Best Frailness Poems
My daughter had been sickly for a time
The flu, they said, her health will shortly climb
A few days later came the call we dread
I'll ne’er forget the words the doctor said:
"We got your daughter's blood work back today.
I'm not sure there is any easy way
To tell you she has cancer of the blood.
I'm sorry, but the outlook isn't good."
I dropped the phone and couldn't hide the tears
My daughter hadn't yet to reach six years
This had to be a mix up or mistake
But her frailness confirmed this wasn't fake.
We sat down on her bed and held her close
So tiny and so perfect in repose
But before either one of us could speak
She smiled and spoke in a voice small and weak.
"I know you want to tell me that this flu
Will not be getting better, but I knew
See Jesus sent an angel to my bed
Who said I needn't fear what lies ahead."
"I asked about the c-word sometimes used
By mom and daddy talking while I snoozed.
He told me about cancer inside me
And said that heaven very soon I'd see."
And seeing tears, my daughter grabbed our hands
“There's one more thing you need to understand
The angel had a note for both of you:
Said, 'Courage is a mighty C-word too.'"
Where she was laid to rest a stone highlighted by the dew
Reminds me she said, "Courage is a mighty C-Word too."
December 12, 2016
Feeble, a word not often used
in this hi-def, mega bite world,
where almost anything can be done
with the tap of a fingertip,
the aged still feel feeble.
This crackled feeling runs along the rims
of brittle nails
and gray-white strands of hair.
The once svelte figures of maid or man,
now chose more often to crunch and snap,
as ligaments roll unpleasantly over joint heads.
The witty repartee of youth is replaced by a dazed look.
Yes, at this moment,
après gym and post nap
and pre chair massage a wobbling frailness
surrounds me in a weak chicken broth
of feebleness.
fingerless mits
cover bloodless palms –
weak spring sun
emotion: feeble
poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: How Do I Feel Today
Zephyrus breezes speak gently-
Undertones of placid eras alive in memory-
Tumult rages awaiting rigorous gates to detonate their command,
Planning utter obliteration of finite serene ways…
Blue and pink swirls of peaceful dusk
Replaced with a grey and murky inferno
Eyes of Hades suck cherished life
from all vibrant beings.
Shallow surf lazy with time,
Cruelly tricked - turned to tides of torment.
Deceptive frailness fractures
serene, primordial peace.
Where is the dignity?
Noble causes massacred-
Equanimity executed under the breast
upon which we all feed-
Ceaseless greed-
Ultimately the beast we feed.
Looming vulnerability of us-
The annihilation breed
Zephyrus breezes speak gently-
Undertones of placid eras alive in memory-
Tumult rages awaiting rigorous gates to detonate their command,
Planning utter obliteration of finite serene ways…
Blue and pink swirls of peaceful dusk
Replaced with a grey and murky inferno
Eyes of Hades suck cherished life
from all vibrant beings.
Shallow surf lazy with time,
Cruelly tricked - turned to tides of torment.
Deceptive frailness fractures
serene, primordial peace.
Where is the dignity?
Noble causes massacred-
Equanimity executed under the breast
upon which we all feed-
Ceaseless greed-
Ultimately the beast we feed.
Looming vulnerability of us-
The annihilation breed
{placid undertones}
There is a vile brutality to love
A beauty in sufferin & disease
There is a tinkerin madness
An eternity to fleetin seasons
We find a wholeness in lack
A lack in imagined perfection
There is hymnal in the hades
And a vex in the paradise
We feel the burden of love
The crassness of affections
We endure the laughters, yet
Enjoy the vagaries of pain
We find sweetness in battle n war
We realise life in murder n guile
I see only madness in everything
The pursuit of hope n shadows
The peace n life in the cemetery
The valliance in death & decay
The frailness of the human heart
Diseased and maligned wth joy
The freckled ugly face of faith
The anality of logic &reason
Her beautiful deamonic eyes
We have found angels & beasts
Heavenly rainbows & ragin storms
I find myself in a glass of whisky
In her eyes the universe resides
I taste her violent lips in my dreams
Sleep eludes me, my thoughts engulf me...
The room is quiet....
I hear a branch outside my window, scratch the glass, in winter's wind
I cannot slumber, I cannot escape the waiting, I have no tears left to cry
Reflected shadows, dark silhouettes of trembling trees, hover over me
Oh God,... please take her now...
Is it early morn, or early evening? It is so hard to tell...
when day is night, and night is day,... each passing hour seems alike.
