Monday, November 18, 2024

WE PLACED FLOWERS

 


We placed flowers on your grave.
We placed them for you, weeping.
We placed flowers on your grave.
Tell me, are you sleeping?

Are you above the clouds now?
Where did your spirit soar?
The song you sang was too short,
and we wanted so much more.

We placed red roses there for love,
crushed petals on your bed.
There were yellow ones for farewell,
but we'll hold you close instead.

We placed flowers on your grave.
We placed them for you, weeping.
We placed flowers on your grave.
I plucked one petal, for safekeeping.


for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On: Say It With Flowers

My grandson, Josh, left for the spirit world on November 4th. The family is devastated. He was such an amazing human. Gentle and kind. 

A Homeward Song

 


You sang me a song of winter gardens
in the long ago. You sang me a song 
of small creatures in their dens
hiding beneath the snow.

You sang me a necklace of thornberries
as December winds blew cold.
The lighted windows of our home
pierced the darkness, shining gold.

I am older now, with empty pockets,
my heart touched by winter frost.
I sing you back a homeward song,
so you won't be forever lost.


for Shay's Word List. I am travelling today (again!) so will return visits as I am able.

Friday, November 15, 2024

I Thought We Had Forever

 


Once he was a little boy, cloud-dreaming,
under a summer sky. A wolf-dog
walked beside him, along the trail, and I
thought that we had forever
as the seasons came and went,
thought grandmas always died first,
that that rule was heaven-sent.

He departed softly as a dove
without a single cry,
leaving us to mourn the loss -
his heartbreaking goodbye.

We laid you to rest under a November sky
filled with the clouds you watched,
summer-dreaming on the lawn.
Your brother sang your favourite song.
We can't believe
that you are gone.

My grandson Josh departed this life on November 4th. We are all devastated. He was gentle, loving, kind, sensitive. He loved animals, especially his kitties.

JOSH BARNES - August 28, 1992 to November 4, 2024

Josh and I spent time together when he was a child, as kids and grandmas do. He and I and my big black wolf-dog, Pup, often walked along the log train trails that weave through Port Alberni. Josh appreciated the beauty of nature even as a child.

He loved animals. When he was little, he had a collection of stuffed monkeys and always had one in his hand. He loved the family dogs and cats, especially his own kitties as an adult: Casper, Noodle and Pancake.

He was always very kind, especially to animals and the small children I used to babysit. He loved to read, and especially loved the Shonen Jump comic book series about Japan. Every Friday, if he had had a “successful” week at school, I would pick him up and we would go buy the latest issue. Of course, he always had a successful week, because I am a soft touch, like most grandmas. From these books, he expressed an interest in learning Japanese and taught himself a few key phrases.

Josh was eight around that time. One afternoon, we went down to the Quay to get some ice cream. The woman vendor was a person of Japanese ancestry and Josh walked up to her and greeted her with “Nee ha.” The woman was so surprised and pleased that a young child not only had taken the time and interest to learn that phrase, but was also able to offer it to her unprompted. She was impressed. That was Josh.

As he grew up, that same regard for people was there – his kindness, the ability to accept people as they were, where they were at. He was a known and friendly figure at the Quay, and he loved his job at the Starboard Grill. He loved his motorcycle and taking long drives out into the countryside.

He had a quirky sense of humour, a kind and gentle heart, and the sweetest smile. Every tribe has its magic person, and Josh was ours. He adored his family, especially his mom and siblings, and we adored him.

I have a memory of him one time when we were saying goodbye. Our eyes meet – his so clear, honest and open. Smiling, he half-turns away, to go inside, then looks back. He raises his hand in a motionless farewell that stops time for a moment that will live in my heart forever – our beautiful boy, poised as lightly as a dancer on the earth, lovingly saying goodbye.

Nothing but tears and a whole lot of love and grief in our family since he left us.

Tuesday, November 12, 2024

OF YOU, IN MEMORY


Of you, in memory, I dream
summer days that did not end -
the coo of doves at daybreak,
blue sky over your shoulder,
your dark eyes looking down; a smile,
my heart open wide with wonder.
My summer of love
had arrived.

Of you, in memory, I sing
the song of a distant heart
that dared not open,
from whom I unwillingly
but inevitably had to part.

ploughing the garden under,
along with all my hopes

Of you, in memory, I recall
the coo of doves at daybreak,
how you opened
the door of the cage
and out she (we) flew.

