For this week’s prompt, write a fragile poem. That is, write a poem that’s either delicate in its construction or is about a subject that is delicate–literally or figuratively or whatever-ly. I expect this prompt to take off in several different directions.
Here’s my attempt at a fragile poem:
“found”
along the river
clinging to a stick
leaf-blown & sinister
snake without a head
he didn’t know whether
to snatch or release
the body purposeless
current sure & triumphant
rock clenched
he decided to throw
rock & let the body wait
something else to claim
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Soft Emotions
not always thick-skinned
but may suffer from sensitivity
having to deal with all of life’s challenges
rocking, reeling, ducking, bobbing and a-weaving,
in a massive attempt to stay on course.
soft-spoken emotions are curled under
a sea of bring me out
to create a sea of tears
in times good or bad
regardless of the consequences.
every effort has been made
but there is absolutely no resolution
for true maturity to endure
everything which comes your way
and make a home to house these feelings.
LaSteph
stray on eighth street
by juanita lewison-snyder
he came to me
forged in fear and bloodshed,
limping, carrying a leg
tucked awkwardly underneath
his brindled skin, scarred
and clinging to his bones
like wet tissue.
eyes downcast
upon first approach,
i can feel the suffering
in his hoarse whimpers,
gauge the cruelty of his life.
he begs that i look past
the imperfections.
ready to bolt
even at first kindness,
he is trembling in his bravery
and drooling at the sight of
my ham & cheese offering,
torn between hunger and trust
just inches away as i broker
this fragile peace between us.
come sweet, invisible stray,
be invisible no longer.
© 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Seed Corn: Rondelet
To eat the seed’s
dumb, one grows many, but we have
to eat the seeds.
The trick’s to plant beyond the needs
of seven billion. Starving, buff,
or in between: it’s not enough
to eat the seeds.
Skating on the thin ice
of my broken heart
and falling through
I find you
and am no longer frozen.
Beginnings
Behind their park bench
diamond dew outlines each strand
in morning’s hopeful web.
Here, he says, I’ll brush it away.
No, she says, it’s beautiful.
Frailty.
Osteoporosis.
Brittle bones in shaky countenances.
The straw the camel never asked for
and now attends a chiropractor
years after her
downfall.
Doilies and lace and petals of flora
cannot withstand harsh conditions
and that’s understandable
because it’s always
the beautiful
that are
fragile
and the most worth while
are breakable
But it is a tender heart
young innocent naïve
that ultimately appears
tenuous vitreous precarious
when in a situation
threatening it’s constitution
yet here is the absolute truth of the matter:
it is those who risk
that in turn
make us
weak
This Frangible Heart
This frangible heart
sifts fragile feathers
from eggshell fragments,
weaves gossamer dreams
with translucent dewdrops,
imagines iridescent magic;
trying on translucent wings,
ascends a flimsy stairway
fancying flight,
but taking a leap of disbelief,
slips, trips, fails,
falls a broken butterfly
crystalline
on her face
i shattered
kissing her
cheek and
lips tender
and warm
enough to
even melt
away soft
crystalline
snowflakes
Lament
Torn apart, alienated, not by choice,
Silence in place of loving voice,
Hearts broken, unable to mend,
What was love, now is end.
Others whisper their support or decent,
Who would you believe or represent?
Stories told; some folly, some true,
Everyone wonders, what of you?
Time is void, days eternal in length,
Pain and tears, replaces strength,
Darkness casts away the light,
Sleep vanishes, curse the night.
Morning light brings sorrow anew,
Eyes closed still present same view,
Alone and cold, the heart beats fast,
Grasping for love, memories of past.
Another day alone, crushed to dust,
All temperament, feelings, lost of trust,
What blade, shreds the heart today?
Will it be by sight, or what they say?
Lord, how long, to tread this valley of loss?
Hold me, carry me, back to the cross,
Grant me peace, peace of mind,
Shelter my thoughts, make it grace I find.
I know You’re with me, holding fast,
A love eternal, forever to last,
Fold me in, carry me forward,
Renew me; steadfast, whole, and stalwart.