At last it seems this night that would never end,
is quickly giving away to morning
Restlessly, I turn to face the wall
In the faint light, I can barely see the flowered wallpaper
in pale pastels, ....sweet roses.......
I count them one by one, soft shades, a trace of the pink that they used to be
worn by the years, faded by the sunlight that comes in the afternoon light...
before the darkness filled the room....
I remember when she picked this cheery pattern...so bright with color
Another time, ..... an eternity ago,
It is loose at the seams, just a faint remnant of color....
Again, I turn my head to check on her.
The large poster bed, holds her like a small child
She looks lost among the covers.
I see the frailness, a delicate shell of the woman she used to be,
The bedside clock ticks steadily... winding down...hour by hour, minute by minute
I watch the movement of her chest as it barely rises, and falls
So shallow the breathing, it struggles and she endures
I thank God that she seems to be sleeping
And I pray that her dreams are happy ones
.......................................................................................................................................
acceptance of failure
is a talent acquired over time
the young man i was
could never comprehend
the freedom failure
bestows
the feeling of humanity
in every tear shed
over an impossible path
i have discovered for the first
time that i am as small
as a gnat on the back of a
gnat
under the microscope of a
gnat
which was created by a
gnat
and will be born again
as a butter-
fly
this knowledge shows the patience
that experience
manifests within the young adult
psyche
the older me
will read this wise inscription
and giggle
at the innocence
of its shallow meditation
the gray me will
rewrite the moral
and manipulate the meaning
to reflect the chaos
that each beat of the young
newly-born butterfly’s wings
has imparted on the future
that has now transformed the reader
into a luna moth
and carried by the wind just
before a ravenous storm
the moth i will be
will finally
be stripped bare
to expose the frailness
of the man who dwelled within
and as each tear falls from the heavens
all that i once knew
and all that I have learned will
dissolve
to be consumed
by
a
gnat.
The rain clouds gather outside and
I see his umbrella bouncing over the hedge.
I hear him enter the gate with case in hand;
He slowly closes the gate and heads for the door.
A light knock reverberates into the library,
I hear the door close and his soft voice say,
“Good evening ma’am, I’m here for a tuning”.
She takes his coat and he heads for the gold leaf piano.
He removes mother’s lace carefully from atop,
He neatly sets it on the maroon divan.
He opens his case of tools with ease,
No rush does he have in his bones.
Like clock work, I know what he’s doing,
Without stepping foot out of the library.
He repeatedly strikes the keys in tune.
Using his trusty rubber mute.
After an hour or so I hear the case close,
He gently puts mother’s lace back.
He pops his fingers and gives it a try.
He tickles the ivories with frailness.
He plays from mother’s hymnal book.
His fragile fingers play the song,
‘Power in the blood’ as he hums along.
I love when he comes to revive the piano.
I hear him politely tell the maid he’s all done,
She hands him his coat with check, the door softly closes.
The rusty gate shuts as the umbrella bounces,
Over the hedge and he fades away from my view.
Deep in the Silent darks,
wandering and swaying around
I was, once content with life full
and concern less.
None to lad me with the
burdens of responsibilities,
nor someone to share
my loneliness.
Life held for me little surprises,
and even fewer
excitements in the
monotonous chores.
On one such dark
expeditions, was i broke off
my usual routine
when I met her...
Imperfect she was...
And also intruding and irritating..
But I too was not more
perfect, and longed to
give her company and also,
to have her presence.
She was always there- Sometimes distracting
and some others even annoying-
Pricking and pinching and
stinging me now and then.
I did it all-
Soothing her and
cajoling, as she
Screamed and chided me.
Eventually, and gradual it was,
she too showed a change-
Sublimed was she and
also softened
My love and patience blooming
and bearing fruits,
She glowed brightly with
strong sensuality
and delicate frailness.
A gift she was... Although in disguise!!
I cherished her beauty and form,
with all the reverence I could muster...
I loved her too much to leave,
making the inevitable parting
even more impossible...
She vanished suddenly
as she had once appeared..
As a pearl, most ditinguished
and unique...
Abandoning me there...
A deserted oyster to die
In the still waters of unending depths..
