August Lives Forever...

 

Linking with What's Going On? for this week's prompt "August"

Thank you Mary, Sumana, Sherry & Susan for all you do!

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There is no timetable for grieving —
      Grief is a snail
      It's a shooting star
      A walk around the lake
      It's eternity
      Or frost 'til bloom —
Memories coursing through the heart
It lasts as many heartbeats as it takes;
      sometimes all of them.
~Terri Guillemets

*******************************************************

My heart is a train,

and it passes through the town of your last days

over and over again.

True destination August

 first day of school, 1972

at a hospital now abandoned.

The time and place are etched on a ticket to board,

and I take a window seat watching things pass by.

I am 61 now

having traveled 52 years since that day.

The view still has the same solemn news,

the shock and the suddenness

like a train stopping in its tracks.

I can still feel the jolt of it,

hearing those unexpected words.

More things were abandoned that day, than a hospital.

Loss is more than death certificates in file cabinets, and witnessing a last breath.

It is days that bleed into years with something greater missing.

I hold this ticket, it heads to all the places we will never go together,

and unspoken words I shall never hear.

A birth, marriages, divorce, and graduations all hold an empty chair,

the one next to mine by the window seat

the place where August lives forever.

For my heart is a train, and it passes through the town of your last days

over and over again.

Coffee Table Heartaches

 

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List

This week the words are from Stephen King's Full Dark, No Stars.

Thank you Shay for all you do to keep us writing!

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Like magazines, I set them all in rows;

the nights

the weeks

the years

with every possible heartache laid on top.

Remembering each sorrow as if it were a pretty wedding.

Every harsh word is close like lips and lovers.

I can drink them like lemonade and hold them like polaroid photos, fast and sure.

The day I lost you stands tall like an oak,

for love and loss are kindred cousins I know too well.

So, I must keep them both close (at least that is what my heart once told me)

for it is far easier to hold on to the pain that let love be faded by time.

You see, I forget the colorful Care Bear’s names,

but cling to the dark and lonely crow,

gingerly holding with no plans to set him free.

It is funny how that somehow soothes the wounded ache

even though it is the very thing that broke me.

The Dwelling

 

Linking with Shay's wonderful Word Garden word list. This week the words are taken from a beautiful poetry collection written by the one and only Mary Oliver.  Come join us!

I dream of a house that no longer stands,

yet the creaking of wood floors still echoes in my poems.

The hours sleep hard and endless, you see it is August every day here.

Miles and the busyness of life are snow falling in summer and

your words are books burning before their time.

Grief has a generosity that swells like wet wood and feet can.

Timeless it lingers hidden in the quiet of remembering

 and still blinds us in the light ahead.

Yet, I hold its hand willingly,

for my heart is still holding on to you.

Her Voice is a Stranger Now

 

It is strange how we lose the memory of a voice. We can picture the smile, feel the grip of the hands, or see the stance, but the voice it slowly fades into the distance like a cowboy on his horse into the sunset. After 50 years, it is something I know has slipped completely away from me, like a lover that was destined to leave one day; her voice is a stranger now. I can only wonder if I heard it again, would my face light up or would I be unaware of the gift.

Linking with What's Going On? The prompt this week is "sounds".

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A Good Writer Walks Through the Puddle,

 

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List

I can't believe I made it! Trying to write has been a true grizzly bear lately!!!

Thank you Shay for keeping the word list alive and thriving!

A good writer doesn’t run from bears; no, a good writer goes to where the bears are. He watches them in their habitat and how they have evolved looking for clues on what makes them tick, or what makes him run, or possibly how close the nearest freeway is if he has to get to his desktop computer in one piece.

A brilliant writer doesn’t avoid the hospital; no, a brilliant writer puts himself in the thick of it to have his dying character’s perspective. It could be exposing himself to the most recent flu, or jumping in front of a Camero.  Either one can work if he is lucky.