When all is said and done in Christ’s name,
Your promise, your word, grant the same,
In Christ’s name, hurl this pain, deep into the sea,
And if not, still my God, my Savior, forever You’ll be.
A fragile thing
Many words said, eroding his core
All of which belittles his self-worth
Now he surrenders his own assurance
Succumbing to low self-confidence
Everything he once knew of himself
Gone
Only doubt and insecurity remains
Child’s Dream
Dreams spun from a child’s wonder
torn by thunder.
Left all alone
chilled to the bone.
In need of arms to hold her tight
all through the night.
To feel the warm
after the storm.
A seed of hope grows from within
blossoms a grin
with it new dreams.
The whole world gleams.
Between the Cracks
As fragile as a tiny flake
her shadows of the past
began to rush and race
making her gentle heart go at a fast pace
Images of yesterday
caught up in time
flashing words became her call
lightening bolts pushed her from her feet
Staring into the emptyness
the nothing that was there
salty tears
clung to her face
along her soft curls of hair
Reflections of herself
looking back at her
who is this person
she has become
Once the road
was paved with dreams
that seemed to true
now the road was dark
nothing there , nothing new
Tunnels of dancing light
found there way through
into a icy presence
of someone she never knew
Stop the hurt
stop the pain
when it comes
it surely rains
Following dreams she once knew
now seemed so crystal clear
now seemed
so true
Killer Soccer Goals
When I lie awake thinking
that someday I will die and
at night it seems so real not like
in the daytime with things to do and bright light and
in the day I could be old and sick and think
of other things I think but at night I hear my heart and
how if it were to stop for a moment! and
in a world with sharp edges and
plump skin holding my innards
in
so easy to pierce and spill,
what then lies dormant
hidden in-body to destroy me
that I do not even know?
What unseen assailant? What microbe? How
little things have to go wrong
for all my mechanisms to be undone.
And outward assailants too. I hold my hand
against a wall
put my face against it too and feel how fragile I feel
and if it was the wall or me I
‘d be crushed. And what order is there
none! so it seems
as things fly about and through us
and our skin serves as no armor ’cause see?
everything if it flies fast enough
is a bullet and we all live life dodging,
just try crossing the street.
Keep your head on a swivel kid.
When I think of how some act like they will not die and some
think in youth that they, well they think
no not them never! bulletproof.
well then I think of a day as a child when I was on a soccer field
and there at each end of the field
the goals were large and metal frames
hard like my face against the wall, only cold
because of the metal and one day we played
and no one tied the goals down because
everyone thought they were too heavy to fall over
but it was windy that day and one fell forward
like the arm of a mousetrap snapping shut
with a loud metal clang.
It did not kill our goalie because we were making a run at the other end
and he was out past the eighteen.
The left midfielder who advanced the ball may have saved his life.
And I still hear that clang at night.
snapdragon petals
I touch the velvet lining
of her coffin
You Don’t Have To Read
You don’t have to read
I don’t have to write.
While we may not agree,
we don’t have to fight.
I’m not gonna slog along
with my head stuck in the sand.
There is not enough righteousness
and I need to understand.
It’s not about the liberal left
or conservative right.
We’ll meet there in the middle
if we may or if we might.
When you’re not a goodie-two-shoes
or a criminal-at-large,
You are someone in between
who is conscious and in-charge.
Let’s get our act together
before we loose our druthers.
We’ll be peaceful pacifists,
and tolerant of all others.
But, that’s a bunch of poppycock.
We’ve fallen far to low.
There’s nothing you can do.
Sit back, enjoy the show.
We can follow blindly
toward a final setting sun
but, we should stand united
so that we may live as one.
By Michael Grove
Her Hands
Her bones are brittle as a bird’s
and sometimes she forgets the words
to say what she wants to express
or finish thoughts under duress.
Blue irises bloom on her skin
where once pink roses might have been;
now cords of veins and bones beneath
are visible beneath thin sheath.
Old hands that cradled, kneaded, toiled
are idle now, twisted and coiled,
but they have strength to hold and reach,
for old hands still have things to teach.
