Today’s prompt, a Two-for-Tuesday prompt, comes from Sarah Bartlett.
Here are Sarah’s prompts:
- Write a gathering poem.
- Write a letting go poem.
Robert’s attempt a gathering and letting go poem:
“South”
One-by-one, the birds abandon their nests
to gather along power lines and tree branches
from which they launch into the sky. First,
in small groups, but then, they grow larger
and larger until, like a wave, they swell and
swirl before letting go for something new.
*****
Thank you, Sarah, for sharing your prompts! Click here to learn more about Sarah.
Click here if you prefer sharing your poems on the WD Forum.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Click here to learn more about the Business of Being a Writer!
Letting Go
Nineteen inches and seven pounds, eight ounces
They swaddled you in soft blue blanket and placed you in my arms.
You were our second and six years younger than your brother.
What a gift of joy you brought to our life.
Full of giggles and so content to just be anywhere near big bro.
We were making plans for starting savings accounts for both of you.
One night when you were a little over five months,
I checked on you while sleeping on vacation, and you were blue.
I yelled and gave you mouth to mouth until paramedics came.
They reached for you and I had to release you into their care.
I never held you again, but I know who holds you now.
My mother soon followed you to heaven and I am sure
She sings the same songs to you she sang to me.
LET-GO
How many times have I let-go,
opened my hand, released the hold,
let-go the make believe?
Did I, long ago, say Good-bye
and turn away to hid the lie?
Let-go, useless to cleave.
Trying hard to hold on to tight
to what is not mine, is not right.
Let-go what cannot mend.
How many dreams were in the night
that dispersed in the morning light?
Let-go, my heart defend.
Life is in today, not in past,
Good-by should end what cannot last.
Time to grow…
Let-go the promise, let-go the dream
Let-go what was not as it seem.
Let-go.
Day 20
Prompt: Gather or let go
Gather and Release
Gather memories, some bitter, mostly sweet.
Release grudges, bitter thoughts, harsh judgment.
Gather friends, in all walks: work, neighbors, family, leisure.
Release those who bring out the worst, who are hostile, who hurt.
Gather skills, experiences, new ideas, books.
Release the clutter of a lifetime, to bless another’s life.
Gather praise, encouragement, joy, peace, and love.
Release pain, harm, criticism.
What you gather, what you release,
define who you become.
Smallish Bits
If sadness permeates the room
don’t take the proffered cup of gloom.
Instead just gather up your wits
and find the good in smallish bits.
Let go of what you cannot fix.
Consider: karma’s little tricks
just signify a loser quits,
so find the good in smallish bits.
The smallish bits equate to days
which can make sorrow but a phase
of life. It runs in starts and fits
so find the good in smallish bits.
Take inspiration from its seed.
Then nurture it. It will succeed.
Time’s short. Don’t waste it on obits
and find the good in smallish bits.
###
Gone For Good
(Day 20)
How you lied
broke my heart,
never did play your part.
How I grieved
how I sighed,
at your many hurtful lies.
How you laughed
at my woeful face
turned away, showed no grace.
And now I smile
forget those lies,
find new love, in another’s eyes
The Gathering and Letting Go
It slips through the flap of my mind.
Then the thought flickers in my heart.
Both meet on the steps of the will.
Clean closet.
Break up with the ones that aren’t right.
Let charity carry you in its case.
Back and forth the hangers go, as if angels could not resist swinging.
breadcrumbs
at the thunderous sound
of pounding boots
and scuffless shoes
shuffling from cubicles
and the factory floor
to the doors
between this world
and the one that lies
just outside
beyond the fragments
of thought and intent-
when simple-minded masses
pass each other
without reason-
collect your things
forgetting not to leave
your hopes behind
as you walk away
so they may guide
your return journey
in the morning
Caught up!
A prayer poem…
Thanksgiving Feast
Thank you, Lord, for this food we are about to eat.
It looks delicious, from its head down to its feet.
I’ll have a limb. Don’t worry, it’s got four
and it won’t be using them no more.
In gratitude
The Turkeys
MOKELUMNE
Beyond trailhead, the way’s cut
into rock and soil layered with centuries
of needle-fall, veined with roots,
maybe bones. Wind
gives leverage, and that uncanny
sound of archival records,
nostalgic as 1930s German jazz. The past’s
grooved into granite
for a storm to play: history beyond
recorded memory, if you
could unravel its riffs and chords,
its gathering of elemental
voices
and its letting go.
