When I am done, will you have known me?
Seen inside the empty spaces, overseen remembered embraces, known my fear’s personal faces?
When I am done, will you have heard me?
Bright joy over small things, know when my laughter rings, which songs I often quietly sing?
When I am done, will you have seen me?
The ‘me’ I see, the me I aim to be, the me that only others see?
When I am done, will you have felt me?
Shared finger touches on baby skin, trace my face where wrinkles set in, warmth of my body as the days begin?
When I am done, what will I be – to thee, and thee and thee?
Inspiration – the passing of a co-worker today, the loss of a quality person.
Click below for a reading of “Famished for Fall”
Starving for crisp mornings and
Lessened heat in a place
That neither really ever happens
Leaves me famished for Fall.
Falls there might be,
From pedestals someone set
Me upon without my consent
Or, even my knowledge
Falls there might be
As I trip over unfinished business
Here, there, and also over there
Which I ignore with unwavering consistency
Falls there might be
From favor, from friendship
Even from someone’s vision
Which too, is the mutable nature of things
But I am famished for that change
Those autumnal dialogues whispered only for me
As the intimation of winter glances off my skin
Beguiling me with hints of promise among sunshine,
-Leaves me hungering.
Inspiration: Too much heat and too long away from four seasons.
Desire, Something New, The Natural World
#poetry #PTSD, Desire, Nature, Original poetry, poem, poems, Poetry, Spoken Word, Voices, Writing
Aug · 20
Awash in the light of innocence
Feet dangling in the fountain of youth Back when monsters were truly imaginary
Lazing in the grass watching
Cloud animals on parade The perspective of trees varied
Losing one’s heart
Just part of ‘Operation’ Not a game people played in real life.
Dreams were still spun out
Lightly, vividly, the colors Of cotton-candy puffs at the once-a-year fair
Today, I want to stretch silly putty over
A comic relief of the face of one I love Laugh until we cry
Back when monsters were truly imaginary
Feet dangling in the fountain of youth Awash in the light of innocence
Inspiration: A walk under the full moon, thinking back to when things were simple.
Grace there used to be in the mourning
Banded arms, veil-shrouded tears
Private yet publicly seen scenes
Black cars with black windows
To hold the bleakness inside
So that it doesn’t leak out and get on passers-by
Why did it have to come the year she understood
there is no afterlife
This is life, get after it
One per customer, one size fits most
Unless you have the imagination for two
Which proves good, since she is one now.
Why did he write for forever preserved in words, her manna
His inked fingerprints staining the paper
“I hope this is your best year yet”
In the year that all colors turned to ash, heart turned into
Endless forms, mailings, courtrooms
The vagaries of dead life
Why did people say ‘he’s watching over you’ like
That is comforting – oh, to comfort them, that’s right
Because love can barely bear to watch the loved
Suffer, fall apart, spin out of control, lay staring at the ceiling
Mumbling like a mad person alone in the dark
Maybe they think he went to hell.
Love, Something New, The Heart, Widowhood
#poetry #PTSD, death, Grief, Love, poem, poems, Poetry, Relationships, Spoken Word, widowhood, Writing
Aug · 08
Click below to hear reading
The Soliloquy of Sea Glass
Discards we are, emptied of value
Cast aside, forgotten, meaningless
Our varied hues bartered no regard
In being retained, kept or refilled.
Some shattered while some whole
Stripped of purpose, riding hither
And yon upon the global currents
Which we could not control
Our original intent was consumed
Then invalidated by our abrupt release,
That weighted existence forced
A downward path into the dark