it poemed through your death…

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…the colour from her dream,

it drained right through dimensions,

the syntax, and the stream.

Euphonious not to mourners

the notes unveiled in grief,

but heaven writes the harmonies

and descants of relief.

A young life filled with purpose

and at peace with what was granted,

the air broke into sombre tears

and drenched our hearts enchanted.

Our thoughts fragmented bloodlessly,

were washed and torn united,

we shared the pieces silently

a mosaic of love requited.

We will never be the same again

for all the death we’ve seen,

my heart is full of unexplained

it bows to deeds unseen…

 

(This was the recessional song for young Tyler’s funeral. That whole experience was incredibly moving. We hadn’t been in touch for a while as he had moved away. His Dad shared the story that a couple of weeks before his accident, his girlfriend had a dream that he died. She was, of course, really upset by it and discussed it with Tyler. He talked about what he would want if it actually happened. One of the things that came out was that he wanted to be an organ donor. So as of that morning, his Dad informed everyone during his tribute, that two men had been saved by his kidneys…)

life and death issues. mainly life. except when they’re about death. which is also life. maybe life/death

I was planning to write the best poem in the history of the known universe tonight, naturally, right? {*life goals*. This point made even more credible and significant by these squiggly brackets.}
Then I started drinking this rum and coke and it seems the poem fell into the glass {because, where else would it be?}
I thought I could drink down to it. Turns out, I am still kind of naive about a few things…

Oh, and I have been preoccupied thinking about a funeral my husband will be conducting tomorrow, for a popular member of this community, who was only 20.
(He was on his dirt bike, competing, when his bike stalled, mid air.)
It’s going to be a huge funeral.

There’s a lot going on right now, it seems (- Captain Obvious.)
So I did what any normal human would do when slapped in the face with all angles sharpened on profundity: I started going through my Facebook page.
I’m not on there as much as I used to be, and it was delightful to find this post. I thought I would share it. Because, there are some amazing people in this world. I am beyond grateful that I know some of them.  And is there a greater gift than people who just get you? And that we are all in this together?

’13 August 2016 ·
Is beginning to wonder about my reputation …last night as I arrived at our church quiz night, and at our Monday evening bible study, the first thing I hear is, “You’re here! We didn’t want to start drinking till you got here…” (Wait, did I say I was worried about my reputation…that moment has passed 😉 )’

 

Insecurities and other such fun things…

David Ruston

So I was merrily going my way along WordPress today, and then I saw a quote, (egads I hear you say)… it reminded me of something that had been on my mind, but wasn’t sure I should divulge.

I live, mostly, in a general state of bewilderment, and it has been such a wonderful surprise to discover the amount of other people on WP in such a state. I feel like we should be stretching out a big picnic blanket and then oohing and aahing over all of the somewhat disgustingly interesting food we would bring out of our baskets. (Just a forewarning…my food will be a perfect candidate for those “Nailed It” comparison posts on social media I never get sick of.) Plus, you will have to be patient with me as I fight urges to hug everyone, which I do constantly when I read your gut wrenching, devastatingly glorious writing.
But I think I am digressing, I’m not sure.

So, darn, I can’t remember what this post was going to be about…
Hopefully this very motivating link will remind me:
Poetic Motivations at Davy D’s blog. (Thanks again Davy.)

Oh yes, whenever I read interesting things about different writers and they start listing their favourite writers and influences, I am reminded of what a vast, empty space my mind can be, with maybe a cute kitten bumbling through every now and then. (Or maybe it’s a very small space, overcrowded by cute kittens, distracting me from not so cute things)…And also because my memory is awful.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to read. It’s just that I have so much trouble focussing, that I honestly haven’t done it very much in recent years. (Plus, any reading I have done has been theological by some rather brilliant friends.) So, I have been rather embarrassed about my neglect, but this quote reminded me of why I have more recently decided that I won’t be. Plus, it was never my goal to sound or read like anyone else.

Ugh, where am I going with this?

I think I have actually found a point…I am more than profoundly moved and inspired by the talent on WordPress. What a wonderfully therapeutic experience it has been. I am so grateful. Plus, you have reminded me of things that were buried, very deeply.

And to my remarkable parents, who are well educated and just plain intelligent.

And I am grateful to an old friend who planted the seed for me to start blogging in the first place. He doesn’t think I should give him any credit. (Maybe it’s because he has read my stuff hahaha.) But I am grateful to him more than I can ever say. In fact, through all of the years I have known him, he has busted out a few insightful things that have really helped me. He most likely doesn’t even remember. It doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I know I have said this before, but thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

he didn’t look up

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he was afraid

the tenacious unspoken
in a thousand fragments
would crash down on him.

he was amazed the trees
were not bowed from the weight
of that thing they couldn’t say

and he remembered that song…

he looked up at the changing of the colours to paradox –
now weightless.

it would be the paper cuts

 

it was her

Every way she listened, there were endings.
This weight of pretense had to be shifted.
It was time to chord change them out of the cliché, and even though his music always made her dance, his shadows were not hers.

So she did what he didn’t expect. She brought the pig’s heart.
And they drank the wine…

inversely stack shaped (take two)

An old one, but a favourite. And I’m feeling a little old today.

~

old-photos-089

I always thought
I could stack up my regrets
and one day

I’d dig out that really helpful ‘ten steps to freaking whatever’ instruction manual

and while holding it in one hand
kick the stack over

into the wind.

What a gorgeous day…
this self sufficiency shit really works.

But that’s my parallel universe.