I’m glad that I came back and got to read this!
Fallen Kings
You gather the kings among us,
before the wall, break bread
before dawn –
You gather the kings among us,
gallant, insouciant, astride
destriers -
You gather them,
dash against sun-soaked spears
stitch pennants,
into the bloodied sky
bear the iron sword
harvest a bitter spring
fell friend and foe
from hearth and home
upon your shoulders
heard in hushed voices
you gather them among us
Yippee!!! Last again!!
http://whatnotshop.blogspot.com/2012/11/thanksgiving-and-littered-two-poems.html
Today’s poem combines the gathering prompt here with the imagine prompt at Carry On Tuesday… I hope you will like it. http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/11/20/365-creativity-project-day-316/
November 20
Gathering and Letting Go
Shuttle free in the time of war
Neith will weave blood and fire
Letting go the hopes of peace
The ancient one walks the night
Gathering threads
Shedding truths so that
None can find their way
Through weft and warp
Shuttle free in the time of war
Walk away from blood and fire
Gather dream threads
Binding truths so
That we can find our way
Through weft and warp
To the other side of peace
Gathering
There’s something about the way
summer smells like ripe peaches,
sun-dappled and warm in wicker
baskets beneath shade trees in an
orderly orchard, and something
about the way a crop of apples
perfumes the autumn air with the
scent of fine wine and the look
of jewels, garnets and topazes and
rubies, in piles and stacks—can
you stack apples?—and something
about the way snow glints in the
bright, cold sunshine, gathered
into rounded figures with branches
for arms and a worn top hat from
somebody’s closet, smelling like
mothballs, and something about
the way an armful of daffodils
dances yellow-gold in a wrought
white vase, that reminds me of you.
Why
my daughter asks why
we’re gathered here dressed in black
why her daddy lies
so still in the wooden box
I wish I had an answer
Life
We spend
years
gathering
only
to let go
of
everything.
OKAY. here is the “kinder, gentler” rewrite of my CHOICES poem posted above somewhere, with my slip tucked nicely out of sight.
CHOICES
You pull them back and let them go
your weapons fly like little stones,
the slingshot of a crazy child
while me, I’m much more meek and mild.
I’ll never understand, I s’pose,
but that’s just how this marriage goes:
I love to play ‘round with my words
you love to play your Angry Birds.
I just caught myself actually holding my breath, waiting to see if my post would go through. Lol.
i don’t think you’re the only one! lol!
Taking in the Wash
It is summer, and I am seven.
My mother is still young. We
are in the near field, the one
kept mowed, behind the thick
cape of spruces that buffers
the north side of the house.
All summer my mother hangs
the wash outside to dry. She
does this because we are poor,
but I do not know this yet. I run
between the lines where sweet
bed sheets have begun to flap.
I have never been in a sailboat,
have not even read about it, so I
pretend to be a Thracian princess
in a temple of laundered air and
light.
My mother takes down the nimble
clothes, and drops the pins for me
to gather into the basket. I clip
them onto my fingertips, my skinny
arms, my nose. My mother lowers
her arms to rest her tired shoulders,
then looks west at the thunderheads
building. She stretches her whole
self, her full wingspan, to quickly fold
the sheets, before the sky lets go.
“in a temple of laundered air and light” Lovely!
Good NIght!
I’m letting go of all of this, just for a brief brief spell
I have to tarry off to bed, I don’t get up so well.
And if I stay up any longer trying to compose
I’ll be sitting at my desk trying not to doze!
Winters Last Breath
The tree bends beneath my window under a gray blanket. Even after the snow, there is a leaf that is still clinging to its branch, holding on to its last bit of life, not wanting to let go.
The branches move and the leaf stands still, as if by moving it would lose it’s will to remain.
I wonder when that moment will be and if I’ll capture it; the moment it circles the ground before it comes to rest taking Winter’s last breath.
I don’t know about y’all…but if I am going to do this challenge again…..I’m gonna need some babysitting provided! Goodness….how are y’all keeping up? I so close to bribing one of my kids to write me a poem…but sadly, only one is old enough to write yet.
Fleeting Moment
Eye to eye
I just passed by
The wind was just too strong.
A kiss goodbye
too late for why
Shouldn’t have stayed so long.
Blue meets blue
two missing two
So torn by this wrong.
Beautiful smile
please stay awhile
No longer cherish the song.
Let it go
no need to show
Love for one that’s gone.
