Tag Grief

Constancy – Friday Fictioneers

freyathewriter 43 Comments

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

adamickes-boardwalk

Copyright – Adam Ickes

“Dad! Dad! Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Freya, loud and clear.”
“You’re so far away, on the other side. I can hardly see you.”
“I can see you just fine, sweetheart.”
“I wish –”
“I know. But wishing won’t change anything. It will just make you miserable. I want you to be happy.”
“We all miss you, Dad.”
“You don’t need to miss me. I am always here. Right here, where it matters.”

A gentle warmth enveloped me, even though the air was chill this morning.
Yes. My Dad is always here.

 —-

Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!

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.