Let Me Take the Open Road

Thoughts that come in dark of night
Are different than those of day.
They come askew, untuned by
Common sense, as they are unbound
Yet come from dreams or ancient sources,
Explode out of the deep cold
Where Sun has never reached.

So it was on the last night of winter,
Laying awake in a tangled bed.
Weather was stark and moon was bitter
As I pondered the madness
That would begin again at day.
Each day Earth spins upon its axis,
Circular trip whose course we never know.
Would that destiny followed straight lines….

Up above, in the March blackness,
I heard the sound of snow geese
Winging their way north, hoping
Spring is on its way— white bellies
Eerily lit by reflected light from town,
Necks stretched into driving wind.
What pulls us out of the south to
Remake ourselves again?
Is it merely new season? Perchance to breed?
To begin each day anew with neck stuck out?

It was a curiously quiet day that morning,
Gray and misty, not winter and not quite spring,
As if Earth paused in its cycle to give time to think.
Mornings bring departure, first from sleep,
Then from bed, then from home,
Accompanied by memory and yesterday’s
Dusty footprints on the trail, unless…..
Unless the wind of night has cleared away
All moorings and traces of yesterday.

Soon the Blood Moon will come in summer’s heat.
Coming with the seventh month,
I will choose for heart, choose for spirit,
Never will I choose for blood, knowing as I do,
Too much has been sacrificed, too much
Forgiveness to ask, too much to offer….

Already I have seen sixty-seven Blood Moons,
An age that carries madness and futility
More than wisdom, knowing I live in an alien land.
Let me, I pray, take to the open road, fly upward,
Neck stretched out in search of peace—
Where change does not mean ruin…
But where time, deeds, meaning and love
Are connected, embraced, and treasured.

So This Is Grief…..

 

It has been some time since I last saw him;
Still I wait for him each day,
Even knowing, as I do, he no longer exists
As I once knew him… but something of him is here–
Yet the person in whose eyes I hope to see laughter,
He visits in occasional dreams,
Occupies every prayer, his face
Smiles from photograph upon my desk.

Houses on the curving street are lined
With flawless beds of flowers,
Children walk their dogs, play badminton, smile.
Yet even warm and dazzling weather
Brings his voice upon humid air, rising
Clouds taunting, aimless, ruthless….

So this is grief… this passing of the seasons,
From late spring to summer heat….
Promised lengthening of days,
Crushing into awareness of the years yet to pass
Distance hourly growing, memories retreating,
Floating, washing ashore again each day.

Walking half a block is like climbing a cliff,
Hands shaking, seeking absolution as much as
Offering forgiveness, tender words never heard,
Pacing back and forth at night in empty rooms.
Bits and pieces emerge from hiding without warning;
Thoughts never satisfying nor answers fully understood.
Sometimes at evening I hear whispers; sometimes curses cry
Against backdrop of silent glimmering stars….
What peace is there to cultivate in silence?
Can we hope for love to lessen grief?
Is the worst over or yet to come?

Missing David

Tonight I sit alone and wait in silence,
Aware of an empty space within my heart—
Sadness since I heard the news of the death
Of my oldest and dearest friend.

Standing on the shore with no one in sight,
Quietly the loss expands,
Makes itself more fully known.
Later, I’ll write these lines in a dark room.
In clear light I wonder
If ever again the world will seem
As bright as it’s been before.

Thoughts bounce within my mind—
Who will now plant flowers beside his house,
Grow tomatoes, sweet corn,
Green beans and potatoes as he did each spring?
Without his living presence,
There will forever be a place
Where I miss him and feel deep pain….
Never had I once considered he’d die so young.

Somewhere there’s a scarlet fire
That never fades away,
Though it flickers with every loss,
Still I pray its light
Will one day defeat the dark.