I love this one for the images and the concept. I feel a slight bump in the rhythm, but perhaps that’s intentional.
Fragility
My student said:
I’ve got to get a work permit,
I’ve got to get out of this place.
They are doing drugs upstairs,
The police will close the business
Down and I won’t have a job.
The air is making me sick.
Last night I was waving over
The lines in the middle of the
Street on the way home –
I will get arrested,
They will think I do drugs,
I’ve got to get a work permit
Handle With Care
She strode, firm steps,
sure-footed whether walking
outdoors, back and forth
from refrigerator to stove
to table, or at work. I try
to imagine how she feels now,
eighty-eight, pushing a walker
for balance, her steps slow,
hesitant. Once, she told me
that inside her head and heart
she remained young, disputed
only by glances in the mirror.
When sadness overwhelms
me as I watch her struggle,
I think of how her struggle
is not confined to movement
alone.
leathery feet against sun
burnt sand. calloused from time
travelling this road long and
endless, or so it seemed from the day
he had started this journey. only now
the end was nearer than the
beginning, and his skin was growing thin
around his lips and heart.
Why do the posts not go to the bottom now? Strange?
Unbroken
For weeks after his return, the air between them trembled.
They both tasted, tested every word, hefted from hand to hand
like a juggler’s feint before either dared to launch it into the room.
The peace hovered more like a truce than a treaty, fragile,
tentative, negotiated not with words but gestures, glances,
pregnant silences. Their hearing heightened, monitoring
every utterance for innuendo, accusation. Only laughter—
true, deep, ringing like crystal, shattered the fragile bubble
that separated them. Nothing broke but the silence.
I love the tension in this piece, Nancita. Good one.
I assumed that new posts being shown first was a deliberate improvement. Now, if you’ve read all the posts, and you see there have been new ones, you don’t have to scroll very far to see the new ones.
the body life departed
there
on the bed
a husk,
a waxen emptiness
bearing little resemblance
to anyone I know
or knew, I find
myself averting
my eyes
confused
wondering
what now
It’s a child’s game,
they say.
Stacking the kings on queens.
That’s what they say,
the jokers don’t stick.
Well, they always wild.
No body done made a joker stick.
But this kid,
this kid with the sticky hands,
he hold that joker right.
He hold that joker to look him in the eye
and the joker squirm,
o lord, he squirm,
while this boy hold him in his gaze.
The joker try, he do, he do,
the joker try to pull his tricks,
the old tricks he got in his devil’s bag.
But this boy, he can see that
the joker ain’t no devil.
Ain’t no body the devil but the devil himself,
and soon he bend.
He bend at his back
and he bend at his front,
and he bend at the corners
til he cry.
Then, the joker be made to fit.
He fit right there with the king and the
queen and
the jack stab him with his
steely smile.
But this house,
this house built
on the clay backbone of this
silly joker
is bound to fall
when the wind blow right.
It bound to fall when the wind blow right.
This has a voice all its own. Well written
His love felt … reserved. He held something back.
Hidden in a drawer he didn’t know how to open.
He wanted to tell her, say those words of committment, with conviction
From his heart with feeling
But his lips remained silent, tight like the pockets over his hands
And this possible life of happiness and meaning walked away.
handle with care
just for now
take care how you
handle my heart
pretend it is
an egg shell
a dandelion puff
a warm soufflé
a nestling fallen
to the ground
all fluff, no feathers
approach it,
battered, bruised,
but beating
on soft sure footing
make it believe
make it believe
Don’t know what to say except I LOVE this poem !
deliciously descriptive
END OF TOWN
One last uneaten bite of hotdog
rests on the remains of something broken,
frayed; arm of a doll, a bike seat.
Trash. Bones of something too fragile
to stay. My dog picks his way
across the town’s leftovers. Just a sniff
at hotdog; a banana going to mush –
leavings of a grade-school lunchroom –
and my dog moves on, sorting odors.
If not for my “find Emily!” he’d be
wolfing that hotdog down. Connoisseur
of refuse; the poetry of scent
descending from civilized to elemental.
