Tag Grief

Burn Up

freyathewriter 37 Comments

The summer of ’13
won’t trip off the tongue,
Not like ’69, when
Bryan Adams was young

I’m a true late developer
in meter and rhyme,
Weaving word tapestries
rescued my mind

It helped me mourn
in the harsh summer heat,
Released my emotions
A skill, bitter-sweet

My dad was a poet
amongst other passions,
To write was his rescue
in a stark world re-fashioned

I’ve now learned that life
can’t really be planned,
But donning my poet’s hat
softens the demands

of a journey turned left
when it ‘should’ have forked right,
I can bleed on the page
without horror or fright

at my raw, stark emotions
which should not be suppressed –
They are what make me
create my art at its best.

Burn Up

*****

This week, Anthony, our host at dVerse Poetics wants us to investigate and ponder on what has made us the poets we are today – was there a turning point long ago, or was the event more recent?

For me, it’s an easy question to answer – the death of my dad last summer. It released something in me, made me much less afraid of expressing my emotions, which I used to keep locked up in a vault. For some reason I chose to rhyme this one – the first verse dictated the pattern, I’m afraid. Blame it on Bryan Adams!

I hope you enjoy my offering – and please do join us! The pub opens at 3pm EST, and I’ll be linking up later. As is my new way, the audio is now also available, which is a minor miracle, since until late morning today, i had lost my voice! Read all about my sickness – here!

Silk

freyathewriter 46 Comments

And so the tissue-thin skin
covering the scar, sealing in the hurt and anger and grief
and burning, scalding emptiness
has stood well against the test of time.
Or so I think.
A famous sportsman has a skiing accident
A businessman dies in a London underground station
Another throws himself from a tall building in the City
A famous actor’s life is cut short – snap – just like that
And the delicate strands of the healing unravel, tear, gape.
The wound is opened, the bloody depths are revealed.
My throat stretches and aches to keep back the tears
and my eyes burn.
I am reminded that grief is not a path from A to B.
It meanders, traverses peaks and chasms, navigates switchbacks and
launches me into the air.
My parachute is gone, only ropes snaking my ankles –
freefall beckons and just, just when I think I will hit the ground
I am yanked back, ligaments and muscles tearing with effort
to just keep going.
It’s the hardest work I ever imagined.
Because that sorrow, that jolt, that catch of breath isn’t for those who have died, or are unaware.
It is for the souls left behind, making new patterns out of just getting through
wanting it to be temporary-permanent-over-never to end.
What’s left on the other side?
It is this. Just this.

******

This week, I am releasing some of my pent-up emotions. Life is filled with light and shade. This is how it is, sometimes.

Please do visit the dVerse Open Link Night for examples of some very fine poetry indeed – and be inspired… Join us! I will link up to this week’s post later today.

Phoenix

freyathewriter 65 Comments

Who am I asking at the top of the tree
Self-affirmation does nothing for me
I can’t trust my instincts, they’re hay-wired and shot
The message is scrambled, my brain’s lost the plot

I’m down on the floor, scraping in dirt
A nod of acceptance won’t really hurt
You in your turret, with glories to share
Tell me, a poor wretch, that you do really care

For it is cold down below in the shade of your heart
I live for attention, I am broken apart
When you look to the beauty of others in sight
Ignoring my mewling, I cower with fright

That I have lost you forever, I am lost in the dark
The future is bleak, empty and stark
I must go on without you, craft self-belief
Strength, hope and glory must rise from this grief.

******

This is me, putting myself in the shoes of one of the people in my work in progress novel, in the form of a poem. So don’t worry, I am not broken-hearted so soon into the New Year! Of course, there are elements of my personal history woven throughout, but this is essentially a piece of fiction. The main female character has lost her brother, has been left responsible for the safety of her little sister and the love of her life has taken a path she can no longer follow. Personal stories don’t change much in quasi-apocalyptic worlds, it’s the catalysts that are different….

Hurrah for the return of Open Link Night on dVerse. I will be linking up later on. Come one, come all and join in!