No answer is an answer
to the questions of the heart

Of you, in memory, I sing
every time I hear
the dove’s soft coo.

we ploughed the garden under,
along with all my hopes

Of you, in memory, I wonder,
sifting through all
I have come to know today:
what would have happened
had I been brave enough
and whole enough
to stay?

But no answer was your answer
to the questions of my heart
and so unwillingly but inevitably,
the time came for us to part.


My attempt at a fugue. A fugue, like the fugue in music, repeats a refrain or a theme throughout the poem.

Only one year, and one summer of love this lifetime. Too short. But fourteen years of love with Pup more than made up for it.


Monday, November 4, 2024

THIRTEEN YEARS GONE



I feel it coming, this poem I will birth
on the thirteenth year of your passing
from this earth.
So close to tears, I realized, of course, it is you.
Just how much and how long I would miss you,
back then I never knew.
Like a burrowing owl, you have lodged in my heart,
like a prickle-burr that hurts,
from which I do not want to part.
You live there, night and day,
in a corner labeled Grief.
From the missing and your-being-gone
there is no relief.

Ghost voices whispering on the wind,
and wolf howls in my dreams,
you look right into my sad heart;
your wolf-eyes gleam.

The barn owl says to light the lamp
on the windowsill for you.
But how can you find me in this place
that was never home to you?

I'm homeless in the universe, alone, without you
and I fear you're out there somewhere,
feeling homeless too.
Lead me back, wolf-spirit,
to the land we loved together.
I will walk there again
as we did in any weather.

When I can hear the rhythm of
the turning of the tides,
my spirit may still find a home
once more, where peace abides.
Maybe your ghost shadow
will accompany the hours
as I walk forever beaches that,
for a time, were ours.


*** *** ***

I went to bed and slept, and then they came:
four beautiful, snowy white wolves
who already knew my name.
The first one came close,
oh! the beauty of her face!
pushed a friendly nose towards me,
as I stood still, accepting,
but respectful of her space.
We were at the beach, the wolves and I.
A visitation from the spirit-world
of the not-alive,
and from deep in my spirit,
which needs both wolves and ocean waves
to thrive,
because it has never been enough
simply to survive.
The barn owl called sleepily
in the early light to wake me.
Four white wolves live within me now,
never to forsake me.

And you?
big, black, laughing, hilarious
creature of the dawn?
You live in my heart
forever, now.
You are never
fully gone.

for my open link at What's Going On?

Amazing to think it has been thirteen years. He lived by my side for fourteen wild and wonderful years. I miss him always. I wrote this poem on one of the early anniversaries of his death. Then, I was living in Port Alberni, where he and I mourned our lost beaches together. I am back here, now, which has been a great blessing. I hope his spirit lopes along the shore with me on my beach walks.

I have many favourites among my poems, but this one goes the deepest.

A Dubious Commentary on Impossible Politics



In the darkest hour before dawn,
 a roving reporter from the underworld
recites a satisfactory report
to the swarthy warlord:

Earthlings are behaving as anticipated.
(They chuckle in amusement.)
Like lemmings, they quietly approach the cliff,
seeming not to understand
a watery grave lies beneath.

Where are the light-bearers
with far-sighted vision,
in these troubled times?

The capricious unreliable narrator,
peering down from Planet Earth in alarm,
interjects:
Let's send in some help!
A small brown warm-hearted bird appears,
off to the side,
holding a sign under her wing:
Wait! Stop!
There is Another Way.


for Shay at the Word List - where the words took me on this nerve-wracking day before the election. 


Sunday, November 3, 2024

DONA NOBIS PACEM: Holding the Light

 


WHEN FEELING HOMELESS,
READ THIS POEM

Fellow Traveler,
do you feel like you've been
searching for home
for a lifetime?

Are you out there in the dark
storm-tossed and weary,
buffeted by winds,
with still such a long way to go?

Come home.
I'll put a candle on the sill
to light your way.
There's a fire in the hearth
and a soup-pot slow-simmering.
Comfort and kind words await.
You need only arrive.

Watch for the light
to guide your steps.
Hold it in your heart,
against the darkness 
and unkind words swirling
around our heads.

Come home, weary traveler,
to the only home
there ever is ~
home to yourself
once again,
filled with your light
and your peace.
Together, let's light up
this tired old world
and make it shine.



We need all the light we can get, my friends, against dark forces that would divide us. But millions of bright lights can create a lot of shine.  Canada is standing with its neighbour, praying that the light will outshine the darkness.

Thanks, Mimi, for years of these blogblasts for peace. Maybe this is the year?