By and Bye
Sea always meets sky
And storms become the calm.
Good NIght!
I’m letting go of all of this, just for a brief brief spell
I have to tarry off to bed, I don’t get up so well.
And if I stay up any longer trying to compose
I’ll be sitting at my desk trying not to doze!
I hear you Roxy! I don’t know how these speed demons get stuff posted so fast. My brain needs all day to come up with a response to the prompt, so I’m always posting super late. Glad to have a fellow night owl!
Rorybore: Ah, small children! That’s tough indeed! i can barely keep up with the challenges and i have no job, no little kids…so consider yourself amazing for turning out anything at all.
I gathered all your thoughts and stored them in a box so that one day when your mind got old, they would not be lost.
But the box stored in the basement had succumb to terrible floods, the years they just kept rolling in erasing all they could.
I tried to save your memories and tucked them clean away hoping that when years had past I’d pull them out someday.
But age came rapidly and quick with a thunderous raging roar. If only I could have picked, which houses it ignore.
Nov 20
Gathering to Let Go
We gather our thoughts
To let go our distress
We gather our love
To let go our hate
We gather our family
To hold on to place
We gather our past
To let go our mess
We gather our faith
To let go our fate
We gather our Savior
To hold on to grace
annual harvest -
our rakes gathering up leaves
make curbside mountains
just one windy day
deconstructs all our hard work -
mountains to molehills
GARNER MEMORIES AS YE MAY
My once-upon-a-goal was to score tickets
to take my dad to Columbus to spend a crisp autumn Saturday
with about a-hundred-and-five-thousand Buckeye fans
gathered at “The Shoe.”
We would relish the drum cadence,
as “The Best Damn Band in the Land” enters the stadium.
I’d anticipate misty eyes
as they perform Script Ohio to Robert Planquette’s
Le Régiment de Sambre et Meuse.
Silly? Perhaps.
But the misty eyes now come from the fact that
I waited too long.
Dad is still “with us,” but can no longer physically handle the walk, the steps, sitting so long in the stands, sitting so long period, etc. Why didn’t I make sure it happened some time in the last 30+ years? I have no answer.
Oh, Marie. This is just a gorgeous gathering of words that strike right to the heart of letting go. Love you, friend.
Thanks so much, De. Love you back — you know that.
How to Write
Bet
low.
Set
Flow.
Let
Go.
.
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/11/20/fluff/
Happy Tuesday.
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/11/20/naming-stars/
Fall Leaves
Leaves that fall make good stacks
of yellows, reds and browns
during calm weather
to gather these remnants to see,
for the young, the old and me.
When children jump into them,
they scatter,
and we gather them once again
to compost or mulch
or let the winds disperse,
for nothing can stay the same,
once they fall to earth.
Hmmmm….i finally did my ever-so-serious glosa. i hope i can put in the link correctly.
http://lifesinterruptions.blogspot.com/2012/11/poeming-halfway-house.html
HAH!! I DID IT!
JULIE!!! I left you a comment – I hope it shows up. LOVE THIS!!
i spent so long on it and was so triumphant, and then the fam was less than impressed, but i was impressed enough for everyone.
My husband said “that was kind of hard to follow, but did you manage all those details?” to which i said yes (i think) and that at least impressed him. LOL!
The Gathering
This tightly knit circle
heads bowed for sustenance,
hands clasped in community,
structural support;
pillars & underpinnings,
family & friends, gathered all
together to bolster, buttress,
fortify, for one
last farewell
Wow. Though the ending is sad, the living before it was obviously grand. Well penned, my friend.
My poem is integral with a picture, and you will find it here: http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2012/11/20/a-gathering-letting-go-haiga/
LETTING GO
LET-GO
How many times have I let-go,
opened my hand, released the hold,
let-go the make believe?
Did I, long ago, say Good-bye
and turn away to hid the lie?
Let-go, useless to cleave.
Trying hard to hold on to tight
to what is not mine, is not right.
Let-go what cannot mend.
How many dreams were in the night
that dispersed in the morning light?
Let-go, my heart defend.
Life is in today, not in past,
Good-by should end what cannot last.
Time to grow…
Let-go the promise, let-go the dream
Let-go what was not as it seem.
Let-go
Nov 20: write a gathering or a letting go poem
The Blathering
Let us all listen to our family fable
as we gather round the holiday table.
We’ll pretend not to notice that Shelley and Bill
won’t speak to each other. Lucky looks cannot kill.
Who will win the fight to the right to the knife?
