Dear Robert Frost

Image is my own. Taken at the Hockney/ Van Gogh exhibit

VJ’s Weekly Challenge: roads – One Woman’s Quest II (onewomansquest.org)

Before this moment,

All roads coalesced into one,

The present, the now.

Then,

Seeing this wall of roads,

I cannot help but ask

Where each road would have, could have

Led.

Different places, people–

Certainly, yes.

The mind swirls,

Possibilities,

A Tilt-A-Whirl—

A daughter lost?

The fetal tissue of a son not lost?

A different daughter born?

A heart not broken by cancer?

All the rewinds and fast forwards

Of a life of lived down different roads

Of different choices made along each way–

All the differences of each win and loss

And every other thing implied by this wall

And dear Robert Frost—

 

The choices I’ve made

Gave me this now,

This daughter,

For whom I would give my life,

Rather than trade.

Decision on a Birdfeeder

image courtesy of publicdomainpictures.net

 

I hesitate in remembrance

as if the fates would choose

a day of gray and leave me there,

as if a blossoming could be had upon

a second visitation to any day.

 

The creamer clouds disperse and swirl

in my extra strong coffee

like memories of things I wanted–

never had, never attained

all those years ago.

 

Stirring the coffee still,

I stare out the kitchen window.

Decide against a bird feeder

filled with black oil sunflower seeds.

I do not want cardinals here.

People say cardinals are spirits

of those you’ve lost come to visit you—

No.  I want no cardinals here.

No spirits of the lost to visit or say hello.

No twittering or chittering away.

No vibrancy of color outside this window.

No.  Not here.  Not in this place.

 

I’d rather this be a spiritless place,

A virgin place, void of spirits, void of touch—

 

At least for a time

 

 

 

Song of My Sisters

Image courtesy of Storytrender.com

A daily battle with memories,

Offering emptiness,

Even the sparkle of gem like happiness,

Leaving small smiles for the moment—

Before tears begin.

Standing separated

From the ashes and earth

We once kissed and touched so tenderly,

All we embrace now—air,

Some ephemeral being of memory

As voice and smile and laughter fade.

Some of us,

Too many, told too often,

By those once precious, counted family,

Our grief, less than, less meaningful,

Really nothing more than dust,

Containing no rawness of a bloody heart.

Thus, I voice, singing the lament

Of my sisters in widowhood,

As we wait for our souls to soar–

To take flight once again.

When each in her turn is ready,

Able to begin,

Renewed,

Emerging, uncurling, however slowly,

From our blanketing storm clouds of grief,

Wings wet, drying in the sun.

The Price

Image is my own

Weekend Writing Prompt #194 – Beguile | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)

Wish I could rest beguiled–

Believing willingly in soft whispered lies

If only for this little while of rest

As if slipping easily between

The waxen petals of lilies

And curling round the sweetened smell

Of wonderous blossoming softness—

Yet the price, the price of choosing

The rest of such beguilement

 

Tiny One

for our foster dog who was a brave fighter

You wake this morning,

My Tiny One,

Your morning of sun and warmth,

Mine of damp, dense fog.

Yet, I know,

Know you’ve found them all,

The squirrel hunter,

The gentle soft one,

The lion-hearted protector,

And the human,

The human I told of,

Whose pockets contain

Tasty treats,

Who is a warrior, like you,

Tiny One, like you,

Whose body now whole,

No longer wasted at all,

Now strong.

This human can throw the ball

All day long for you,

And you, my Tiny One,

No longer standing on shaking, wobbly,

Wasted legs which seek to betray,

Can chase and chase and chase

That ball all day,

Returning it each time

To the human who

Like you, my Tiny One,

With battles fought and done,

With all the wars won,

Runs, runs free now, Tiny One. 

So now, my Tiny One,

All your battles done,

All your wars won,

Run, run free, Tiny One.

Winter Has No Cheer

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge—December 8, 2020 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)

As winter whispers

The longing starts

For warmer days

Of a warming spring

Leaking slowly

Into a sweltering summer.

As winter whispers

In pretense of knowing

Warmth and cheer

Of holidays it cannot contain

In its freezing coldness,

We are left untouched

For far too long—

Our souls grow grey

In these winter days

And leap at the hope

Contained in striking colors

Of Winter’s sunsets–

Only to have hope

Bashed, broken, bleeding

Against the frozen Winter

Ground.  As Winter whispers,

Chuckling at our fragile humanity. 

Thirsting

image courtesy of Dreamtime

Emptied vault opens,

casts leavings of shriveled seeds

beyond redemption.

 

Between the edges

nothing could penetrate here,

wind, rain, tears—nothing.

 

Sound had no life here,

dying in small deaths of emptiness,

eternal silence.

 

A life damaged beyond

repair, encased by cold stone,

a life of shriveled seeds,

lived in a stone vault—

lightless, soundless

thirsting.

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