I so love it there.

I ponder it
from the bottom of this deep hole my regrets
have dug…

 

what are the words for mothers’ day?

ponders myself

a day that’s already bled in
(365 times Hallmark)
to our psyches’ movement
through mountained plains

perpetual translating
of the countenanced refrains
that echo
after birth.

The depth obfuscated, unsung
fully,
we play punctiliously with undone
really
and the cardium layers hold hands
tightly
tremoring with the ache
of a thousand forms.

For nothing is what it seams
we wake from wrongly so/ewn dreams
in that cold sweat of generations
we honour with strange venerations
those undeserving.

And there’s no way to finish these lines
kaleidoscoped mystery of a child’s eyes…

 

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My beautiful mother in the 60s before she was married. Always loving on everyone. One of my biggest regrets was never recording her angelic singing voice. She won’t let me now! We’ll see…

 

So…

here’s the thing…

I have some health issues that need tending to, and like a lot of people, it has been easy to neglect taking care of myself for a while now.
But I really have to.
So I am not going to be stalking all of you beloved WP talents as much as I normally would. And that’s A LOT. And I have done it unapologetically, because, quite frankly, you are amazing. And inspiring. And I cannot put into words how you have enhanced my life. So, thank you. From the deepest, and sometimes, weirdest, recesses of my heart 😛

I need to be spending some serious time “dancing” with my in-the-flesh life. I am trying to live by these wise guidelines, and I thought I would share them 😉

Prear's wedding Easter Sunday.jpg

I will still be around, just not as much.

And this song goes here because, well, I love it.

Oh and this.
Let’s dance. xo

anamnesis

pebbles in knees blood drips in degrees depending on motion and height of the trees in ways so undaunting and friendships unhaunting we packed up our bags and rode from the taunting within our own mind we pedalled the wind and the twist of the road from siblings unkind

golden the handshakes we never knew everyone did it so we did not too the secrets unfolded then refolded wrong and how we laughed later when hearing that song and promises broken before they were made the pastor’s son kindly spiked lemonade but we did ask nicely and he knew us from…
a minor detail and life moved along and dancing all night our friendship stayed strong…

Wow.
This was so not like the other door she had opened. This was better.
She had never appreciated their persuasiveness as much as she did now. She made a mental note to thank them after the recording.
Seriously.
Best game show ever.

“I’ll take these.”

she left

She heard them! The chords of cogency. Crescendoing. Pulsating with hermeneutical harmonies that filled her with a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. The clarity descending in notes that burst her heart.
Her heart. That’s what she could feel!

She was right to leave.
And she didn’t just walk. She floated. On the weightless tears of Another.
He turned her back, from face down, and she left forever.
Right out of that grave.

 

“adam and eve”

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crocheting continuity

in the weaving waves

of sound sublimity,

 

the embossing of the

dimensional trinity

 

by the cerebral unity,

 

g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted

to heights of clarity –

 

the aching symphony

 

scaffolding the wholing

of peace.

O…Here Flies Her

Oh my goodness, how I love this…

Poet Girl Em

Very carefully

he stepped on the ladder in a display of unbridled uncertainty

in reach of the divine dangling overhead like a jeweled crown

twinkling truth in morse code (he never did learn)

remaining a mystery that he would never solve

like her

the earthbound fearless lover deathly afraid of heights

who can dream bigger than the sky

but never dares

to fly

…there is always some boulder in the path

he won’t climb

some barrier blocking access

he won’t destroy

despite his strength (that he never has used)

wilting chances eroded by time

fruit of opportunity spoiled on the vine

o…here flies her

within grasp but for one step

one more step

how it must feel to see her so close away

so very away

so near

and her

the one that stands out by trying to blend in

because she can’t 

because

when all the other stars shine, she…

View original post 37 more words

you’ll never be home

It was the first time she had come back to his space. They walked into the room where he didn’t do much living and he showed her the place. On the wall. Where he strung up the different shades of pathos.
In the right order, of course.

She was more impressed than she thought she would be.
And now she was scared.
Scared that he knew right where to put her.

 

(NB. there may be an expletive in here)

sometimes two darks make a light

he wore his strobe light

to precise his own sight

incising surreal

into a savoury byte

 

she wore lightning cloud

it fireworked the shroud

the diaphanous shield

of cataract crowd

 

they met late one noon

not a decade too soon

their time in half life

when lit by half moon

 

they laughingly shied

and together they cried

out relief of their failing

when hopeless they tried

 

synchronisation

endless illumination

their timing instead

fuelled love’s fascination-

 

of dark with the dark

love’s company,

divine spark…

 

it’s January second afterall…

Confused by the vapid voices of renewal that languided out of the new year cake,
they did used to jump, she recalled,
she thought it was time to do something.
Something had to be done with this pile of the unsaid.

She searched for that wisdom file, the one they’d all spilt wine on at the new year’s eve party. How they laughed. Such a good night.

She wondered if she should rake through those coals over there. Some were still smoldering.

Melancholied by the cold she had a better idea.
As she cast the pile onto her knitting needles, she was struck by how colourful it was…

 

 

She climbed for the view…

Old photos 1273.jpg

over all of the pieces

missing in action

 

but so far from field

she was too high to collect

any meaningful

 

semblance of early

configurations of their

mis-relationship.

 

She had to go down

and follow the river bed,

to lie underneath,

 

to wait in the depths.

Heart broken by the sight and

defibrillated

 

by the breath of One

already there, bleeding out

poem’s syllables.