Carving the bird brings out posturing, strife.
Jack’s sure to tell us his mother’s was better.
Mom’s ten years gone, or I’d make him go get her.
At last come the slices of fresh pumpkin pie,
heave a sigh of relief and bid all good-bye.
Margaret Fieland
“The Blathering”… BWAHahahahahahaaaaa! oh thank you for that laugh! Great poem.
Poetic Asides November challenge – Day 20
Write a gathering poem.
Write a letting go poem.
Meeting Needs
We rummaged through closets
gathering up good clothing
that we would not use again,
the kind that follows you
from house to house,
season to season. Shirts,
pants, sweaters, dresses,
coats, and jackets. Packed
them and shipped to friends
who had lost all but their
lives and pets, in a hurricane.
Heartbreak, anguish, almost
violation of life. How painless
to let go of possessions
you do not need to foster
a new life for friends.
White Wings of Winter
Winter comes diving in
and wraps her arms
around us, cocooning us
in peaceful splendor.
When daylight cracks,
we walk the frosted garden,
a barren landscape
washed clean
and given new clothes.
We linger,
not wanting to let go
of the magic surrounding us;
but haunted by ordinary things,
we return home…but,
not without a few longing glances…
trying to freeze the magic as a snapshot
within my mind.
delicious taste and smells
consumed by hungry omnivores
nap time
Minnesota Migration
We say goodbye
to the Loons
(no, not Aunt Edna and Uncle Bob),
the Cranes
(no, his first name is not Frasier),
the Blue birds
(no more rainbows till Spring)…
and we turn around
and say Hello
to the Snowy Owls
(if we’re lucky),
the Snow Buntings
(if they sit still long enough),
and the Tundra Swan
(as the move south from the Arctic).
Even in the North, we have birds
basking in our southern climes.
i’m really drawn to this poem and your style.
FISHING
I remember when you would reel me in
and leisurely devour me
while now it’s more a moment-
ary Peck on the cheek.
Catch and release.
I miss those early days
This little piece says a great deal, Julie. Creative word play as well. Well done!
Thank you, Marie Elena!
Hmm. A novel in 6 short lines. Nice.
Her hands are old and scarred and weathered,
but she still can use them
before they tire out.
She is bent and stooped,
a common malady for a woman her age…
in her position.
It wasn’t long ago she used to sit on the lap
of her mother
in the crisp autumn mornings
and listen to her songs
melt with the songs of the birds in the trees.
She used to thing that her mother was a raven,
black
and wise,
and never afraid to use her talons.
But that was long ago.
As she stoops over the golden wheat,
she reminds herself
that in a few short
hours, she’ll be asleep once again.
She had a boy when she was 16.
He was taken to quickly to receive his name,
but she always knew it would be Komnan.
It was a family name
built on family values.
He, however, would not be family.
He was torn from her arms by the man
who used to be his father.
They didn’t share any words.
The sun gets especially hot around 2,
at least the time her bones has.
She smiles to herself.
Oh, the twists and turns of a life lived out of her control.
He was a man,
like all the other men before him.
He had a pretty smile and his eyes
were just crooked enough to still be called perfect.
She was taken with the man
who said he loved her.
She knew it was only because he was
stuck inside her,
but it still felt good to hear someone say it.
Afterward, she cried.
He left into the steeled night,
the shadows created by the moon enveloping him fully.
He didn’t return until she had the child.
It wasn’t him, though.
It was a blackened facsimile of the man she once knew.
It was pure hatred that boiled into his flesh.
He didn’t say a word.
She usually gets nostalgic at this time of year.
It must be the changing of the leaves,
the chill in the air
driving you inside to the hearth where you are left with little more than your memories
and a hot cup of tea.
She reminds herself that the days are
going to get shorter.
She’ll have more time to sleep and
perhaps,
finally,
rest.
JR, I have no words. Thank you for this incredibly beautiful, moving piece. I’m in tears.
Letting Go
What she meant
to do
to me
when she did it
I don’t
really know
but I really suspect.
The intent
to hurt
was worse than the deed,
since I
never meant
any harm to her.
In the end,
however,
It doesn’t matter.
To carry
her farther
would do me no good.
Though she’ll
never know,
I now forgive her.
Like a balloon
released
I am let go.
“Like a balloon/released/i am let go” Love that image. Such a difficult concept for so many to grasp, that in our forgiving others, WE are the ones who receive freedom.
