Ghosts

For Bjorn’s prompt at Real Toads.  He asks us to flashback to a time and place in our memories.  Smells, songs, words will all take us there.  Thank you for the interesting prompt! 15 lines on the 15th in Honor of Shay Fireblossom, a true poet and friend.

Ghosts
“Ghosts don’t haunt us. That’s not how it works. They’re present among us because we won’t let go of them.” ― Sue Grafton, M is for Malice

The sign said, Pansies for Sale.
I closed my eyes and remembered
pansy eyes.
I am surrounded by ghosts.
I remember lovers, chefs, drugs, family.
Mostly I remember the pansy brown eyes
of my grandmother dying from bone cancer,
my mother’s pansy brown eyes
as she lay dying from the effects
of dementia and heart failure.
Even in winter I remember that perfect June day.
She closed those wilted pansies
for the last time.
I remember that perfect June day
not long after she died of your dying by your own hand.

 

Leaves II

An American Sentence for Halloween for dVerse Poets Open Link Night – https://dversepoets.com/

Leaves II
“Tears are words the heart can’t express.” Gerard Way

Leaves falling like tears this All Hallows Eve; it ends in tears anyway.

Forgiveness

The Poets United Mid-week motif:  Forgiveness

Forgiveness
“The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.” –
Jean Paul

As I take my daily walk I ask questions
in the silence of myself.
My footsteps are almost silent,
my breathing regular and my heartbeat rhythmic.
The wind is a brief breath
and the sunlight is beginning to get thin,
losing weight as the season progresses.
Can I forgive the leaves for dying,
for falling softly to the ground?
Can I forgive myself,
my mother dying, her faint breaths stopping…
just stopping.
Can I ever forgive you hanging yourself,
for the violence of your death,
for the thinking yourself unworthy to live
any longer?
For the grief you held in yourself,
for the sadness of your every day?
I stop in the midst of my walk
and look up at the sky,
like a river between the trees.
I stand and watch the leaves falling
one
by
one.
Will I ever forgive?
I will throw no stones into that river,
silently flowing overhead.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

Almost Autumn

For Poets United, Poetry Pantry. The birds are vanishing from the skies.

Almost Autumn
“Birds were created to record everything. They were not designed just to be beautiful jewels in the sky, but to serve as the eyes of heaven.” ― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

For the first time since April
the morning was cool.
The autumnal equinox swings through the heavens.
Wind rustles through the dried leaves
on the cornstalks,
crickets sing their tenor songs,
the bees sleepily droning.
But,
where was the sound of birds?
Had they all slipped into the southward migration?
Mast is heavy in the woods –
gonna be a hard winter.
But,
no sound of cardinals or sparrows,
no twitting of finches.
I listened, hearing only the sound
of the blood in my body,
the beating of my heart.
But,
no birds.
Where have the birds gone?

The Duck Press

The Duck Press
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. ”  Anthony Bourdain

Memories. I read today that his belongings are being auctioned off online. His artwork, his furniture, his kitchen paraphernalia, including his famous duck press. I will log on and see what I can afford and buy something.
Maybe even that duck press. I sit up in my tree, clutching my violin and letting the tears slide down my face. After all of this, they are selling his stuff. I close my eyes and remember. I begin to play my violin, weeping the whole time. After awhile, I climb down and leave. These memories were left here with the trees.

 

Stepping into Darkness

For Laura Bloomsbury’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub – Making Much of Madness. Most of you know I have been grieving the deaths of my mother and two friends who committed suicide last June.This is a poem I wrote earlier and have taken it and revamped it. The suicide in this poem is the late great chef, Anthony Bourdain. a good friend. Graphic Suicide Verbiage in Poem.

Stepping Into Darkness
“I know, too, that death is the only god who comes when you call.” ― Roger Zelazny, Frost & Fire

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.
You could see it building in his eyes.
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

Frozen

For my Sunday Muse blogspot, Wednesday Muse prompt, A non-music music prompt. “Don’t let the sun go down on me”.

Frozen
“When stars collide, like you and I, no shadow blocks the sun” — Elton John“The One”

Frozen here on the ladder of my life
I stand at the gate
watching you board the plane –
back to Japan.
You changed my way of life.
From an awkward woman –
Bookish and shy
To a tiger of a woman
wielding a wakizashi,
Writing seasonal poetry
And respecting self.
You returned to Japan.
You left me drowning in the sunset
colors of a melting sun –
You left me – frozen in time.

Canicular Days


Canicular Days

“If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard. And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.” – ― Ranata Suzuki

in these canicular days
it is too hot to think deeply.
so I sit on my back porch and think
shallow thoughts while sipping iced tea
with a squirt of lemon.
what do they call a pet owner
who has lost a pet,
its bones slowly returning to earth,
buried in the back yard with a stone
at its head “Fluffy”.
there are widows and widowers.
What do you call a person who
has lost a child?
how do you fill that hole
in the pocket of their heart?
what do you call a person
who has lost a lover and
cannot tell a soul?

Mermaid Tears

For the Prosery prompt at dVerse This week the line is “you will love again the stranger who was your self” from Derek Walcott’s poem Love after Love. Maximum of 144 words.  Mermaid Tears is another name for sea glass.

 

Mermaid Tears
“Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.” – Jeffrey McDaniel

Her lover of many years had died, leaving her alone. Her grief overwhelmed her. One of her friends told her, trying to comfort her that “you will love again the stranger who was yourself”.  She looked at the basket on the cocktail table containing the sea glass they had collected together. Putting the basket into her car, she took it to the beach. She walked in the waves sowing the sea glass again for others to find. Sitting on the beach she cried dry tears. At last she arose and walked into the waves. She kept walking until she could no longer feel the bottom. Rolling over she gazed at the moon. She allowed herself to sink into the depths, the first piece of sea glass they had found together in her mouth.

 I

Grief

Grief
“…love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” – Kabil Gibran

It has been a long day –
a day of grief.
I wonder –
do our dead pets care where they are buried?
do they care that we don’t bury them under
the rose bush where they spent their days?
do they care that we don’t bury them
under the free stars in the field
where they ran daily?
do they care that we don’t bury
them by the oceans or in the forests,
or scatter their ashes in the garden
or keep their ashes in an urn?
I have pondered these questions today,
as we lay my mother-in-law’s faithful dog
to rest by the creek he loved to splash in,
does he care?

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.

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries

%d bloggers like this: