monotonous are the hours, even with daylight descending so rapidly. And yet how fleet the river of that last voyage. Already you are miles away. Just then, too, Green Dragon* turned tail and vanished. Some of its firelight fixed in glycerine; reds fading to old blood but the yellows almost vibrant.
November came and wrapped memory in wool. A shawl of shock. Now it roars and pads like a lost lion cub. Free-flying foliage storms the skies. Birds scatter in crumbling clusters across cross winds. I am torn in all directions.
awareness has returned, crisp as frosting in tear ducts, just when the calendar is turning winter blue. The roses we gathered along the way are fragrant recollections -tipped with thorn. Still there is the constancy of green, on holly and yew.
*My potted Acer palmatum var dissectum ‘Seiryu – translates as Green Dragon. Also known as Emerald lace
An acrostic piece of ‘proesy’ in memory of Martin – for Toni’s prompt about changes and the sadness around them – employing that wistful Japanese phrase: Mono no Aware
And linking up with others in the Poetry Pantry
I love that constancy of green, on holly and yew. Winter blessings.
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Something to cling to in these earth shattering weeks
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Beautiful writing. I like the feeling of rise and levelling (relatively) of emotions. The second stanza is stunning.
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thank you for lovely feedback Janice – there is certainly movement in this piece – stirring at times!
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That transition from November into the green of yew and holly seems like a relief from all the mourning of November… love it as usual
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A touch of optimism throughout it all – thank you for your appreciation Björn
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Laura, i read this again and finally understood when i saw your note on the sidebar about the sudden death of your husband. I am so very sorry. Yes, first shock. The image of the birds scattering in all directions – the lost lion cub – yes. These are hard days. I will be thinking of you.
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Most of my poetry now is about the loss of Martin – trying to let go through these writings and other practices – the poem tracks have far I have come which makes me feel further apart – thank you for noticing
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Thank heaven we can write our way through these hard passages. Grief is the hardest. Such a big absence becomes an actual presence. I remember the first year of the worst grief of my life. It was tough. Thinking of you, and i will read your poems with more attention. I cant believe i didnt register your loss before this. I am sorry.
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Thank you for your concerns Sherry – It is not easy keeping up with the personal of the poet’s life when primarily we are sharing our writings – the sidebar is a gentle reminder as to why my poems are about grief and loss.
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This is so tender and poignant. I am so sorry for your loss, Laura. I’ll be remembering you in my prayers. I especially like; “The roses we gathered along the way are fragrant recollections -tipped with thorn.” Sending you love, light and gentle hugs. 💐
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It was the mention of yew that brought the roses in (as per the old adage) and at this stage all the lovely memories are hurtful – but it will not always be so. You are very kind Sanaa – many thanks
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Thank you for this. As someone who has lost a loved one, I recognized your words, or what might have been behind them. Keep on writing because each poem is a necessary part of the healing process, both yours and your reader’s. It is the very best we poets have to offer. I felt this one deeply because the healing never really ends and is always needed. Love and gentle hugs,
Elizabeth
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2018/12/02/me/
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What a truly thoughtful comment Elizabeth – so good to have you back in the world of words and poetry. My writings are the best I can do to express grief for my husband and companion of 26 years – it is 2 months to the day and feels like an awful distance.
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That’s because it is a jagged, ragged rip in the softer fabric of our existence. Each poem honors that reality, becomes a stitch applied to that rupture. Not just yours but for anyone who lives within its awareness. The world, our world, yours, mine is always in need of whatever healing words we can find and offer. For now, I have found mine in the language of colors. I can only hope the words will be as friendly.
Elizabeth
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‘a stitch to the rupture’ -I can certainly make much of those words Elizabeth – thank you – and keep kaleidoscoping!
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It seems wistfulness is penetrating blogs today. This was such a clever work of an acrostic for this phrase and I felt your sorrow deeply with each phrase that evoked raw emotions…..’reds fading’, ‘I am torn in all directions’, ‘fragrant recollections -tipped with thorn’. Wrapping you in warm hugs as winter descends and continues for you my friend.
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The constancy of your friendship I am always grateful for, Donna – reaching out across continents and the blogosphere. It is rather like your skeins of geese!
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Yes it seems love can fly across great distances.
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Thank God!
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A clever lovely poem, I enjoyed reading this very much.
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Thank you Vicki – I appreciate your appreciation
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This was a pleasure to read 🙂
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thank you
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😊
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Constancy. So important in this life, and often so hard to find!
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especially now
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I like the way you are sharing your journey of mourning. I feel the sadness in the words, working toward acceptance and the knowledge that green always returns. Blessings to you on your journey.
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it is a back and forth journey Mary – between black and green and I thank you for your blessings
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A journey between black and green. Something to ponder on.
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“Now it roars and pads like a lost lion cub. Free-flying foliage storms the skies. Birds scatter in crumbling clusters across cross winds. I am torn in all directions.”….Beautiful, touching images here. Life seems to be made of storm, thorns yet there is the vision of green assuring us of peace and strength. And thanks for the fragrance of memories. So sorry for your loss Laura. And I absolutely have no words.
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Beautifully expressed!
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When reality starts to hit…
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Glad you saw much in the imagery Sumana- I know you know all too well of loss and how the vision of green keeps us going ahead somehow
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What a delightful read this is Laura, and as you say wistful.
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it is wistful in its woe
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