An amazing writer doesn’t keep to himself with his eyes closed; no, an amazing writer stays starry-eyed focusing head on to every Godzilla! Touching his furry coat while singing a Blondie song costing the lives of children while leading him into central park to see if he strikes a muse or maybe a building nearby.

A fantastic writer doesn’t go into public luxuriously looking well kept; no, he ventures out dumpy-looking to appear like he has been busy at the keyboard with no time for anything else. He can only hope no agents or publishers are at the pharmacy when he finally picks up his meds. 

That Kind of Wreckage

 

"The best way out is always through."  ~ Rober Frost

Sometimes to stop the fire you have to break down walls

 and other times you must leave some doors closed.

Destruction comes and leaves in different ways,

 like lost sons returning home.

Each one holds a different heartache,

yet the affliction is the same.

It is a painful feeling

when you must watch but cannot fix.

You do not hold the hatchet.

You do not have the power to stop the flames.

One can only pray for healing,

and mercy from that kind of wreckage.

 When the one you love is the soul that cannot run away from the burning building,

but can only go back inside

to save their self.

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #230.

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The Drummer,

 

Theda Bara in Cleopatra 1917

“Iron left in the rain
      And fog and dew
With rust is covered.—Pain
      Rusts in beauty, too.
I know full well that this is so:
— I had a heartbreak long ago.”
~Mary Carolyn Davies

 

 I don’t need an axe!

I can grind words

with the romantic stare

of all my lost lovers.

I have lived intensely in the wasteland of charm and pretty lies.

A Rockstar of heartbreak with all the stages of grief.

I have known the scary feel of veering into oncoming traffic,

and crashing into hardcore hearts.

All the anesthesia in the world cannot stop that feeling,

and metaphors can only reveal a ghost of what was.

Writing poems now is my solace and my story.

They sing the song I will never sing again,

and make love to the drummer that first broke my heart.

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List ~ Featuring the come back of Creem Magazine

& the Sunday Muse for Muse #228

Visit both prompts and join in the fun!

What the Fox Knows

 

A fox has no expectations of what lies ahead.

He trails down the path where the lilacs brush across his face,

and it is always a new hello.

He deals with the seasons as they come.

A symbol of resilience he does what he must.

He has a way of enduring the shiver of winter’s sting,

and he survives to enjoy the summer’s breeze.

Never consumed with the memory of anguishing struggle

he moves onward.

I wish I could be like him,

but instead, I cry over letters that never arrived.

Every loss is a memento I store away like a ticket to a rare ballet,

for my heart is a feeble handbag filled with a quandary of old things

that were never mine to cherish., yet I fumble through it anyway.

Again I am lost over heartbreak like a girl that has astigmatism and yet no glasses,

I wander and yes, I am lost.

Somehow the fox has a deep and clear vision

of where he needs to be.

I am busy staring at an old crinkled map I cannot even read.

Linking today with Shay's Word List where this week she is featuring the poet Amy Lowell.  I had never read her writing, but was delighted to find that I love her poetry!  Thank you Shay for another wonderful prompt!

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Lost Upon a Wind That Never Blew,

 

“Ah, look at all the lonely people.” —The Beatles (Eleanor Rigby)

  

Flocks of birds and forests must know something human hearts do not.

Like a choir they hold the comfort of reaching in unison.

Always hungry for the sky.

Still man becomes a ghost

alone down a darkened hall.

A silver haired shadow

searching for a memory

that no one else recalls.

Silent stories

are a house burning to the ground,

never to be entered or seen again.

Some hearts are broken wings and fallen branches.

Secrets lost upon a wind that never blew.

A loneliness that only humans truly know.

 

 

 

I am so delighted to be participating in one of my favorite prompts, Shay’s Word Garden Word List!  It is always fascinating, educational, and inspirational.  Thank you Shay my friend!!

This week the featured theme is Jackson C. Frank.  Click here to learn more and participate.

Soul Speak

 

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard. ~Anne Sexton

 

There is another voice that speaks,

a poem with lines that drape softly like garland upon the rails.

