morning fog
settles like a cloak
at the waters edge
cries of seagulls
piercing the gloom
as we all wait for the sun
Pat
6/11/22
For Eugis prompt ” Morning Fog”
To participate or just read go here
morning fog
settles like a cloak
at the waters edge
cries of seagulls
piercing the gloom
as we all wait for the sun
Pat
6/11/22
For Eugis prompt ” Morning Fog”
To participate or just read go here
under cherry blossoms
a gathering
of all ages
Pat
4/16/22
For the you
that is through me
when will this worrying end?
After we have passed through time, I suppose
Pat
under blue gray skies
as twilight takes its leave
and day tumbles into night
a crow flies across a sliver of a moon –
I am lost in thoughts of you…
and our moon gazing nights
Pat
2/09/22
the old man
sandals in hand
strolls through
the middle of the meadow
wiggling his toes
as he goes
he smiles
a private smile
rediscovering
one could see
he was perched in that place
where memories were kind,
a good place to linger
on this, a new day
Pat
8/11/21
Ida is an old soul and the fiercest person I know. She was blessed with an abundance of that ‘no nonsense and why the hell not’, attitude.
Conversations this time had awakened deep feelings.
What must it be like going somewhere, and not know that feeling of sticking out like a sore thumb. Or, not having to endure the stares and the under- their- breaths mutterings.
Such feelings were never really shared out loud, they didn’t have to. They knew, being in the skin they were in. Ida too, had experienced this. On one occasion she was heard to say,
‘I didn’t know I was black till I came to America’. She would not elaborate.
But this too she tackled this with her attitude of “no, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife*.” This attitude had served her well; and serves her still.
Pat
7/20/21
*Zora Neale Hurston
in morning light
the lines on my face jostle
for position –
I am grateful
Pat
7/12/21
I never could see my life without him
But there stood this broken trust
Shoving past all that I had come to know would only lead to regrets piled atop regrets –
never again feeling safe
As great as this love was
I knew me
It would not end well
So, I let it go in the most awful way
Never to see, or speak to him for ever
Time is not always the healer
she purports to be
Years later when we could again speak
He asked.
I explained.
That was not about you, I said.
That was about keeping that thread I was hanging by intact.
Pat R
6/22/21
Isn’t it pretty to think so.
–The Sun Also Rises (1926). Ernest Hemingway
Over at dVerse we are to write a poem based on a chosen quote from Hemingways work. I chose the above.
Linking to dVerse Poets Pub where Lisa is hosting Poetics -“One true sentence” . To read other entries go here
“We were talking a while ago” , her eyes searched my face.
“About papa”, I said. She had asked me where he was. I said he wasn’t here just now.
“Yes”, she nodded. and smiled, her chain of thought had reconnected.
“I loved him so much” , she said. “He was always in my corner. He would fight for me”.
Those words had never crossed her lips before. At least, never in my presence.
“I’ve never heard you say that before”, I said. “You’ve only always talked about what a pain in the ass he was” I said, as those words left me, it felt like a reflex action.
“You both were a pain in the ass to each other”, I quickly interjected. as a correction. I am shocked to hear there was love there.
“He did tell me that he loved you” , she seemed as surprised to hear it, just as I was way back when he said it.
In all the years I’ve been on this earth, all I’ve ever seen between these two was fighting. At times, it felt like they were fighting to the death. In my young mind I wondered what would happen to me and my sisters and brother if one of them killed the other.
Now here she sits, in a confused state laced with moments of clarity, professing her love for my father who no longer among the living. I didn’t have the heart to tell her this earlier, today of all days. It was Fathers Day. And she was treading the waters of unfinished business.
Pat
6/20/21
Plumes of smoke follow her
swirling as she moves from room to room
“Smudging mean spirits”, she explains
As she moves about, there were whispered words escaping her lips. His young mind wonders,
“Who is she talking to?”
He’d best be well behaved today.
Pat
6/15/21
For dVerse Piers Pub where Mish is hosting and the word to be included is “Smudge”. It is Quadrille Monday. To join or read go here.
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