Decay. And Emily? If she’s here,
she didn’t come alone –
three years old,
from front-lawn lacy make-believe
to trash dump – on her own.
Taylor, I’ve so enjoyed reading your search dog poems. This is another one that hurts me, the sweetness of dog on the job with the horror of “find Emily”. I hope you’re putting together a collection.
Thanks, Jane. Yes, I am; should be out this year. That’s why so many dog poems now.
Wow.
Wow…..powerful and tragically moving…..well done Taylor…..kudos!
Strands
When all is right
with the world,
decisions make themselves.
Past troubles forgotten,
serenity is your address.
But when the world turns
upside-down, even if you
cannot find faith, hope
will always catch you,
like a spider web catches a cricket.
Ellen Knight 1.23.13
Christmas Story
The leg lamp was marked ’Fragile.’
He said, “Really.
Major Award!
Look what I’ve scored!”
His wife despised the ugly lamp
that looked so tramp.
By ‘accident’
(or appetent*)
her husband’s crass major award
fell on a sword.
Well, so to speak.
Beware wife-pique.
###
*Eager desire.
Fra-geee–lay! Isn’t that Italian? Ha.
SNOW BLUFF -1/23/13-
Snow falls and disappears in a while
For moments dressing ground in white;
To make the ground look all innocent, untouched.
To people covering in beautiful and flashy clothes,
Creating the identities they’d like to have alike.
Those flashy moments are enough to be amazed by…at times…And yet…
Snowflakes will melt in only seconds,
Leaving the ground nude, but self.
Broken Things
We are not so much
scarred, as scared
holding breath
for truth untold.
We are not so much
battered as bartered
pilfered for things
we cannot hold.
We are not so much
shattered as scattered
bent by words
our hearts won’t say.
We are not so much
heard, as held
by things we cannot
wish away.
Then dawns
a day
we understand
we are not so much.
.
Wonderful, De.
A tender thought
A tender thought comes floating in
Sneaking her way, thro an open bin
A tiny little speck is she
A bashful, sprouting, garden pea
She gently treads into the mind
Makes a home, one of a kind
Untrained, untamed, she may go wild
And then consume your brainless child
So please beware, and choose with care
Some fragile thoughts , can prick and tear
PriyA Jane
Fragile Men
Papi sat with his hands pressed together between his knees. His eyes were void
of their usual smile. He was immersed in a sea; words, afloat with melancholy,
took our quiet mood out with a cannonball splash. My sister and I slowly chewed
his accounts of a father too cruel to embody kindness , warmth and unrestricted
affection. It mystified me how some family members could be polarized by where
lines fall on the roadmap to the heart, by actions and ensuing memories attached
like rotting umbilical cords, He told us about the letter waiting for him the day he
was released from the hospital after battling pneumonia in which his father affirmed
he never loved him as a son and was clearly la obeja negra. Papi repeated the story
as if his own ears had to check references tucked in yellow envelopes marked:
no such address here.There were stories the length of birch rods fathered
by a palm tree. Abuse came and went like day and night. And light
from his bedroom window vanished into a heavy rain.
I don’t know what to say except thanks for sharing this.
Yolee, this is beautiful.
Thank you, Cstewart. I appreciate your kind words.
Powerunit, you’re welcome. Thank you for reading and commenting on my poem.
Now THIS is the start of a great story for me, mostly because it left me wanting more. You should consider turning this into a short story or even novel one day. The audience is there, waiting for you. Kudos!
Wow. Normally I am scornful of the prose poetry form, but this is indeed poetry. I think you probably touched a nerve with many poets. I have known several people, no, perhaps many people who have been scarred by an unloving, uncaring parent. You have a great gift for choosing descriptive words.
Juanita, wow. You’ve given me a boost of encouragement. I’ve been itching to write a novel but the thought of overwhelmed me that I would shelf the idea constanly. I will see about fleshing this out. Thank you so much for seeing something there and saying so, and for your kind words.
