My arms knew music,
the feel of a violin
my fingers knew the places
where the notes sang well
My arms have forgotten
the weight of a violin
but know well the comforting feel
of a baby in their cradle
My fingers have forgotten
the melodies they played
but they have been quite adept
at eliciting childish giggles
Maybe one day
when the baby becomes a man
my hands will remember
the curves of a violin again.
You opened that door, too soon,
and floated like a butterfly
who saw flowers after a long long while.
Come back, grace our table once more.
Let us raise our tequila glass
for what we have become.
We’ll drink deep of the life
behind and before us.
We’ll pucker up at the sour lemon
in our tongue talking about loves
we lost or never had.
We’ll fill our plates
with stories life weaved,
while we bridge the gap
over the years we missed.
Then we will sing, with abandon,
burst our lungs,
while the videoke plays
our youth’s anthem.
We’ll bask in the warmth of friendship,
our shared memories holding close
our separate paths and the promise
of meeting again before long.
But your journey was over too soon.
Now we only see your shadow
luminous in the light of dawn,
waiting at the end of our road.
Anthony Desmond of DVERSE wants us to write Haphazard Poetry for Poetics. He gave us a list of 12 words to use in our poem. Shadow, Luminous, Door immediately jumper at me (along with Glass, Plate, warmth). I just heard news that a good friend and sorority sister died yesterday. It’s been more than a decade since we last met. A few years ago, she got sick with cancer. Except for that, I have heard nothing more about her condition. It seemed that she kept silent about her pains and our friends respected that, until yesterday when news of her passing was announced to us through Facebook. This is what I’ll say to her had I been able to visit her wake.
Thank you for coming by. Please check out the Pub when you get the chance.
All things pass
and at the end of the day
I have nothing but the memories
that I wish I could sift through
to separate the good from the bad
as though I can
separate the rose from its thorns.
So I go on
balancing between joy and regret
waiting for time
to make them all a dream.
out of their hiding places;
lines and squiggles stared at me
showed me little hands
struggling to mark their world.
Creased souvenirs unfolded
stories tucked away in the corners
of ages past.
“What now?” they asked.
Fond sentiments flooded through me
while Clutter overflowing
threatened my space.
I closed my eyes
absorbed the memories
gritted my teeth
and tossed the memorials
into waiting wastebaskets.
Fallen leaves lay on the ground
scattered, like days shed and left behind
brilliant on those mornings illuminated
by the sun; sad remains many other times
crumbling, disintegrating in silence
until they are one with the ground.
For DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Open Link Night.
I hope all of you are doing beautifully well. It’s been a bit busier in our little corner since the weekend. We have guests at home and a birthday party to boot. I was on my Cinderella-before-the-prince mode cooking and cleaning up a storm. Well, just for accuracy, I am always in that Cinderella mode. My fairy Godmother did not tell me that my Ever After meant shedding the golden slippers and wearing an apron instead. 🙂
Have a great day to you all. Thank you for coming by.
The sentry keeps its vigil over life from ages past Can it remain steadfast when time wouldn’t stand still?
Against its shell, now fragile Decay attacked and marched The sentry keeps its vigil over life from ages past.
Oblivion is a bitter pill to memories once held fast Has Time caught up at last? Though cast off and forgotten, still the sentry keeps its vigil.
This is a response to Mag 145‘s above picture prompt . For thischallenge, I tried to make a Rondel . I am not sure whether the poem makes any sense or not, or whether it conforms to the standard for the poetry form. One thing I am certain, it is difficult to do things differently than I used to. Because of the rather tight rhyming scheme, it seemed to me that suddenly, there were not enough words to choose from. Before I embarked on this crazy idea to do a Rondel, I had more or less an idea how I would develop the poem. The plan disappeared once I realized I had to fit the words in the rhyming pattern. Yet, even though I bellyache, I am happy to have tried a new thing because today, I learned something new. 🙂
Thank you for coming by and for your comments. Have a great day/evening to you all. 🙂 Do visit the for great responses. One of them, Other Mary, who wrote a wonderfully haughty and queenly piece, was my inspiration to try Rondel.