Posts tagged ‘grief’

August 7, 2020

Words

by HemmingPlay

 

I crave the right words.
“They’ll solve any problem”.
Name it. Shame it. Smoke it out. 
Smite it without sentiment. 
I must believe. 
Poetic conceit. OCD
in a river of confusions. 
Order in chaos, 
in the mystery of my 
own despairs, questions, hopes,
doubts. Secrets. 

So… each day I
hunt the elusive truffle,
the best way
to capture a tiny
hidden reward.
I’m not “sad”. Not depressed, really.
I carry stubborn sorrows.
Grief,
and that comes as
a shock. But…

May 15, 2020

Americans Have Sacrificed So Much For What?

by ladyliterati

The voices of the dead can not cry

so we cry for them

we cry for answers, justice, equality

and we cry for accountability.

A. L. O’Prunty

March 11, 2020

Eyes

by HemmingPlay

I met a widow once,
wrapped in loss.
She said
she could not see a better
day coming.

I looked over my shoulder,
along the long road,  
and gave her my eyes.

March 11, 2020

A Modern Man

by HemmingPlay

I walk too often in the echoes of a cold canyon,
sometimes accompanied by my wife,
dead now barely two years. She’s silent, amused,
faintly attached to this world and soon to go again,
impatient with me for hanging onto melancholic vapors
when it’s obvious–to her, anyway–that I just haven’t wised up yet.

But I’m a so-called modern man, allergic to undue connections,
Even when a dream comes and I
am lurched through a deeper portal and part a
gauzy barrier to walk with skeptical ghosts.
All I know when I wake is this bag of meat and its
pedestrian priorities.

She knew. She told me to find someone.
Knew I would only trust the secrets, the warmth and dampness,
the round softnesses I could hold,
with nipples like rosebuds and mysterious eyes;
knew that all man’s scripture could be held on a 3-by-5 card,
if he weren’t so stubbornly drunk on himself.

January 26, 2020

Grief Journey

by HemmingPlay

 

Loss and pains.
though just part of living…
set us apart,
others didn’t understand.
But we knew. We just knew. 

We wrapped ourselves 
in each other’s griefs,
grateful to need no explanations,, 
understanding without words;
afraid of more losses
(can I go through that again?) 
resisting pain, 
change and the unknown.

April 6, 2019

What Comes Before Silence

by HemmingPlay

Death is not bitter
death is a silence
But dying is bitter.
Dying is hard.
With you,
it was the sound.

It was like drowning,
no detail spared,
in slow motion…

with metastases of cancer
that filled the lungs
and grew, sending out
ghastly spawn to live in bone

read more »

April 1, 2019

Standing

by HemmingPlay

daro.jpg
And oh, my dear,
what joy
to hear the robin’s call,
the cardinal’s challenge,
the excited chatter
of all the returning
migrants, full of stories
about tropical fruits
and sunny days and
nights among the
trumpet vines and
camellia blooms
on the Gulf of Mexico.

read more »

February 27, 2019

It Was the Sound

by HemmingPlay

Note: Don’t be alarmed. I am OK. This poem deals with something that happened nearly a year ago, but I’m just able to work my way into it objectively. It will be in a collection soon to be published, but as I prepare the pieces, I find there are still loose ends that need to be tied up by remembering. This was one.

Death is not bitter…
death is a silence
But, the dying is bitter.
Dying is full of the noise
of the going out.
It was the sound, I think,
that still haunts me,
the sound of your
struggle, the
death rattle.
(Such a bland phrase,
nothing like the
horror of the real thing.)

It was a drowning,
slowly,
inevitably,
the lungs full of fluids produced by
the metastases of cancer
the ravisher of lungs,
scatterer of foul seeds,
ghastly, evil children to stick in bone
and brain.

The relentless
sounds of drowning, your
poor, battered breastbone lifting,
tough heart refusing to stop
long after it should have.
Morphine hid the pain
but took your mind,
filled it full of phantasms
but it at least lay a
warm blanket over the pain

But the lungs were full
and drowned you deep
in dreamy waters, hours
after your spirit had
abandoned the failing husk.
An old friend said you visited her
in a dream hours before.

You had a spirit body,
alive and vigorous and young, happy, she said,
dressed in spring clothes
and driving a sky-blue convertible.
While I tried to give the body
some peace, and listened to
the rising dreamy waters, rattling,
It was a comfort to learn
you had escaped, and
driven away on your
great adventure.

In bright sunshine,
free, in a blue convertible, like the
one you had when we met
50 years before.

hemmingplay.com

February 1, 2019

A Morning*

by HemmingPlay

I remember certain things,
how it was a Sunday in
April, and the daffodils were late.
How the sun was out and
poured through the bay windows
of the bedroom, happy and warm,
like nothing was wrong,
like everything was normal.

