For Carolyn Sue on her birthday.
Sitting on the floor as sun spills golden
through the green, green leaves, puppy emboldened brings her scrumptious bone and chews by my side then chases tail. Exuberance provides
the path to rejuvenation
grief and sorrow detonation
I am opened wide before this display
antics, mischief, a desire to play
The need for qualifications release
let experts drone, opine. I am at peace with wisdom carved from my own conscious breath greet certainties of life: sun, stars and death.
Inspired by: Scrumptious, Detonate, Rejuvenate, Before and a puppy who is helping me today on my deceased mother’s birthday.
Featured image: After I texted my pup’s former owners with an update, she cuddled with this pink blankie she’s had since she was tiny. Before that, she posed (below).
The abysmal ratio of teachers
one for over twenty first graders, each child needy, lost, bored with the pace, subjects confined and unattended, anchorless
all of his grief bottled up, the snafu
apparent in school: not enough staff who watch over the classrooms. He’s singled out as most egregious but I winkle out
the common theme. And so strategically
I bring wisdom to first grade so that he under my guiding eye succeeds. Alas, the covetous eyes of the kids in class
crave my attention, too. I glance and smile
and hug when they run up and all the while I’m sending waves of balance through the field the patient grounding we grandmothers wield.
Inspired by: Snafu, Covetous, Strategic, Bottle and recent visits to my grandson’s classroom.
Featured image: artwork by my six-year-old grandson. Oh, the passion with which he wielded his blue crayons!
Your love is the promise that guides me All of the days of my life~Dan Fogelberg
While she could still speak, I dressed my dying
mother in my new purple shirt, crying silent tears. Combed her silver hair, face cream and lip gloss and she called us all, agleam
a tiny voice to contradict death’s claim
and rekindle the spark of life, grand dame so beautiful and filled with this fierce light her final I love you‘s still ringing bright
Purple, Contradict and Rekindle.
Featured image: A purple iris from my mother’s garden.
And an aching in my heart…~Gordon Lightfoot
In the early morning rain, shy wren raves
big personality on the airwaves I join–spontaneity to sit, drips with goosebump chills. The corrigible slips
by sly and buttery through my grip. How
I hanker to improve my lot, avow under this overcast gray mist, persist in magical thinking, pathos dismiss.
Inspired by: Corrigible, Personality, Buttery and Spontaneity.
And this gorgeous Eva Cassidy cover of one of my favorite songs, Early Morning Rain.
Featured image: Carolina Wren by
Chris F on pexels.
According to Brittanica,
“ Hmmm. They give you pills to stop this. Sounds like a definition of oppression to me. m is the belief that one’s ideas, thoughts, actions, words, or use of symbols can influence the course of events in the material world. Magical thinking presumes a causal link between one’s inner, personal experience and the external physical world.” agical thinking
Ah, grief, your fierce zeal rages like a storm.
How I try to resist. The feelings swarm.
Inspired by: Zeal.
The sky is crying. Look at the tears roll down the street.~Elmore James
Beneath my balcony ciphers conflate
tempt passersby to pause, puzzle, translate. Their passion for this part-time work brings ire. The walkers pull, cajole. The dogs conspire
to linger, sniff excitedly, intent
alive delightedly I am present.
The skies that cried with me last night engorged
heartbreak my loved one’s passing has discharged
to weep is not a solecism. Grief
and I take over skies for heart’s relief
The pressure from the barometric weight
teeth-grinding ache, striking, it bombilates in hidden layers like the scents below and I must sit and balance this inflow.
Inspired by: Solecism, Striking, Passion and Part Time. In memory of Mary Lou.
Last summer each move watched with accusing
eyes, shaming my bare feet grounding, choosing to aim the swell of denial my way. In the crush I grew flabby, couldn’t say
my truth. I had to loose my grip and slip
into grief’s depths alone, a trip that brings me to now’s shore of summer, strong and gaining muscle as I right the wrongs.
Rooted at last my heart where I belong
at home and finally trusting my song I question all the tenets I’ve been taught discard the menace that false premise wrought.
I take this robin’s song person-ally.
My feathered messengers exalt these trees. We breathe in tune. Petwalkers wave. I smile, creating harmony, a life worthwhile.
Inspired by: Swell, Crush, Shaming, Flabby and the insights from a year of grief.
At sunrise I create life: cool breeze
patting green leaves to subtle symphonies tweeted and cackled and chirped whistling the golden light spills through trees glistening
a red-eared slider claims indigenous
rights, climbs through pond muck, slow diligence to rest near a car tire. I endeavor to watch and warn the beings who never
see the fluttering of wings caught sticky
in the perfect weft. Appearance tricky impossible to capture with my lens ambrosial essence of dawn depends
on this sweet intent to breathe. I arrive
beyond my first year of grief still alive.
Inspired by: Essence, Ambrosial, Endeavor and Indigenous
The thick chilled air brings a hint of lilac
fresh tang robin-sung misty morning feedback sequestered by archaic bonds boxed in falling tears and broken-hearted topspin
hitting the net and out of play until
at last the ancient tale losing its thrill I question every weighted word, sing a new spell, bird-led, captivating spring.
Inspired by Tear and Archaic.