Early Years

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We first met when she was all but two

Wouldn’t let me hold her,

But wanted help with her shoes.

Delicate blonde ringlets and fair rosy cheeks

Eyes of blue looking up and quickly away

So tender, so tiny, so delicate her treats.

I would have my own child before I saw her again

A beautiful swan girl who was oh so still

Full of life lessons learned by the time she was ten.

Still shy but getting better at being herself

Her beliefs and morals came from the bible

Life not like the fairytale books she kept on a shelf.

We met again and had a whole summer

She was old enough for us to grow closer

Stay up late, talk of dreams, then share slumber.

We slept on the beach in a magical place

Just bags, no tent, but near to clear water

Woke with a start, a chipmunk ran across her face.

Is My?

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Light is my heart

Heavy the world may be!

Bright is my soul

Despite scars on my body!

Calm is my being

‘tho the mind feels so odd!

Sunny is my disposition

An around-the-clock job!

Cheerful is my smile

Old pains reoccur as new!

Peaceful is my center

Imagine greens and blues!

Three Revised

A cousin, a brother, things happen in 3’s

Hoped death would come next for me

Instead my Pa went down that dark path

Wriggling and writhing in alcohol’s grasp

So I mourn again and again and again

Left still wishing for my silly own end

I know God is near, perhaps Goddess too

Laughing at this human who wants to be through

Asking to be taken from this nightmare of life

Wanting to be finished with all of the strife

They must have some grand plans for me

To keep me in hell instead of giving me leave

My heart and soul long for my sister dear

Cries out because she won’t let me near

She reads all my words wrong and so false

I don’t like text, I would much rather talk

Chest crushed by the weight of my grief

I no longer have her to help find relief

“Think on good things, believe in good luck”

Sunshiny people need to shut the hell up

They’ve no idea where I’ve been or am going

I’ve had loss of all kinds and the tears are flowing

Platitudes are not going to cut it this time

The best kind of healing comes from these rhymes

Here I am free to be depressingly me

No one judges, no one expects all glee

I can write and rant and know there is another

Who has felt this or seen it one way or the other

Compassion, yes.  Understanding, check.

And reminded the world is in chaos yet

My own battles start to seem very small

‘Tho my pain is amplified by poets who stand tall

I see they are writing about much bigger issues

So in elegant ways, they provide me with tissues

Which help to stop my self destructive wins

Like pulling and picking and scarring my skin

So thank you all for being who you are

For writing poems that take me so far

Away from my existence mundane

To view life from a much higher plain

For carrying me along with your tales

Which help to finally silence my wails

The Giver

A phone call with news that took away all her breath

Scant details, but announced her big brothers’ death

She had got to know him once, long ago

He killed a man and was in prison six states below

They had random visits thanks to a sister by half

She enjoyed their time, their talks, shared laughs

A trip to pick up mail brought tears and a strain

The small, heavy box was marked “Human Remains”

She drove out in late evening, camped alone in the dark

Got to a crossroads and made the left choice to park

With tie-died blanket, photos, letters, and beer

She created a shrine, centered on the box that held the one she held dear

She wailed – truly wailed – and wrote him one last time

While the ravens and river otter watched, bees busy at hive

She slowly unveiled his remains and waded into the river

And in gentle arches she released him back to The Giver

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