I can’t feel it now, the exhaustion
of that awful last night,
blessed by how the brain
softens certain things with time.

read more »

November 19, 2018

Common Grief

by HemmingPlay


A local story tells
of a dam that blocked a creek in late ’60.
The water rose, year by year,
seeped over a poor family’s
rocky homestead,
the one that was supposed
to be an assured future.
58 years under
the dark, cool waves,
bass and perch swimming past
foundation stones covered in mud and algae.
The loss of a dream
is a reason

read more »

October 28, 2018

Thorns of Joy

by Linda Lee Lyberg
rose-532458_1280.jpg
Bed of roses
Bed of thorns
Thorns of life
Thorns of sin
Sin is the cause
Sin is the lust

read more »

August 17, 2018

Crying

by HemmingPlay

*Part of the “Saying Goodbye” collection to be published soon. 

Do you remember our babies’
crying through the night
with colic, red-faced, kicking,
little fists clenched, punching the air?
We took turns with
futile soothings,
new at this baby thing,
desperate to comfort, to
silence that infernal noise
so we could go to work
in a few hours and not
fall asleep in the elevator.

They didn’t seem to want
comfort, did they?

read more »

June 25, 2018

Martian Sunset

by HemmingPlay

 

“Not again,” He saw the ignition begin behind her eyes. 

“God’s an amazing artist,” she said, gathering her righteous energies to spring into the “do you know Jesus? speech”. 

“I just said I’d seen a sunset as though it were for the first time. Don’t make this all about you.”

“But.. “

“No. Just don’t. I was trying to tell you something, and you were about to use my pain to evangelize. It’s selfish. It’s unworthy of you.”

read more »

June 22, 2018

Summer Wars

by Renwick Berchild

The dust of Summer,
rubber, barbecue and
mT air that I beg might bring the rains, Neruda’s
gold ghost, Las Manos del Dia under an umbrella say
do I comprehend, how much it may mean
to meet a grizzled old tree
hale and green
after the many deaths
of teething Winter,
hollow poems
no justice
they cannot say,
Longfellow is out walking
my cautious light around the park.

read more »

May 22, 2018

Father, Son, Stars, Loss (for Bobby)

by Stephen

I start to count them and stop
Not because there are too many
But because I cannot hold them
Accountable; the code sparkled
From their eternal glow calls
Me to be accountable to my life:

read more »

May 15, 2018

He Rebuilds a Lost Sister

by Stephen

Lost in the supermarket
My special Lego creation
Lost somewhere between
Gummies and hot dogs.

Mommy looked all over
But can’t find it
It’s okay, I’ll build another.
I know I can build another one.

read more »

May 13, 2018

One Prolonged Blast (for Grammy)

by Stephen

4 to 6 second pull on the ship’s whistle
Announces to others in the harbor
The romance of sea:

“Underway! Shift colors”

The Ensign now flaps from the mast.
Jack folded into a tight triangle
Stowed away until:

“Moored! shift colors.”

read more »

April 16, 2018

Altered Carbon

by braveandrecklessblog

I pinned my phosphorus heart

to the crisp linen sleeve

of my mourning suit

where all could see

your initials

carved deep

read more »

January 12, 2018

Unsettled

by Renwick Berchild

The misty ridden morning
waits like a pendulum in mid swing,
cross and blue, no longer alive,
leopard printed in death’s oily colors.

I untie the souls, with the windows
curving swards bent under the dewy dunes,
haled by dawn’s wet forehead,
no graves have been dug for this.

read more »

October 31, 2017

The Reaper

by Linda Lee Lyberg

statue-1708205_1280

The Reaper

-Linda Lee Lyberg

Every moment we lose someone
We learn the meaning of sympathy
How grief will hurt and leave us undone
But in it’s place grows sweet empathy.

read more »

October 4, 2017

Blinded by the Light

by braveandrecklessblog

night turned Armageddon

on a guitar pick

flashes easily mistaken for fireworks

eclipsed neon lights

further fall of civilization

read more »

September 9, 2017

Charmed Life

by Linda Lee Lyberg

gothic-1629448_1280

Charmed Life

-Linda Lee Lyberg

Early on in her innocence
Grief became her recompense
Easing the constant pain
Finding comfort yet again
In the sweetness of her tears.

read more »

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August 22, 2017

Cinquain: Troubles

by Linda Lee Lyberg

surreal-1760643_640

Cascade

Of misery

As I ache for your soul

read more »

August 1, 2017

Tears

by braveandrecklessblog

Saline expressions

of ancient grief

crystalline drops

quiver

rest briefly

before slow roll down

read more »

July 9, 2017

Weep Not

by Angela Umphers Rueger

Weep not, dear ones, for I’m not there
In casket cold or graveyard bare.

read more »

July 3, 2017

THE BLACK HOLE

by jeyasivananth

 

It’s a black hole.

Inconspicuous,

yet there.

pulling you in

away from the Universe,

weighing you down

into a spiraling emptiness,

read more »

June 28, 2017

Eclipse

by Linda Lee Lyberg

Eclipse of Love

-Linda Lee Lyberg

The pain clouds
My weary brain
It rains
It rains
It rains

read more »

June 26, 2017

Fly Away to Heaven

by Angela Umphers Rueger

“O that I had wings like a dove,
For then would I fly away and be at rest!”
Frequently I have yearned within my breast

read more »