CHOICES
You pull them back and let them go
your weapons fly like little stones
in the slingshot of a cranky child
your attitude is far from mild.
I’ll never understand, I s’pose,
but that’s just how this marriage goes
I’ll keep on flinging out my words
while you just play your Angry Birds.
Whoops! This was supposed to be a funny thing where it was really the Angry Birds game that’s the “little stones” as weapons, but it looks like my (freudian) slip is showing. :-/
i may attempt a rewrite!
GEOCACHING
I got here by curiosity – those old ruins clinging
to cliff. Crumbling masonry, free-standing walls
and archways dreaming of collapse – almost lost
under vines. A small pine rooted into shale.
No, it was the dog who brought me. From the back-
seat, he said in Dog, Stop here! Then he pulled
me up stone steps, to the mouth of shafts, sniffing
the history of yesterday, or a hundred years ago –
he wouldn’t say. Then a car pulled up, a man
jumped out, GPS and map in hand. He raced up
stairs, ducked into tunnels, peered into crannies –
for what? A plain glass bottle with a piece of paper
inside, and what looked like buttons. He logged
his name; took his token, left a coin in its place.
Checked his GPS and drove away. Still, I felt
the old broken walls trying to message me,
sending silent percussion waves, stone to ear-
drum. These abandoned ruins were gathering
us all in, not yet ready to let us go. My ears
tingled. What was it that brought me here?
Hah. To borrow a biblical phrase, it sounds like geocaching is the letter of the ruins and that guy is missing the spirit of the ruins.
Letting Go
a decision made
he walks off
long-held breath released
Ooh! good one.
“Stack 45”
I get lox, bagels and just what I wished;
my daughter’s art in my favorite colors;
my folks send a card with a whoopee cush-
ion; my in-laws’ holds a hundred dollars.
My wife also gives me a brand new, plush
messenger bag and hand-sewn pants for dance.
I buy myself a year’s supply of mints
(the ones I prefer), and from the App Store,
Ticket To Ride—now I can play with friends
who live far away. My life fills muchly.
I’ve made improvisation my practice
and language my discipline and family
my priority and spirit my plinth
and gratitude my neighborhood and glee
my tiramisu and play my pillow.
Daily vibrating in grooved mystery,
it’s Me on 45, sides A and B.
Just delicious for the living! Bravo, Daniel, and happy anniversary of your birth!!
Gathering
We stand
by the strand
of highway
between
Ridgway
and Telluride
on a gleaming
day between
heat and chill
looking out
on pastures
green still
and peaks
touched with
snow. A hired
rancher’s tractor
pulls a contraption
that gathers
cut grasses into
rangy rolls.
All the sweet
summer is soon
stored away
to feed winter
stock as surely
as stock earned
in other ways
has been
gathered to hire
a rancher.
So visual and then such an intriguing thought at the end.
Well, this prompting brought on an unexpected sting…grateful, still. Thank you, Sarah…Robert, everyone who words with magical inspirations.
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/11/20/day-twenty-mother-by-blood/
WOW. So well said. i think we might relate…
Thank you, Julie for both the compliment and the commiseration.
FOSTER(ing) LOVE
I swaddled you in blankets
and my love
and soothed your cries away
in my arms
and nestled you close
to my heart
speaking hope and calm and
“you belong”
and walking circles circles.
I felt the need to fill
your soul
with mother love I missed
when young
so when I last would kiss
your face
I’d know hope and calm and
“I Belong”
your heart would carry always.
*we were emergency infant foster care providers for our county for ten years. It reinforced what i’d known all along, that a child doesn’t need to be of your own flesh to belong to your heart. We adopted 2. One of the most amazing experiences of my life.
Your poem is truly affecting Julie…such a testimony of kindness, compassion and true love. Thank you, Julie. ♥
thank you, Hannah! i loved it, though i didn’t always love the sleepless nights at the time! LOL! i’m just glad God could use my own lack of nurturing to drive me to nurture others. Years later i read about how much those early months mean in a child’s development regarding their sense of self and security and was so amazed to realize my heart had known all along.
It IS so amazing how much the heart innately knows.
One of the most beautiful “gathering and letting go” ideas I’ve ever heard. <3 Bless you.
I’ve tried over and over to post a response to you for this one, Julie, but with no luck. I’m determined this time to tell you how impressed I am with both your poem, and your heart. If only the world was filled with more like you.
Success! I don’t even KNOW how many tries this took. Over 20, I’m sure.