I hear it like a child’s cry.

I hold it that way too!

It is a message that bears no envelope,

and a wingless bird that still shall sing.

There is no thunder bolt of lightning.

No trembling beneath bare feet.

Just the soft whisper of a certain knowing

that only night stars can surely speak.

Its absence is a deeper ache

 like the kind in an old man’s bones.

For lonely hands hold love like reigns on a galloping horse.

Trying to stop it from fleeing too far off course.

And it is surely a weary occupation

trying to be a god of greater things,

when we do not learn to listen

 for heaven is trying to speak.

 

 Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 211

Happy Birthday Weekend Shay! 💕

 

I Am a Door Closed to a Million Rooms,

 

...the heart is full — another throb would split it... ~Emily Dickinson

 

I am a door closed to a million rooms

and a million keys to just one door.

You could search a million drawers

and closets,

or fall to a million floors.

But you will never reach me,

even if you can climb the highest fence.

I bolted the windows tight

and threw away every wrench!

Some places when you enter

you are trespassing from the start,

for love cannot be forced nor taken

from one who has given away their heart.

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #208

💔

I wanted to take a moment while I have your attention to say something important to me.  There is someone that I care about deeply that I have hurt recently through my own hurtful issues.  In my defense I did not do it intentionally, but I did it just the same, and as painful as it is to have to see our own wrongs, I guess I better get ready to hurt some more.  You see, sometimes we hurt people by what we do or say, and sometimes it is by what we do not, or what we do not acknowledge.  I wanted there to be utter peace; no waves, upset feelings, nor harsh words.  I don’t quite know why at the age of 58 I cannot get it through my hard head that sometimes you just have to ride the rough waters and let out a good scream when it gets bad, and just keep moving onward down the stream!  Rob, I think you are a passionate guy, and I do enjoy reading your poems, but the image prompt and the word lists, they are all good, and no comparisons or passive aggression needs to be thrown out into the blogosphere.  You have been through a lot Rob, so has my dear friend who hosted a magnificent word list, and so have I.  Sometimes people seem tough and hard as nails, but nails always make everyone bleed, and everyone needs to always remember that when they react to other people’s truths.   Anyway, what I am truly trying to say, is…………I am sorry for not speaking my truth, which is something my dear friend does, and that is one of the many reasons I love her.  I think I have spoken what my heart needed to.  Thank you for listening.

💔

We Want to Harness Moonlight,

 

Chasing the moon by Catrin Welz-Stein….Surreal Art & Graphic Design. 

The earth is sliced into furrows that seeds may burst with life; even thus with our wounds.

 ~Henry Stanley Haskins

The laurels and the willows know the strength of a rainy day,

but my heart is still learning.

We want to harness moonlight,

and have the flowers of May always,

but we only truly appreciate the shine of a clear sky

when we have endured all the dreary days.

Life teaches like a professor that will give the lesson harsh yet sure.

It gathers us together the way you would garland upon a tree.

Makes us sit in the church like children to hear the sermon

whether we want to or not.

We will learn one way or the other from the slough or from the river’s harshest flow.

For the laurels and the willows know the strength of a rainy day,

 but my heart is still learning.

Linking with Shay's Word List "A. E. Housman #19" now at the Sunday Muse every 3rd weekend.

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I Held Sorrow Like a Saucer

 

Power of imagination by Joiedevivre89

“Hurt people hurt people.” As they say in Recovery.

 

I held sorrow like a saucer of hot tea

gentle and careful and true.

You flung it far and wide

the pain was sure to fly and spill on me and you!

It is strange how some things fester

and others dart like vultures for the kill.

But no matter how you carry it

it will surely burn as it will spill.

A house can be a true shelter

 or it can be the very storm we should escape,

and like a tree, the heart learns from weathered living

to either bend or surely break.

Click HERE for source.

Linking today with the Sunday Muse for Muse #206

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