Deringer, I am humbled. Really. Thank you. I don’t lean toward prose when I write but when I read Robert’s prompt I knew this is what I would write about and that it would be prose. If felt natural in the voice I wanted to use. I appreciate you caring enough to comment.
Fragile
The acquaintance and progression of a talent
Takes many turns.
It must be nurtured by the self
As no one else really knows it is there.
If it waits to develop, it changes.
A swerve can dislocate; ideas and notations lost,
The dawn of each new day brings it’s own
Information to the soil of hidden dimensions.
Threadbare Dynamic
Lost, broken little thing,
I’ll wrap your mind around my fingers.
If there’s a song to sing,
be sure — I’ll know the lyric.
Poor, helpless little mess,
I’ll be the answer to your questions.
Your flaw is anybody’s guess;
then again — I’m sure I know your pain.
Sad, pitiable scab,
I’ll be the greatest friend you’ve ever had.
I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
and I will know your soul
and all its many imperfections.
Weak, struggling little lamb,
mind your manners or I’ll trample you.
You were a worthless little scamp
until I gave you meaning.
Tired, agitated bug,
you’ve made your bed and you will snuggle in,
you’ll waste away without my drug –
my sin — and never know the world.
Sad, pitiable scab,
I’ll be the greatest friend you’ve ever had.
I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
and I will know your soul
and all its many imperfections.
Scared, drowning little wretch,
I swear I’ll break you of this crutch you have:
you whimper, simpering, it vexes me,
and gladly, I will rid you of your strength.
Calm, mild-mannered slave,
you’ll be obedient and silent as the grave –
your mind, a road that we alone shall pave.
You’ll find you like yourself as we imagine you should be.
Sad, pitiable scab,
I’ll be the only friend you’ll ever have.
I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
because I know your soul,
and I will mend its imperfections.
Ouch! Well done.
Still They Shiver
Birch leaves tremble like eyelashes
and fluttering hearts after the first kiss.
It is a blush of nameless words,
of ancient things made new again.
It is a tender invocation
of branching sways waltzing
in and out of time to genesis sounds.
The wind stills, but still they shiver
With tiny memories of breaths,
Breezy caresses that speak of
secrets and delicious beginnings.
Lovelace says
Fiery Furious Love
Wild, untamed, feral,
His steely eyes scan the land,
As He makes His way.
With His fiery sword
He gently leads us through the
Perilous landscape,
Alert for hidden,
Hungry predators who watch
For slow easy prey.
Mighty, Powerful,
Like mothers’ defending young,
He protects His own.
Lovingly He shields
An safeguards us as we are
Wobbling behind.
L
Perspective
crystal snowflake feather frost
thread of sugar sadness loss
age-old paper tender words
lacy ice on shallow fords
memories can merge or break
transforming past for present’s sake
and what is delicate as breath
just seems so in the face of death
This is a treasure, Jane.
That last couplet sent shivers down my spine, like a hoarfrost-bitten blueberry.
Thanks, friends, for your kind words and for reading me.
Wow!
THEY CALL HIM “MR. GLASS”
Not unbreakable,
fragile and sensitive,
quite mistakable to
a man of steel.
Feeling every emotion,
with a devotion to the heart.
When he starts to feel
the heat, he is defeated.
And that point is as
clear as crystal.
Never hard to reduce him
to shards. Call him Mr. Glass!
I love it, Walt. We all have that weak spot!
Thanks Linda. Yeah, sometimes we’re more fragile than we realize (or want to admit)!
Fiery Furious Love
Wild, untamed, feral,
His steely eyes scan the land,
As He makes His way.
With His fiery sword
He gently leads us through the
Perilous landscape,
Alert for hidden,
Hungry predators who watch
For slow easy prey.
Mighty, Powerful,
Like mothers’ defending young,
He protects His own.
Lovingly He shields
An safeguards us as we are
Wobbling behind.
L
Aflutter
Collecting is tender as breath.
