Grief

It is always just below the surface
In calm it is invisible
But it is always there.
When the wind stirs the surface
It becomes visible
But that same wind
Wears it away
Turning it to sand
That is carried to the deeps
Joining in the chorus of
Many who have past
Before.

A random thought

The currents of the street flow around her. Most don't even see her. Some look at her chest or her legs. Few look at her face. No one meets her eyes. She walks at a steady pace, her stride like a pendulum. The people passing seem to take little pieces of her away, like a stream of hot water sloughing off the soap and dirt, as if she would disappear eventually, lost to the streets.

Impressions

Some are deeper than others.
Some you just can't shake off.
Some leave your hand cold.

Like the coolness of hair
out of the shower.
Or heading to the grave.

Some you get over
and some get over you.

You pull a thread on your coat
You leave a picture behind
You close a rose in a box.

Sometimes it rains.

Dates

For some time now and with some morbid curiosity I have been examining dates. As I surf the web, I look for the date that my father died. Or see a date when he was still alive. Dates float around the day he died. It makes me wonder if he knew the thing that happened the day before he died. Or two days before he died. Or wonder what he would have said about the things that happened after he died. It has been a month since he died.

It is like a cloak
but wraps in a binding
straight jacket.
Not white or black, but a grey
a pall of smoke that
tears the eyes.
It frays in
small moments
remembrances of
what once.
As you pass on the
street the stones
remind you of
what loss.

Unraveled

I have never thought of it before. And I an ashamed to have to admit that. But I wonder how many people out there walk around with a hole in their heart. No, not the physical heart, the metaphysical one. And the hole is caused by death and only filled by time, if ever.

I wonder how many have the veneer of being "OK" when asked how they are doing, but are really not forthcoming with how they really feel.

I wonder how many have anger or tears or overwhelming sadness bottled up behind the face they show the world.

I wonder how many people go from day to day, living in the small moments, a memory of something that once was, that will never be again.

I wonder how many carry on, oars against the wind, with the burdens of living amongst the ghosts of the past.


A simple itch
crawls along the forearm
A dangling string
from a burgundy sweater
I pull the thread
and cinch it tight
Ready for the quick
and painless snap
A single tear today
falls with the thread
Coloring the white chalk
pavement with a drop of blood.

Tufts

It is sprung
Tufts appear
Heralding a new day
Bringing light
And a cacophony
Of new voices.

Wind stirs the newly green
First to face the storm
Proving the mettle
To end the season

The same

If there were no heaven
If there were no hell
If there was nothing
left to live
I'd live for you.

If there was only hate
If there was only war
If there were only
poor orphans
I'd take you in.

If there were horsemen
If there were signs
If there was just
one day left
I'd die for you.

Words to slow

Winter clings
Nails of snow
Dragging themselves
Across the street
Hiding in the shadows
Hoping to remain
Unseen

The Earth remains
Barren trusting
That life will
Awaken

Electric blue

Shiny, electric
Blue
Smoke trails in air
Suppressed by daylight
The crow floats
From tree to tree
Its tears freeze
Dropping golden diamonds
Red mating pair
Froze in their sleep
It is changing
Melting faster
But the cold remains
Light remains
Night comes
To turn to another day
Wheel turns
Crushing some
Carrying others into the future.

Razor

There is a thin line
That cuts you when
you traverse
the now and was
Bleeding thoughts
of things that were
or might have been
Red memories of
youth that sting
with a longing
Stay is short
less life
ebbs away
Now staunches
the wound.