24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Earth is water
spelled sideways,
in a way…
The way of poets.
Being water encased
in a mesh of flesh.
Our minds sometimes
a mess of less, less, less,
lessons learned
from watered down hag-
splashing pointlessness.
Her face without
a trace of truth.
Hags and baggarts all!
Liquid lies!
Insipid ties!
And I, bemused by it all,
spell in the way of poets.
Dear Tracy,
It’s been twenty-two years since I last saw you,
but I want you to know I think of you often.
I’ve tried to nudge events from this side
to help you and the family, and I’d like to think I have.
Your guardian angels are exhausted, by the way.
Tell your Mom I love her, and we’re all here,
including the uncle that named her, my brother
that was listed as missing from Pearl Harbor all those years ago,
blown off course in his plane, just as we thought.
Tell your Dad his parents are very proud of him, too.
I didn’t think that first marriage of yours would last,
and I’m glad I was right. What, I still speak my mind!
He was cruel to you, always bullying and pushing.
You found your spine and your real love.
I like this one.
Tell all three kids I wish I could have known them longer;
they were so little they probably don’t remember me much at all.
I love your idea to plant purple Shirley tulips in my remembrance;
have the kids help you when you do.
I get to see a whole field of them whenever I want now.
I see you’re a writer; I told your Mom you could!
Maybe if this letter gets to you, you can write about it.
Don’t be in a hurry to get here, but don’t fear getting here either.
All my love,
Grandma, the former Shirley Erck
Walking
Is one challenge
Amongst many others
I am a “Merlin” aging young
Nothing really matters
If you survive
First death
sometimes we feel we are the only ones,
until we travel and find…
new people and cultures.
sometimes we think we’re trapped inside ourselves
until we realize…
there are other doors to go out.
sometimes we are in our comfort zones,
until we open our eyes…
to another way of life.
sometimes we ponder death is the end,
until we learn…
it’ the beginning.
sometimes we need to stop and reflect,
until we realize…
we are not strangers.
(Hour 6- @Mejia)
Reunion
I didn’t know you then –
Sixteen and pregnant.
I didn’t know you
in the years after – drinking
too much to try and
forget. Crying every time
you saw a small baby.
May I say – I’m grateful
to know you now!
When you tell me your story –
of finally meeting your daughter
as she was dying at age Forty– I
want to surround you with the
compassion you never knew.
I want to thank that nurse you mentioned
who was so kind, as you came out of delivery-
and said lovingly: Oh, you’re just a little thing!
And – let’s agree that if you had been allowed to keep your
baby – you would have done the very best job you knew how
to let her spirit soar!
Don’t worry about answering this letter. We’ll talk
when we get a chance.
I know you’re busy with your grown kids and your grandsons.
I cherish the photos you’ve sent and the
positive health updates.
I honor the light and love in your heart.
Signed:
A Friend
Dear MarianMonique LeVertaDeniece, (Mimi)
I said goodbye to you years ago, but today, I found a need to say hello. Today humanity is living in a pandemic. I know you never heard of it. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you before I closed the door. I think about you, you’ve gone away, forever. Your presence exists in mementoes. Pictures I display of us with grandma Jacqui on the shelf. It gives me comfort and reassurance when I feel gloom. Ahh, things I would utter if you were here, my dear. We would catch a movie, a bite to eat as we did, not to long ago. Death brings comments like, “I don’t know how you do it… I would lose my mind if I lost my child.” I hear your voice, “keep it together mom.” “Take care of your mental health, mom.” I do aqua aerobics, piano and voice lessons, write poetry, work my businesses. How about that Mooca. 🙂 There is no substitute for your presence. I accept that you are in your eternal rest. Memories linger like the indigo sky. I remember your cuddles and baby coos, you growing as a teen. The mother you became elevated yourself esteem. Oh, Mimi, it thrills me to write this love letter. You won’t know it, but it’s the legacy to our future generations. They will know you were loved by your mommy, son, and everyone. Brandon, your man child is almost 26 yrs. old. He is doing well by not living in hell. He has a longtime girlfriend. Growing pangs for him are no stranger. His loss of you, his mom is heavy rain on his beating heart. The sunset over your life came way too soon. In our hearts you’ll find no gloom. On Heavenly shores with Jesus is how we’ll meet. Rest in His blossom. angels were there when you transitioned into you forever destiny, courage and faith were the templates for your life. There have been many changes in the family, humanity and friends. The Supreme Court reversed Roe vs. Wade a dreadful decision was made. Then it’s the President #45 that brought the nation shame. Idiot rioters stormed the Capitol and killed a woman and policeman. President Joe Biden, Jill Biden and Kamala Harris, Hallelujah for respectful leadership. Juneteenth is now a national holiday, where I promise to celebrate, commemorate and contemplate victory in this land. I will write, sing and vote for justice. Sleep in peace my beautiful daughter. Peace comes with a price that our veteran family paid. Thank you for being a wonderful daughter, while mommy was in the military. I intend to make my mark on God’s green earth. As woman of passion, persistence and patience your legacy is remarkable, commendable and admirable. I will tell the world about you.
Love forever, Peace through Justice.
Mom, D. “Ashay” Mathieu
Hour Six – To Be A Dog in America Mary Pecaut
Summer morning on the couch
in my daughter’s house
Luna Love naps
on my lap. Where does she go
in her sleep? Twitching legs and muffled
belly barks as though racing ‘round
Longfellow Park with Jack or Jake – it seems
on a doggie date. She lives
the good life
even in her dreams.
Dearest Friend,
Who are you reading? I wish we could enjoy a cup and
you could tell me what happened to the story you sent.
I heard your tribute. I drink much less than Baudelaire,
but I chuckled at the words as much as I sympathized
with your shaking hands. Stage fright doesn’t equate
to being ill-suited to the stage. Lose your self-consciousness.
and you won’t realize – or care – that you’re onstage.
Have you filled that notebook yet? If you haven’t or lost it,
find another and fill it. Lose your consciousness of having to be
right the first time. Make all the mistakes now. Make all the mistakes
you were too careful to make. And write them all down.
Look at that bird!
Is it a goose? Is it a swan?
Legs and neck are too long.
Swans walk gracefully;
that bird looks drunk.
Maybe it’s a flamingo!
Aren’t they pink?
Not all of them.
It’s walking away!
Did somebody get a picture?
I’ll take one
but you know me.
See?
Looks like a chicken with its head cut off.
That would be us. Besides
legs and neck are too long.
Is that our bus coming?
Никогда не думала что
Абсолютно всех, кроме
Бублика
Обо меня думает, каждый день
К закату, где
Орла
Ввела скандал