AWWW! Thank you sweet ladies, so encouraging! I know people often say “I got more out of it than i gave,” all humble, but i loved the giving and i learned so much about people in different circumstances than mine in the whole process. It’s always hard for me to act like i’ve done something big when i know other foster families who have done it for so many more years and for so many more children, but i know what i did counts too.
And thanks for holding strong against the posting gremlin, Marie Elena.
Pie
1) Preparation
Gathering supplies,
sweet potatoes, apples, flour
pumpkin, mincemeat, cherries
lemon, custard, coconut.
Rolling dough,
filling pie shells
baking
baking
baking
Fragrant scents rising
from the ovens, then
cooling on the counter
lined up circles of
edible bliss.
2) Letting them go
Two to the office
luncheon,
two to go home with
co-workers,
four to the homeless shelter,
and two
to the sergeant in charge
of my soldier-son’s four-day pass for
Thanksgiving.
Just keep three or four to the side
to feed the holiday guests.
Diana Terrill Clark
“Gather and Let Go”
Early within your life,
gather experience
(alike: joys and regrets)
with utmost gusto.
At adulthood’s shadow,
sort them into two sacks.
Label: joys and regrets.
Leave room to welcome in
new additions to each.
Mid-life, take counted stock
of the load you juggle.
Smile at each regret;
thank it for its lessons,
then swiftly let it go.
So, in the twilight days,
all the weight you’ll carry
will include no regrets;
just a life full of joy!
SO wise!
Because it’s what a dragon does
I gather things: opal rings, sea shells
and acorn cups; words whose meanings
contradict; scraps of leather, squares
of silk batik. And leather books with empty pages;
broken chains from graveled parking lots;
the backs of earrings prised with onyx claws,
painstakingly, from sidewalk cracks to heap
and keep beneath my leather wings. I hold–close
as my head, my scales, my aches
and extra pounds–the things my reptile eyes
have read–and haven’t read yet;
dust balls, cat hair, plastic red hotels;
crimson pears, freshwater pearls,
and pork and beans.
i love this! Fanciful.
The Pillars
In dogwood dell,
They spoke in tongues,
Beside the serpents’ den,
And gathered by the river,
Cleansing hearts of mortal sin.
They read of Godly sacrifice,
On altars stained with blood,
Of Moses and his covenant,
Of Noah and the flood,
But most of all, salt pillars,
How they loathed those aberrant souls,
Doomed to hell for feeling things,
O’er which I can’t control.
I tossed and turned,
And still I stirred,
For all they won’t forgive,
And though it was my family,
I knew I had to live,
Apart from them or lose myself,
Or lose his gentle touch,
And never graze the sinews,
Of the man I love so much.
i’ve known parents like that and it’s their loss… the real God is a God of relationships.
Julie, part of me was afraid the poem would come off too stark. While there are a lot of simple people in my family, I actually don’t know any parents like this at all!
Lucky you.
But yes, this is a good picture, really, especially since you aren’t even familiar with people like that! Even MORE impressive!
“The Empty Chair”
At table, next to empty chair
we gather thoughts; give thanks and bear
to muddle through the holiday
and mourn for him who is away;
Missing In Action_ none knows where.
Our wall holds baby pictures there;
Our family remembers; shares.
And here, his dog; ol’ George, he waits
at table next to empty chair.
We raise our glass; the wine is fair.
The food delights mid candle’s flair.
Our hearts let go, but long the day;
a mist of sadness hangs and stays.
I pause, observe ol’ George; aware
at table, next to empty chair.
(Day 20; A Gathering and Letting Go poem for Nov PAD)
Form used: Rondeau (Quintet; Quatrain; Sestet)
Beautifully crafted!
Recycling
Let it go, the story still in
the drop of beer in the bottom
of each bottle. Whisper it out
with water; then imagine how
each empty will tell a story
about you: Did you have
a wild party, or did you drink
all twelve by yourself (and,
if so, in what span of time)?
Imperial red. Milk stout.
The names are stories, too.
The labels. The bottle caps.
Your son likes to gather those,
click them together like gears.
What a thing to let him play with,
but there’s no denying that
each one is each one, attractive
to magpies and little boys.
Let him keep them for a while
or a longer while, bordering on
forever, so that a few years
from now, you’ll be surprised
he still has them. How did that
happen? How is it that years pass
and some small things stay with us?
Toss the bottles in the bin in the alley
to be crushed, refilled, made new.