He stood there in the doorway
His legs dangled in white shorts
His blue shirt matching the rags
The mechanics used to clean tools
His fingertips yellow stained of fungus
I could barely see his blues eyes
Through the reddish brown colored
Replacing any hints of good health
Clutching a Winston banging on a sea burg
he juggled three scantily clad women
One hillbilly a blonde hick and this
black chick from Cleveland with no teeth
I hardly recognized him except for
he was still giving orders in this frailness
chanting cigarettes for everyone spare
no expense Marlboros Newport's Winston's
I never understood the urgency of nicotine
I watched him light the match pull on the filter
Release the smoke building his confidence up
It angered me I suppose watching him
Commit suicide tossing his cancer meds.
through all my pleading yelling screaming
he finally got it actually taking his medication
putting the trash out beating cancer in the end
closing the shop where his new identity begin
And then…
there were none.
Within the perimeters of the releasing of
angels, there was a glimpse of hope.
Outside the border of the letting-go of
demons, there was the sight of doubt.
Nothing could be found as no eye
could see the freedom both negotiated
and failed to agree upon.
There were clouds of ebony with
sunshine of medallion.
Each side carried a shimmer of remorse
yet a twinkle of forgiveness.
Before the beginning, came the end,
and after the end came creation of
good and evil.
Fortitude and cowardice became
a way of life.
Frailness and determination resolved
all conflict.
Inside the temple was where each side
fought for a chance to survive.
For there was never a chance beyond
leniency that the angels and demons
would coincide with harmony.
Each cancelled out each other and
then…
...there were none.
April 12, 2017
I'll hide the waste the fire can't burn
I'll move in a hurry, before the stench of agony sickens the air
Enter the orchard, dying branches begging for fruit
This season is rough, but this weather is brief
I won't be bothered by astounded and blind eyes
Your comical mocking amuses my services
I dream I am Junoesque, agreeable and fair
Live outlandish, lying in a darkened oasis
Don't underestimate my flesh, nor wonder my imagery
My dreams are sugar, you know of no luster
I've never been ordinary, nor wanted to be another
I'll nibble your mannerisms, and leave you in a dry place
I'll define your page, and haunt your flower bed
Your lack of color still does me no harm
Unravel and descend to expose the frailness
My tears are hot, amorous and deep
I'll afflict you neatly
Spring from my head for you'll never survive!
I have perfected cherry sweet strangeness
Living in a waxy, sagging house
I'll bite and taste and nip and sting
Delicate skin and waspy lips
Incandescent faith and a chilly eye
I'll burn you down and your vain driven flight
Reenacted cries now fall on numb ears
Your ordinary bone is tedious to me
Are you empty yet? Are you that sort?
It's not a bad fit but it's not my suit
Let's be silent now for the sun has slept
Pitiful raindrops now dampen my tongue
The magma sunset has turned to pewter
The colors of the earth buried in the night
Somewhere on the edge, I'll heave my sighs
Then count the pink stars until another day begins
We all succumb to the frailness of sleep.
Strength that rises with a robust sun
must dissipate when a bronzed moon reaps
what our spirited hours have sown.
Our dreams become the ripe fruit grown
within the rich soil of our days done.
We are the most fragile as dreams unfold -
visions are strangers unmasking themselves
and friends become foes as secrets are told.
Loved ones may whisper truths from their graves
as nocturnal beasts chide from their sunken caves.
Dreams may waken our most fragile selves.
As our nights unite with daylight
which versions do we tell?
Written 5/18/20 for Silent One’s In the Fragility of Dreams Contest
The frailness of a blank pallet.
Now conforms under hazed eyes that weep.
Does it bring truth to her treacherous past?
Oh' she is sure to find peace.
Life turns an unknown path.
Repulsive thoughts cease.
Sun breaks through.
Clouds lye no more on her tormented soul.
Reflections' sore heals in time.
Carry me to better place.
For now, I own the will to forget.
I got six endearments in life as far as I could recall
From my pre-school to a working staff of a school
My uncles and aunts called me Darling in Kinder
An apple of their eyes especially to my father
My father gave me a small gold ring engraved, Darling
I won family’s attention by declamation, dancing or singing
When I was in grade school I was very sickly
Despite frailness and vulnerability, I was still happy
For speed recoveries my mom called me, Sunshine
For I was born at sunrise, then finally I felt fine
In high school, I was slim but still looking cute
Some cousins called me Thumbelina - still soothe
Cousin-boys carried all my stuffs while holding my hand
“Let’s go Thumbel!”-caring gestures made me feel grand
When I’ve grown older and found someone
He called me, Sweetheart or Love -- so sweet and fun
I turned into a busy beaver losing time with my love
He surprised me with “Muffin”, so I quitted the job
April 24, 2022 8.36am