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.

Autopsy of the Soul

 

Linking with Shay's Word GardenWord List # 8 (Russell Edson)

It is in the silent pondering 

the kind poets always do

that life gets a deeper cut

powerful like a hatchet digs

an autopsy of the soul

for we the poets are vicarious

silent ghosts of opportunity

following you to the cellar door

just to see what you shall see

to feel the electric shock

and taste the loss of words unsaid

we long to pull years out of the clogged pipes 

of one man's memory

we wrap them with soft metaphors

and then clasp each one hard with tusks 

so no one else forgets

we give them to the world.

 

One Hurt Yet a Thousand Injuries,

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List #7 (Langston Hughes)

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Grief is historian of the heart. ~Terri Guillemets

 

When the heart remembers

It is never a gentle farewell

It is the burn of cities on fire

Blood of arguments words can’t un-tell

It is clocks that won’t stop ticking

And the landlord always at the door

It is the full moon of longing

Lighting an empty room that once held more

It is a million withered roses

That never filled a vase

And strangers all around

That remind us of a loved one’s face

For when the heart remembers

It is never a gentle goodbye

It is the bruise of a thousand stumbles

And wound’s salty sting from every cry.

 Photo by Rachel Claire from Pexels
 

Life is Poetry

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Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 125

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Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things. ~Pierce Harris

 

Traces of your passage are all around

I need not search too far

you live on in the glistening light

that shines from every star

I hear you in the rustling

of leaves on a windy day

your lovely words of encouragement

still have so much to say

and I shall tell your story

 with each breath within every line

it is the truest poetry

that transcends even mortal time

and like a fox with his one feather

I shall bring you with me

 as my proof on the journey home

and your memory will linger

 as long as on this earth I do roam.

The Show Must Go On

Linking today with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 108

Hosted this week by the beautifully talented poet Shay who inspires me more than I could ever say!

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“In memory's telephoto lens, far objects are magnified.”  ~John Updike

My heart has haunted places

where ghosts fill each hall and every room

it is old empty architecture

that is filled with what once was

like the fullest of blue moons

every loved one’s dream

lingers behind the curtain

where the projector once set it to the screen

and it rewinds and then replays

forever in my memory to be seen

my love carries them onward

for you know the show must go on

and poetry gives each one a voice

to sing their own inspiring song

the moments that they brought

are heard not on any stage

for they are felt in loving memory

 on the undying ink of every page.

Cause Your Heart is a Trailer Park

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 64
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There are memories I choose not to live with, but we occasionally meet for a drink. 
~Robert Brault

North Texas is a land of storms

And in 1970 so was our living room

And when your 6 years old

You can’t just pick up and leave town

Your stuck like a fence post

In the middle of tornado alley

The rain is going to come down hard

The winds may knock you down

Cause your heart is a trailer park

That is just the way it is

So you learn to pray

And sometimes look the other way

Like the eastern window of an old house

Then no matter how you try

Part of it follows you

Down the road are pieces of your past

Like remnants of a tornado’s destruction

And you find yourself sitting

Back in that same old place even if it is just for a little while

I look back and I see that 6-year-old sometimes

And find she is not that far away

Just another rain storm away

From remembering

What not to say.