Looking good this morning, all. Wish I could stay, but NaNo has me tied in more knots than an sailors hands. Here’s my contribution for the day.
PAD 20: Two for Tuesday Prompt–Write a gathering poem followed by a letting-go poem.
Bounty
Labor Day is gone away,
All Hallows Eve yet to come,
Giants of the forest await
Gleaners of dropped fruit;
Kids scratching in floor’s litter,
Hunting, playing, harvesting.
Hickories and walnuts tower
Over sibling hazels clumped
Together, protected by numbers,
A yellow-orange ball at forest’s edge.
No Sacrifice
Gathered with pride,
Assembled into treats
For winter’s enjoyment,
Leave home as cookies,
Pies, candies nestled
Within colored boxes,
Tins and on pretty plates
Gathered throughout year’s
Long months for this time.
Can there be anything as
Gratifying as sending one’s
Caring to those who can
Use the cheer at this most
Magnificent time of year?
Pub Team
I only robbed a bank one time in my
life. It was a Nat West I think, by the
off license up the top of Gladstone Road.
It took three months to assemble the team:
a paranoid former taxi driver
a games mistress with a love of firearms
a charming sociopath, an ex-con
who was good with a blow torch, an orphan
we could shove down a ventilation shaft,
a numbers genius who only talked
to himself, and a witty Irishman
no one could work out why he’d been hired.
Sometimes we still meet at the pub to talk
about the old days. We formed a quiz team.
Turns out the Irish guy knows everything.
Chains on my legs
Pictures and papers laying about
Scattered petals of a dying flower
Memories and broken dreams
Chains about my legs
No order at all
A life of chaos
One day at a time
Sorting it all out
Bringing order to past and present
So I can let it all go
To embrace the future
And fly with the eagles
Released from my chains
Gathering
The house full again with laughter,
noisy footfalls along the hall,
down the stairs,
When someone calls Mama,
I am the one who answers
without impatience
Kitchen work becomes
our choreography, stage blocking,
circling around each other
opening then shutting the doors–
percussion of the oven, cabinets,
refrigerator, freezer
Passing the calendar, averting my eyes,
avoiding that old cliché— time flies,
at least when they are here
This gathering more joyful now
since assemble from across four states,
dispensation from workday lives
How did I miss the joy of the noise,
the happy chaos living
all those years under this roof?
As I celebrate our abundance,
I gaze backward through years
I must relive now in days until they go.
gathering
to say goodbye
winter stars
If
Even the lost sheep come home
for his funeral, the ones who rushed
away in anger, reached back now
and then in hope and pain, saying
I love you I’m sorry I cannot help
being me please understand forgive.
At last, he gets what he wanted most,
to have all his children back beneath
his roof, his family together, he
a thickening vapor of sorrow, memory,
he watching them from aloft to see
if they will remember happy times,
if they will eat and laugh together,
if they will reach for one another
when they let him go.
Parted
And now the time has come for us to go our separate ways
We say that we will be together someday soon.
The rhythm of our shared lives has slowed and stopped
You say that this time apart will help our love grow stronger.
Another holiday has come and gone and I remember
How carefully the snowflakes fell between our faces
And landed on the collars of our coats.
The smell of damp wool as we held each other close
While the crows circled above us, jeering “Never!”e
Please don’t let that be the last of you and me
I still sit at my desk each morning
Ready to send the message to tell you I still care
Instead I tell you how I enjoyed the story of your day
And mention how lucky you are to have the sun
Your sports scores are impressive as is the way
You have made new friends and done your share
To help the less –privileged (how fortunate they are
To be so close to you…)…
My friends are still around, but none of them is you-
What I really want to say is to tell you “I love you”
And beg you to come back to me forever.
…
Ah, yes…”none of them is you”. Beautifully stated.
Gathering our minds
Letting go of possessions
Hurricane Sandy
i can’t even imagine….
COMMISSIONING
(a double shadorma)
One by one
they arrived: Moms and
Dads; brothers
and sisters;
friends and family gathered
to say their goodbyes.
One by one
they marched from the room:
brave soldiers,
ready to
serve with pride. We let them go…
from sight, but not thoughts.
gather ye rosebuds
I gathered the waitress
expected him there
every morning
old man
in the corner
writing down his
rosebud
thoughts
himself unsure
whether he was just
holding on
or learning to
let it all
go
This says so much…and i love the ending thought.
“rosebud thoughts” – adore!
Christmas Eve
The lights are bright and the music jolly.
