Motor is nudged to life in an arcing motion, arm pulling
cord. Vein-furrowed hands grasp the fishing pole,
slinging bait and tackle beneath one arm. Another
arcing motion, arm casting pole. Bobber spins
a helicopter course through sun-nipped air.
Loons call a soulful greeting, the moans of centuries'
separated lovers in mourning. Time trickles through
the notes of their songs. Meanwhile, bass glide
with their loud-mouthed sass,
perch and blue gills play tag. A lone
blue heron bills the murky depths for lunch.
Man baits his hook, readjusts his hat. Eyes squint
into the dark undertones of the pond. He casts
his pole, a fermata in the song of the loons. When this man
was a boy, he drove the spires of the Rocky Mountains,
frequented the five-and-dime, nuzzled
a nightly routine next to his wife, who mothered six children, raised
in a house far away from any pond. They bustled themselves
along through school as well as any fish pouncing on
supper-flies, dabbing napkins to the corners
of their mouths. This fisherman sliced their steak, knotted their ties,
held their hands crossing the street
until they were old enough to
mail college resumes,
pay for first dates.
thirty-two years and here is Granddad,
with his child's toddler learning to walk in the bowed
belly of his fishing boat. They stumble,
clanging clumsy feet on the metal, frightening
the fish away. The old man bends low,
a note in the song of the loons.
He places the toddler on two feet, guides her hesitant steps,
each pendulum swing carrying them a moment
further toward separation. In twelve years, the grown child
bends low, a note in the song of the loons, to kiss her
grandfather's forehead, as he casts off on his helicopter
course of afterlife.
Copyright © Kelsey May | Year Posted 2014
Our Last Song
As a little girl:
my grandpa.. would
take me to Ruby Tuesday’s..
there we would share two straw’s
as he slurped
and I sipped a Shirley Temple..
for me he would always ask
the bartender to bring a bowl
brimful of cherries so I could eat them on my own..
“Isn't she the cutest little thing?” he would say
to the bartender, who smiled and nodded,
and continued pouring more gentleman there glasses of
wine, or whisky.
the cubes of ice would stir in my glass cup
that became too cold for my little palms to
touch.. so he would wrap napkins around
the glass.. so we could spend eternity- right there
at that little table.
while we waited for our food to come,
mine always being a peanut-butter and
strawberry jelly Sandwich.. although it was
simple and could be made at home-
he never questioned it.. he only smiled.
his bear hugs.. they still
remain.. the cozy feeling
of being in his arm’s was a reassuring moment
I could never forget.
We hummed “Let it Be, by John Lennon.”
he always sang the low parts…
with his deep baritone voice.
and my verse was always,
“And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me.
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”
my soft sound was melodic.. and touching when we both sang together in harmony.
strumming the chords of peace
while we sang together.
and forevermore my grandpa..
who always used a maine accent..
and wore a smile of glee upon his face…
who loved me unconditionally..
like no love I had ever known;
will always be in my memories..
from one kindred spirit to another
I know my message to you grandpa..
will ring thru your ear’s in the chords
of our last song.
Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017
Standing there alone at the graveyard
Calling yearning memories of the past
Can't stop his tears , that's truly hard
She has gone , What a dote didn't last!
Shrouded by thoughts , downcast eye
Her voice is still beating in his ear
She was singing like a bird under the clear sky
When he played harp and waterfall was near
Can't forget these hoary promises to be together
On good and bad , To make love their guide
He just wanna say he will be loyal forever
Until his soul meets her on the other side
By: A. Badr
Copyright © Ahmed badr | Year Posted 2014
silly grandpa, singing a song
and a dance with a wink
twirled into a pink coverlet,
In a blink tried to think!
did forget twenty he was not.
red-faced he doublethink,
Venus, he’d be, goddess of love
he’d dance and please in pink
a little girl giggled and danced
with her funny grandpa
singing in her pink coverlet
holding his heart to ma
sing a song in sweet harmony
to the stars up above
cheerfully sung eternally
to the goddess of love
moving holding his heart to ma
twirled, stepping and tripping
on edge of the pink coverlet
took a tumble springing
a cast from waist to his shoulder
with a wink and a grin
fading blue bruises marked his face
he won’t do that again
Rhyme 2 & 4 Rhyme in each stanza
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
Pops when you was first diagnosed I was in disbelief,
The cancer that they found made it hard to breathe.
An endless beacon of strength kept you fighting each day,
Only to watch you fade before death took you away.
A year later, still can’t believe you are gone,
As I continue reciting the lyrics to your favorite song.
My greatest fear came true the day you passed away,
Now I know it’s that I’ll never see you again.
I reminisce over our silent conversations,
And the deficit in I Love You’s,
But revel in the life that carries on in your little osito
Ese cabron has a piece of grandpa’s heart.
My only regret is that on this day
My tears won’t reach your grave
So grab a beer, pull up a chair,
I hope you have front row seats to hear Freddie sing today.
Copyright © Robert Roy | Year Posted 2017
When crashed to earth that mightful Oak
O'er that long. a'frighted night,
His tears did so high homage speak
As to slumber passed his Light...
Shoulders small, no more host to hands
Whose tender firmness helmed
Their little lad, and life, and joy
In eternal love enrealmed.
Trudged he stoic, that deserts waste
With heart beset and stormed,
His soul a stone-turned edifice
Then from parched dreams was formed
A kind but spectral silohette
Up from the nighted sands,
As boyish eyes enlivened gazed
Once more upon old hands...
They held a heart which yet did beat,
"For you, my bonnie Dan!
I'll love you from Forever, boy,
And in Love, live as a man..."
Ah, but dream, for now he wakes-
But so curious a thing!
For in his grasp there rests some sand
Which waking did not bring!
Copyright © Michael Grugan | Year Posted 2008
in the strong heart society there is one known as the buffalo eye. do the sweat lodge ceremony to speak with the stone turtle. you will see the Lakota sun dance at first light with the canupa. All my relatives... walk the red road, listen to the black road. call to grandfather spotted eagle among the natural people, and red eagle will allow elk trail to use the fire of no end
Copyright © mark lake | Year Posted 2018