Dead Tired

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Finally, the end of the longest day of my life was over. The tears of the past months now free to flow yet strangely absent. This old house quieter than ever, the door closing behind me and the true sense of emptiness was now being felt as I never thought possible.

Leading up to my wife’s death, friends, family and of course my daughter were always close by and the grief shared by all. Now the house is dark as I stand in the hallway not wanting to turn on the light for fear of seeing the reality of finally being alone.

The hall was brighter just this morning as the sun rose and my daughter and I went off to the funeral parlor for Liz, my wife’s final service before our trip to the cemetery. The morning was crisp and clear, a distant smell of lilac hung in the air as the cars lined up for the procession.

The route chosen was considerably longer than necessary but a twisty country road in full spring bloom is a sight to be enjoyed, even if it to be the last. The funeral itself was as beautiful as anyone could expect, the morning mist lingered in the new day and the birds serenaded in the background as hundreds of mourners passed to show love, friendship and respect for a truly remarkable person. A woman whom I loved deeply for many, many years but now feeling I never fully acknowledged as a person or professional and was regretting having not expressed it more when she was alive. I hoped she knew of my love and respect for her as a mother and friend, as a physician, scientist and teacher and of course as a very lucky man’s wife.

The next few days a similar sad and hazy blur, I just roamed from one room to the next recalling all the little things that happened in each one over the thirty years living here. Each had a story, a laugh or tear, all where ours, our colors, our furniture, our books and our clutter. Each and every piece a memory and all memories of an instant in time to never be repeated. A life time that was a life’s time in the making and yet gone in an instant.

Life goes on I’m told and I would like to believe that. I’m sure for many it does. For some however it’s just not meant to be. I realized this when the crumpled remains of my car was dumped in my driveway minutes ago. And I never got to say goodbye.

The End

sck061817 / dft

All in the Frame

Yesterday I felt abstract.
But the picture’s still intact.
Colors and shapes are in line.
But the edges are all mine.
~
The final piece isn’t always neat.
Things get trimmed or to delete.
But when it’s shaded no one knows.
We choose if it’s dull or glows.
~
Though life’s mistakes we cannot hide.
It’s sink or swim to ride the tide.
Life’s ever changing each day begun.
Unlike the seascape, either fog or sun.

~*~
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A Holiday Plan

It all starts when the turkey is done.
A month flies by while on the run.
I don’t mean to be a Scrooge or Grinch,
but I can be either in a pinch.
~
I don’t really hate the holidays,
but time could be spent in better ways.
We cut down trees to place on stands.
We’ll slap on balls with eager hands.
~
We cover it in lights to watch it glow.
Then when droopy to the curb it’ll go.
We wrap up gifts to pile high,
then the bill comes in and we all cry.
~
We’ll fill up bags with excess waste,
adding last year’s things we bought in haste.
So maybe next year we can stop and pause.
And maybe give a vacation to old Santa Claus.

~*~
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Click Clack Kiss Smack

Online dating, what a trip,
in the Arctic I’d rather strip.
It’s a place without written rules.
And the poet’s craft bears no jewels.
~
A sea of faces afloat on a screen,
choices made virtually unseen.
Definitions there have little meaning,
optimistic opinions largely leaning.
~
While kisses await when on track,
misplaced words lead to a smack.
The high and lows beyond compare,
all’s to expose if you dare.
~
Much can be learned about ourselves,
surprises abound when one delves.
While at this stage of life options few,
reality’s virtue’s now less true.
~
Fates may collide with a single click,
or hopes shattered just as quick.
Now looking forward and thinking back,
my head types with a clack.

~*~
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Post Conceptualization

Conceptualization is not relief.
Realization is not belief.
Hearts broken mend with time and care.
But minds always feel the ghostly snare.
~
Belief of spirit’s free to perceive.
Relief from spirit’s free to conceive.
Time’s broken with a half hearts beat.
Half or whole minds do trick and treat.
~
Demons follow, dreams lead.
Choices choose and hungers feed.
Giving more is to receive.
Getting less is no relief.
~
Belief in love costs to share.
Relief of heartache spirits dare.
Hearts retell with timely ticks.
Minds can conjure more treats than tricks.

~*~
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Feelings Too

I love the way you talk anytime you speak.
I love the way you walk and your strength when I’m weak.
I love your disposition and the way that you feel.
I love to envision and know it’s real.

I love the time when you’re near.
I settle for rhyme when you’re not here.
I’d love to erase our times of sorrow.
I’d love to chase our dreams of tomorrow.

I love these days feeling for you.
I love the ways you feel it too.

~*~
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A Short Story of Happenstance

With a tripod stance plus three legged pants the three foot boy didn’t dare to dance.
Then a two foot girl crossed paths by chance and this five foot pair fated gladly for wonderful romance. While the girl’s six foot mom felt only positive’s enhance. Her seven foot dad, negative and mad, pounded the boy into trance. Minus teeth but divided not, away the happy couple did eventually prance.

~ the
End ~

~*~
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Naked and Alone

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Beginnings and ends, naked and alone,
all’s to know then to atone.
Little wings in an Age of Aquarius,
forever is a question if forever curious.

Or never ask and never know –
which direction you should go.
Up or down or in-between-
or never go then never seen.

And never seen is never known –
never known naked and alone.

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sck071317 / MAOA

Feathers of Time

*
With a bow to fateful inspiration, I shall cast skyward, beyond the heavens and to the heart of a most divine princess. Though this arrow will not pierce nor blemish all that is pure. For it will levitate before her command, awaiting thoughtful reply. It is then thy arrow shall propel and traverse, returning to my waiting, wanting and out stretched hand. And with this most sacred and singular of tools I trust and follow; deserts and plains, rivers, forests, seas and frozen peaks where only the arrow dare soar, I do confidently tread. Upon the highest pinnacle I will see the light and be guided. Drawn by the heat of shared passions, we attract and we shall meld and mold, we will unite as one and become the bow, two parts equal. Tied with care and precision we are flexible and strong. The arrow does no wrong.

~*~

sck052817

Poetic Ironies of Introduction

To whom it may inspire

To love a poet; pasts can be revised, futures imagined with exuberance and love, ah yes love, our’s sculpted in stone as the eternal benchmark for all others to hopelessly seek. The now will be forever envisioned in each other’s eyes and made more beautiful. Time will never simply tick away, but be the metronome of our heartbeats in sync. Though sadness inevitable for it is this love of life, love of love and love of words to express that may seemingly leave too little time for true love, it is not I assure you, for time can concentrate, intensify and encapsulate. Be my ecstasy and I forever yours. Two timers need not apply as heart breakers divide and multiply, others free to indulge and imagine with me a mutual double fantasy. Seeking inspiration, passions and enthusiasm with enthused inspired passion. Innuendo not implied for it is implicit. Thus is me, I conclude.

Hopelessly Hopeful…

 

sck052517

A Thanksgiving Verse

With eyes to the heavens, feet on the earth, hands to our hearts and with our souls radiating from within in all directions, everywhere, to everyone, feel the unity of flesh, spirit and our minds; for we are many, we are one.

Let us rejoice and pay tribute to our forebears, their memory roams among us. It is their remains beneath our feet, covered by the soils of our homage. For it was they who suffered, toiled and worked tirelessly and proudly. It was they who fought the harshest of elements and the temptations of giving up. It was they, whose only desire was to build a home, where once nothing, home for their children, our children and the future.

Let us give our thanks and praise to those that lived before us, to the men and women who gave all and asked nothing in return but the hope, a dream that what they’ve done was good.

Sck1985