No running with a net,
slapping or swatting,
but silence and patience
waiting for tissue paper
wings to meet upright
beneath your hand,
so you can gently
cherry pick a butterfly,
its colors powdery as chalk,
its wings framed like a kite
motored by insect body,
like holding a rainbow,
science and art joined
on spindly legs.
life, itself
you see a pigeon
upended, beak
cracking against a
brick wall
noiseless, stunned
shaking its head
That should be
profound,
you think; instead,
you take a picrure of it
with your iPhone
Butterfly Wings
She gave me a soft kiss
so gentle and light
it was pure, innocent bliss
so loving and right
Never did I think
I would soon miss
gone, gone in a blink
your butterfly kiss –
butterfly wings make me think of you
too young to be gone
there is so much you didn’t get to do
you should have lived on.
ROE
She’s an egg
shattered,
contents splattered
far and wide.
She’s a life
divided,
light provided
but held inside.
She’s a song
unsung
and a phrase unflung
and a still-born dream.
She is broken
shell;
some heart as well,
but there’s grace between.
Also an old one, should you choose to click:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2010/05/04/97/
Yikes. Just got a comment on my blog, and need to mention that this is NOT a political statement of any kind. I was going for “Rules of Engagement” and roe, as in eggs (that are often eaten.)
May need to retitle this…
Though I suppose that would certainly qualify as a delicate subject…and there is always, always grace.
Meant to just reflect life as a busy Mama…
Wow, De! It’s a great poem. Sometimes the best political comments are made in innocence
– the work of a fine poet…
I agree. A real masterpiece!
LOL, De. My first read through, I too thought it was about Roe vs Wade. No disrespect, it just read that way for me. And in THAT light, I found it compelling and powerful stuff. Sometimes poems do that, take off in a different direction than what we as poets originally intended, and that’s ok too. No shame, no offense. Simply take it as a compliment, say “not quite what I was going for originally but hey that’s cool, I get your interpretation too,” then simply shrug it off. I’ve been in your shoes, so well understand the irony. Personally I think it uber cool when multiple interpretations become plausible! Leave the title (it’s brilliant!) De, and bask in the juxtaposition rhetoric you unintentionally created! Trust me, it really is brilliant!
Fragile.
The morning sun warms the room and
the chair where my friend sits.
She raises her face to the light,
allowing it to bring hope.
Hope is hard to come by just now.
Age and illness have taken chunks of joy
out of a life lived in childlike wonder.
How I loved to watch her as she
delighted in every day,
in every friend,
in every flower,
in all of life.
I greet her and her smile
is still there,
but her name now is
Fragile.
Well done and I find the last line intriguing with the “A” in accord…excellent.
Oh, dear…this does NOT belong here. This was for PowerUnit!
The last time we spoke
you were reclining in a sanitary bed,
surrounded by the baby white
wires and curtains made of lead.
You were across from me,
your sagacious eyes casting
shadows,
your breath drawing little fine lines
in the misty haze of your slumber.
I didn’t know you.
Yet, I did, like the way
people often do when they are
thrust headlong into a maelstrom
of pumping blood and
aerobic lightning.
Were we once friends, you and I,
drifting along a banded causeway?
For some reason I remember you there
and not in that bed.
I remember a newfound joy in company.
I remember a smile full of teeth
that reflected the memories of
coffees in cafes,
conversations about nations,
picks and hammers
and crowded buses.
There were moments in
your laugh lines
where I could have sworn I became
a part of you.
Perhaps I have always been a part of you.
Perhaps, though, I am thinking you another.
Your hands, soft and translucent,
used to hard labor,
rest on your chest,
pulling your breath up and out.
How was it that a man,
built like yourself,
suddenly becomes a character from a department
store window?
You lived your life well,
full of vegetables and scotch,
filled with joy and reason,
repeatedly digging the seasons
and applying generously to the light
at the end of the week.
But, here you are,
fragile,
constantly wobbling on the brink
of whole and shattered.
Perhaps, I am referring to myself.
Here’s my little poem…
Thank you, for the prompt as always!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2013/01/23/the-process/
Smiles to everyone!