We leave behind a long year of folly
To remember a Gift given with grace
For every nation, tribe, tongue, and race.
The house smells sweetly of bountiful care,
Filled full with good food and hands that prepare.
The pine tree adds to the fragrant delight.
We eat, and we sing, and we talk through the night.
With hearts full of thanks, we all exchange gifts.
Despite the year’s darkness, every heart lifts.
Beautiful, Miss R.
Thanks!
We Gather…
They filter through our being
We gather in their wake
Our portion of their rendering
Fond memories to make
Ephemeral allotment
Yet surging through our grasp
We gather in their aftermath
Fond memories to clasp
Invisible out-pouring
Above, around, beneath
We gather from life’s moment-spring
Fond memories to keep
We Let Go
The tree must relinquish its grandeur
The bloom must surrender its mirth
The ravishing splendor of nature
Soon returns back to the earth
The child must let go of its mother
The mother must release her ‘dears’
For love is a double-edge wonder
Of beautiful laughter and tears
…for just as the wake of moments
Renders love’s gifts in its flow
Its surge is a tender-sweet torment
Of holding and letting go
Thank-you to Robert and all the wonderful and encourager poets and commentators! I have tried many times to thank you or comment personally and have had to give up due to their technical glitch.
Let Me Go
Let me go
rock and roll
eat drink and be merry
for my days here are done
We had some good times
and we had some sad times
but we always got through them
because we were together
And now we must part
for He has called me back
and I cannot deny Him
be at peace, my love.
Let Us Gather
Let us gather
around the fire
and speak of better days
Let us laugh
as we reminisce
back when the world was new
Let us cry
as we remember
those who have gone before us
Let us hold on
and perservere
and live through the pain
Let us live
and love
and just…be.
Wake me up Inside
Come sit closer
let me feel your breath on my neck
kiss me so softly
give my soft lips a soft peck
Wake me up inside
put your hands in mine
undress me with your eyes
you are so fine
Biting the side of your lip
as thoughts run through your mind
imagination overload
heart beats out of time
Wanting lusting
craving at will
for you to gather me up
in your hands of still
Eyes that are brighter
than the sunshine of the day
sparkling like stars
shooting my fear away
Gather me up
in your strong arms of love
hold me to gently
enjoy my love
Love that 5th stanza…absolutely beautiful, all.
COMING AND GOING (Sijo Form)
Family gathers in the embrace and honor of those long passed,
unresolved issues dissolve, burdens carried longer than they should.
Coming together, now everything is good – as it could be.
Children fully grown, home for another lively repast,
fast becoming the next generation toasted in celebration
of lives in remembrance in some semblance of passing.
As leaves fall around
they gather with books in hand
thirsting for knowledge
In the heat of June
to the beat of Elger’s pomp
they march – letting go
Good one ! liked this idea
Succinct and well said! It draws the picture quickly.
COME TOGETHER
Every day in April.
And equally in November.
Each Wednesday in between
we can be seen penning,
proudly poeming. Our ersatz home.
Come one, come all -
come together. Wipe your feet,
close the door and keep your feet
off of the furniture. Write a spell!
Indeed! I love the multiple meanings for “Write a spell!”
Well one thing about insomnia, you get some writing done.
Gathering My Thoughts
Gathering my thoughts like family at a feast
The jolly, the kind, the serious, the quirky
Reacquainting from greatest to least
Gathering my thoughts like family at a feast
Some working through like active yeast
Picking over them like leftover turkey
Gathering my thoughts like family at a feast
The jolly, the kind, the serious, the quirky
Letting Go
Letting go of something or someone
means they no longer have a hold on you.
Releasing them sets yourself free.
Submitting to God’s power
means you’re no longer under theirs.
Good use of sleeplessness! When i write stuff in the night i generally wake up, read it, and wonder “what IS this?” Your brain must be much more organized!
I SEND YOU, MY LOVE
I can hold you no longer.
My resolve is stronger and
rest beckons you. Love has kept
us connected long after life
had rejected you. I had protected you
the best I could. It was good
while it lasted but I am moving
past it. My memories will linger.
But I must send you, my love.
Our time has ended.
Beautiful, Walt!
*sigh*
<3
TOGETHER
All assembled in one place,
and there’ space for every one.
Every color represented,
as if sent to add their flair.
There are white, black, brown.
Yellow, red, pink and argyle.
Argyle? Darn socks!
You knit this one together nicely.