
snow like frozen stars, silent
as dust falls to earth.
no wishes on these stars, no dreams.
line of black trees
separating white snow from pewter sky.
ghostly landscape sleeps.
summer photograph fades with time.
“the winter of our discontent”…
hopes become buried in the ocean of snow.

i miss the snow on my page

Christmas decorations taken down,
Back in their boxes
for another year.
dark winter envelops,
at night, only lights from
stalled traffic and fast food
joints add artificial festivities.
Houses plain again,
yellow light from windows
– no more candles in windows
or twinkles from
Christmas trees beckon
a welcome.
Stale cookies dumped
into the trash or
flung out into the yard
for birds and squirrels.
I look out and sigh.
sunny day, clear blue sky.
The limbo between brown lawns
and blooming plum trees
stretches like an endless
road in the desert
diasappearing into
a bleak horizon.
and even on my website
the holiday snow has
stopped blowing
across the page –
that bit of whimsy
just….gone.
I want the power
to stop or start the snow again.
I want the light again.
I want the darkness
to turn into dawn.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: