Tag Archives: grief

Day 30 – The Last Thing Remaining on My List

Last night, dear friend & wonderful poet, Louise Nicholas, launched her first, very beautiful, full-length collection of poems, The List of Last Remaining through 5 Islands Press. It was a fabulous warm funny (mildly drunken) night.

Today, after dipping my way in & out of the collection, I have taken the last line of her poem, “How to scale a fish” & tweaked it to use as the title of today’s poem.

moonlight, unearthed

& so it’s come : to that time : of life : to once again : take out the tools of excavation : to dust off : my brooms & tiny brushes : sharpen my trowels : put pads on my ageing knees : & get down in the pit : in the dirt : dig down through the layers : the strata of my happiness : & my grief : to uncover the bones : & broken pottery : & terracotta floors : of true love : lost : of childhood : lost : of embryos : washed down drains : blood on thighs, over tiles, over everything : & to keep digging : until all that’s left to see : is an empty grave : a soul shaped hole : a silver wash : of moon : light : & salt

fish scales

Last line: “as if unearthed in moonlight”

Day 26 – Seeing Things

What with tomorrow being tomorrow, & plenty of work to do to get ready for it, today’s poem & Game are both going to be as brief as poossible. I’ll be using a variation of one of the Word Games I’ve played before, Last Line (Gone) – except this time it’s First Line (Gone; to be the last line of my poem) :).

The line is taken from  The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. A truly glorious wonderful book that made me laugh, made me cry, made me weep buckets. Told by Enzo, who is a dog, this is a book that is a delight to read & one which will no doubt linger for days.

the art of not facing the truth

it’s easy to pretend
i’m waiting for you

easy to say
i’ve learnt

easy to argue
next time will be better

easy to acknowledge
every wrong

because
now you are gone

empty gestures
are all i have

racingCROP

First line of The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. “Gestures all that I have; sometimes they must be grand in nature.”

Day 22 – And now for something completely different …

This began as a draft in January. I have redrafted, edited  & posted it today for obvious reasons. It is the first poem this month not generated via Word Games.

grieving kangaroos

we live in a world, where, when a beloved famousity
dies, social media bloodbaths into a whirlpool : wailing
wallowing, teethgnashing, pedastooling, & deifying —
alongside attacks, assassinations & ruthless debunking.

since we have capacity to celebrate celebrity demises
en masse, it has become de rigueur to do so : vehemently
& publicly with status updates & changed profile pics
alerting the indifferent world of your immense loss.

trolls rumble from caves, dragging into the light
their democratic right to demonise — reminding us :
fame isn’t bestowed solely on saints & that as much
darkness lurks under the skins of those we idolise.

meanwhile, the day-to-day tragedies go ever on, untweeted
— as do the friends, daughters, grandsons of those left …

kangaCROP

Day 10 – Celestial Motions

Today was always going to be about this topic, given it is 4 months since one of my best mates died. I’ve tried half a dozen times to write about this loss (as well as other recent & ongoing ones) without much success. This comes closest so far …

nebula

& so . in a way . we all die young .
younger than we’d like . even if
we live to a hundred and twenty .
younger than our loved ones want
too . too long lost . in that aching
chasm . that distance between
stars that is all that’s left . when
there is nothing of you . left . except
a wisp . a tear . an echo of laughter .
a hair . a sigh . a gasp . a stifled
sob . an aimless wandering from
room to room . trying to remember
where you are . where you went . & why

cone CROP

NOTE: cover is from Tracy K. Smith’s lovely collection, Life on Mars. It is imaginatively titled: ‘Cone Nebula Close Up’ (I think in part because it is a Close Up of the Cone Nebula).

NOTE 2: I know ‘technically’ this poem may not really Ekphrastic in the strictest sense of the word, but is definitely an emotional response to the image.

Day 5 – 25 Easter Sundays ago today …

Last one. Today is D-Day.

*****

the five

we were never a five – not properly – not all
together – not ever – yet in my head – we always
were – still are – forever will be – nothing can change
that – even though everything has changed — every thing
except the great                                                                                empty

.

*****

silent_hill_by_kr_2y_51_3k-d55td6p

Day 4 – the theme of loss continues

I wasn’t planning to write about this topic again. However, things often bubble to the top unasked — especially when you’re distracted working on other things.

*****

we are all haunted by the presence of absence

my umbrella is too small
— to keep off the storm
my suitcase too small
—to hold all my sadness
when the crows come pecking
—i can’t scare them off

up to my eyes in water
—up to my ears in salt
wings try growing from my back
—but i refuse to let them
so i am always surrounded
—by the sound of falling feathers

*****

image

 NB- updating on the iPhone — NOT as easy as on a desktop grrr

Day 3 – & the days run away like horses over the hills

Some things, you never quite get over.
You think you have, but you remain haunted.

*****

bad friday

all week it’s been hiding
round the corner
of my tiptoeing mind

& behind the walls
of my fragile  carefully fabricated
homeshell  every day

building like a thunderstorm
of bricks & grey anvils
ready to rain hell

every year grief floats between
the dark bloody day of the tomb
& the numerical reality

only once in 25 years (2001)
have the anniversaries coincided
even so  my sadness was not halved

the next won’t be till 2063
so i’ll split my weeping over
two different dates for years

is it any wonder
on days like these  i spend all night
sleeping on top of myself

*****

Calla_Lilies_by_pooky125
image by pooky125