Fragile Exterior
F rail, almost unable to take a step
R eally exhausted, absent of pep
A mbling slowly, slight and weak
G amboling, hardly, knees softly creak
I nching along, bones hard and brittle
L ips drooping, covered with spittle
E nthusiasm bubbling deep within, “Won’t be long till I’m with Him!”
You did it again, Connie. Another masterpiece!
Those First Moments Version Two
I greet morning
with the rattle of coffee beans.
Ground.
Stirred.
Sips of liquid morning.
Blackbirds sing;
the garden greets sunrise.
Ivy claws
the north face
of trees
and fragile clouds
break and spill rain
across the window
What nice thoughts. I also feel the fragility of mornings.
what we found
Love laughs at architecture
every span of fear thrown out
in search of permanence.
It will not polish silver.
Love slips between
the bricks of certainty
trailing a scent of bergamot
only those who have lost can know.
“Fragility”
The diver
nears the crying
dolphin,
removing the barb.
The dolphin hovers
protective of
the diver.
The End
Like a thief in the night
Alzheimer’s arrived,
stealing the ultimate memory
my own father, doesn’t recognize me !
I held his hand and told him I loved him
that it was OK, he couldn’t remember
with a glazed smile, and reduced
to a two word vocabulary
Amazing and Weird
his facial expressions speaking
louder than his voice
the pillar of my life
now, so impossibly frail
I am stoically frozen, but internally
plunging through maelstrom of sadness
I want to scream, ” Dad it’s me”
but don’t want to scare him
asked if he knew the year,
month, day, season
as leaves ablaze in color
paint the landscape
he didn’t know, it was fall
I witness a manic repetition
of how he now eats
take a bite,
lie down,
wait a few seconds,
pull yourself up,
repeat,
repeat,
repeat,
as I write this, I just received the call
he has but hours left
tears flowing, I stand at the shore
waiting for grief’s tsunami
to arrive
© ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013
<3 I love this, Randy – and I have had brushes with Alzheimer's in my family as well. I know the repeated questions that are, to the patient, the first time, every time, that question has been asked. And to respond one has to answer as if it were the first time too, again, and again, and again. It is so difficult. ((hugs))
Thank You Diana ((hugs)) very much appreciated !!
“the pillar of my life
now, so impossibly frail
I am stoically frozen, but internally
plunging through maelstrom of sadness
I want to scream,”
♥ Randy…thank you for sharing…my heart goes out to you.
Thank You so much Hannah
White Lace
I wore white lace on my collar.
I never had a dollar dance.
There is this man he says he loves me.
But these tears on my face and this fear
says different.
At first it started with a whisper and than it
turned into a scream
like poisonous snake venom
rushing through my blood stream
now there is a man with bright blue eyes,
and a crooked smile. My revelation
this may be a crime
but all I have left is rhymes
and the pieces of this fragile heart.
Life
Perhaps mischance
brought you to this
wet
and sandy
snare
or perhaps
some person’s dread
swatted you
into the briny
foam,
soaking your wings
with salt water
and
leaving you to
struggle,
each lapping wave
leaving
you weaker.
Nevertheless,
I cannot help
but try to save
even so
tiny
a
life
as
yours,
bee.
Diana Terrill Clark
Yes…so small but with such a meaningful impact…without them…we would fail. Thinking on the colony collapses..so sad and scary.
It is scary. And the idea that each life is precious, as the Buddhists believe, is one I tend to embrace, at least as much as possible.
Generation “Look At Me”
We have now the generation of
the pampered narcissist who expects
the rest of us to approve of
childish antics, indulge whims,
and believe the facade
of strength, behind which
dwells an ego
more fragile
than an
egg.
Whoops! Couldn’t remember the form name I was shooting for and added one more line than the nonet. Will have to revise to nine lines for my blog.
Those First Moments
This morning, just like every morning
this week, I set my feet on the cold floor
and toe around under the bed, hunting
down my runaway slippers – and then
cold water, paper filter, and coffee beans
are turned from a solid into a warm liquid
morning. I sip the start of another day
as fragile mist-weakened clouds break
their seams and spill long-streaks
of rain across the kitchen window.
Having spent much of my life as a seamstress, the holds a particularly nice visual.
