Posts tagged ‘death’

March 12, 2018

No Poems Today… Just Ramblings.

I wanted to write a poem.  Get out some of these feelings that I know are building up inside of me.  That is what happens when I don’t write for a long time.  And, I should know, because I routinely go through long periods of time, where I let this happen.  I don’t write… I don’t process or deal with things.  And, here I am again.

I looked at some drafts of poems that I had started, and thought they might be a good place to start…  but, it’s been too long.  They no longer make sense to me.  So,  I decided I would write a brand new poem.  But, I just stared at the screen.  It’s been too long, and I don’t know where to start.  So much has been happening in my life.  Problems with my own health, yet again. But, those things don’t seem all that major anymore considering all that is happening around me to those I care about and love. Yet, nothing that I seem to be able to put into a poem.  Nothing that wants to see the light of day,  or that I can use to make something beautiful, or to just try to make any sense.  Not yet.

Which, really, is quite fitting now that I think about it.  Because not much is making sense.  How do you make sense of your 20 year old nephew’s death from an accidental drug over-dose?  You don’t.  How do you help those you love, your brother and your sister-in-law/best friend,  get over the loss of their youngest child, and their only son?  You don’t.  Some things you just can’t get over.  I know this.  So, I’ve been trying my best just to help them cope…  but, I am not even sure how to do that.

I have always been a good empathizer.  Is that a word?  My spell-checker says “no”, but,

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April 11, 2014

Happy Sibling Day ?

siblingsSo, it’s “Siblings Day”? Never heard of it before. I’m sure my brothers will agree that there are way too many new holidays these days. Must be Hallmark trying to improve sales or something. Sheesh. We can barely keep track of the essential ones. Still, all these posts on Facebook about siblings made me reflect on my relationship with my brothers, and I felt like writing about it a bit. Only one of my brothers is on Facebook. Ironically, he’s the one who until fairly recently was pretty computer illiterate, and I figured he always would be. But, that’s one of the things about brothers. They can surprise you. For example, you can go your whole teenage life thinking that a brother hates you, and then you grow up and realize that they actually always did care.

When I was a kid, it seemed I had one big brother who let me hang out with him, and in the process taught me how to do everything I wasn’t supposed to do. Man, we had some fun though. Then, I had my oldest big brother that would get upset with me for doing those things, and tell on me. Because my oldest brother seemed to love to see me get in trouble and to NOT have fun, I assumed he didn’t like me much. Of course, I was wrong. He was just very protective. I realized that the older I became. When it came down to it, both of my brothers were always there for me, and still are. I always knew that. It’s a good feeling.

Growing up, I was always trying to be one of the boys. Except, I never really was. For starters because nobody was allowed to hurt me. My father would allow my brothers to kill each other – but, they were not allowed to hit me. Of course, they still did sometimes, rarely… but, they sure as hell didn’t let anyone else mess with me. My oldest brother was probably the most protective. He claims this is because he was the one to get in trouble if/when any of us got in trouble. I’ll buy that. The only one more scary-protective of me than my oldest brother was my Dad… and Dad could be pretty scary. After-all, he did regularly say things like, “I’ll rip your arm off and beat you over the head with the bloody end of it!”.

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April 1, 2014

Shadow Talk

I’m not ready
to talk about you just yet
or the fact that your gone
but not really gone.

I can’t summon words,
dark or remorseful enough,
that express this, or allow
undeserved escape

from questions suppressed
in fear of answers that may be
too difficult to face.
Like fabled sea monsters
that might lurk below
in shadows, they grow.

~ smj


Collective Soul – In Between

July 31, 2012

Bees. Why did it have to be bees?

Bees. Great. Now, there’s bees in my new temporary office.   I don’t know how they are getting in and they clearly do not know how to get out. They go towards the light of my window and beat their buzzing little heads against it relentlessly until they collapse and join the other dead bee-bodies on the window sill. How horrific it must be for them. Seeing freedom, but not quite able to reach it, while below all they see is the carcasses of their friends.  If only they had the capacity to grasp the concept of invisible glass walls.  Then, they could take the time to find a way out… but they don’t get it.  Poor little bastards.  They just keep buzzing, and banging their heads, and dropping dead.

I wonder if it’s their little wings or their little hearts that give out first? It must be their wings, actually, because they wind up crawling around for a while before they finally curl up and join their brethren in defeat.  I wonder if their queen misses them? I wonder if they start blaming the bee they followed in there, or if they curse their own stupidity for venturing into unknown territory?  I wonder if in their last hours they beat themselves up internally so badly that their little egos wind up as bruised and battered as their little heads.  Do bees have egos?  Somehow, I doubt it – but then again that may just be my own, much larger, ego speaking.

I wish I could open the window for them and let them out. I would if I could, but,

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December 14, 2011

“Without Farewell” and “What Men Call Life”

I didn’t write these next two poems: “Without Farewell” and “What Men Call Life”, but, wanted to share…  They were actually written by my grandfather.  The first poem, “Without Farewell”,  he wrote early on, in 1932…  perhaps, about one of  his own parents or ?

PAWithout Farewell

Some part who part without farewell,
not knowing tis the hour.
Without the tale they longed to tell.
Without one fading flow’r.

And some will grieve, who parted so,
some secret in the breast,
they never told – and never know,
how greatly they are blessed.

They never met for some last time –
the last hour was so sweet –
as all the hours hope makes sublime
when mortals part to meet.

There is no memory of tears,
no shadow on the past.

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