AUTISM
A small sound
the wrong order
lights that are too bright
a slight irritation
food that isn’t bland enough
something that is unexpected
and I blow apart.
So fragile are the words
Of a poem in the works
One must choose just right
To articulate it’s voice
So elegant and nice
Like the peddles of a flower
So frail in the moonlight
On a frosty cool springtime night
Or a butterfly’s fragile wings
In a turbulent windy flight
Yes a poet’s choice of words
Must be just so right
To nurture every stanza
To make its voice take flight
To sing and dance with meaning
In every reader’s sight
e.g. peddles vs petals…OOOPS
I touched a similar vein in mine!! I like your’s!
Witness
The cold air presses down—the
precursor of the first
bold exclamation of winter.
My job has me twenty feet
up a ladder—last-minute
tasks before the blizzard begins.
I look up at the river randomly
throughout the day—I have
always loved the river.
Against the deepening darkness
I see a skin, stretched thin,
cellophane across the water.
It is then I realize
that from my frigid post
I have watched the river freeze.
Ellen Knight 1.23.13
Ooh, I love this! Even through the dangerous pre-blizzard, you have time to see the beauty around you. You must be a poet. ^_^ Thank you for sharing this glimpse into your life.
Blush…
IMMATERIAL
Life is fragile~
wear it like a loose garment.
Before you brag, imagine
living in fear, your freedom
an old pair of underwear with holes,
ripped and thrown away. Imagine
living biddably, your transparent bra
dangling from a telephone wire,
only you have no way to call.
Before you brag about worldly
possessions, imagine living
in fear, where icy stares
are daggers in your heart
as you stand in a line-up,
naked and you have to
remain polite or else.
Life is fragile~
wear it like a loose garment.
Laurie, this is beautiful and frightening–and it made me think of the Holocaust. I think this will stay with me a while. Life is fragile.
Agreed…I thought of the same. Beautifully-poignantly written, Laurie. ♥
Thanks. It’s about human trafficking. I have more about why I wrote this on my blog: http://lkharris-kolp.blogspot.com/2013/01/immaterial.html
Nehemiah
Barely a child,
Riled, unstable
Able to plot,
Fraught. Soon to awaken
Shaken.
I want to hide from the daily news. Too much.
Too much.
And I had thought you were talking about the biblical Nehemiah… I hadn’t read the news. ;/ ((Hugs))
And well chosen for the prompt, Marie…but so sad.
Oh, no. I’m afraid to find out. This is affecting and, Marie, thank God for your heart. ♥
A PEDIATRICIAN’S VIEW OF WAR
Like a bubble on a needle;
like a snowflake in a flame;
life in warfare cannot flourish,
and so the world remains the same.
Long has Earth revolved in terror;
long have widows and orphans cried.
Why must suffering children wonder
how long it be till peace be tried?
Amen.
Press on.
Strangely, even in the smallest of groups, humans divide and war, on the playground, even. I think peace will not be tried until hate and fear are vanquished, and though one might think that it would be easy, it isn’t. Individuals must root it from themselves, and how many really take the effort?
Still, all is not lost. Each voice makes a difference, don’t you think?
I like your voice, PressOn.
It lies flat, silent, small
sullen and still in the quiet winter morning
blue clouds guard it’s mood, its life
it hides from the day’s glory that is death
to a sheen longing for acceptance
laying in its bed, hugging its only friend, a shallow relationship
the hard black asphalt yearning for its own attention
that bottom dweller who reaches for warmth and life and love
a selfish brute who cares not for delicacy
and the hitchhiker shivers at the sound of the unknown, studded weight
It’s too afraid to scream but explodes in agony
under the morning’s Accord
Oh my. “and the hitchhiker shivers at the sound of the unknown”
Powerful piece, PowerUnit.
We have all witnessed this – from the smallest gnat whose life explodes to the deer or elk leaping toward the twin headlights.
This is a powerful piece, as Marie says.
Well done and I find the last line intriguing with the “A” in accord…excellent.
my car
Successful poem in conveying the scene, PowerUnit.