so far away…P.S.
and again…P.S.S.
the wanderer must, forlornly, leave it at
P.S.S.S. before she realizes he is crazy,
crazy in his love for her.
he misses her kisses and hugs,
having said so,
from a so and so bum,
from the one so in love with grandma,
he feels he can never measure up.
history tells another story,
writes another letter, if you will.
i’m blessed to traipse and trespass
where i would not have been invited
just short years ago.
the treasure chest passed
from Grandma
to my late Aunt
to her Son
who graciously
offered a gift…the gift
being love letters -
wasn’t expecting the lovely chest it was in.
it was either bought or made by my grandpa
who passed away when i was two.
around forty-two or so,
i was told i was my grandpa’s favorite,
but not so…
that was his love Tessie,
forever…so long ago.
P.S. my kids don’t get it,
not the chest…
P.S.S. the letters
P.S.S.S the romance, like i do,
like he did and he did
say i do i do i do -
well for that last part that was my other grandpa.
i live in the midst of a fairy tale
with romantic bookends.
7/3/2023
Categories:
postscripts, love, writing,
Form: Free verse
vietnam reflections 14
postscripts to a Letter
to a Friend Long Dead
i stood by THE WALL...
shrouded gray silent sprawl.
The names of the dead
chiseled there.
i left the medals that
your Mother had saved
and touched the stone
where your name is engraved.
The parapet is strewn
with memories and tears
and flags and heartaches
and heartbreaks and fears
left by so many for so many years...
i sensed you watching me
from your side of the plane
and it took every grain
to mask my reflection
in your cold granite thrall.
i may be here standing but
i am standing to fall.
we are all dead and dying
on both sides of THE WALL.
Categories:
postscripts, war,
Form: Free verse
The sun had a way, of lighting the fires
that would often die, and turn to ash, and dash our hope
The wind had a way, to spread the flame,
to light the way
or die in vain
Sun-ripe gold and red leaves
have lined each trail and every road with heavy brilliance
Our eyes, perhaps unwise, were often blinded by the glare
But embers, frozen there, remained alive
Approaching autumn, there is new fire
Ripe with the sun, we have been shaped and formed
grieving over postscripts, of a faded summer sky
while the outstretched arm of autumn
reaches through the trees---
Her leaf-fluttered hand opens fingers wide
brushing passed branch silhouettes, to look into the sky
and has tossed the evening embers
to light our way
________________________________________________________
For Gail's Contest: Where Frozen Embers Still Burn 8/27/14
Categories:
postscripts, autumn, inspirational, introspection,
Form: Free verse
hobo artists
share frowns
of
fortune.
hands give chaperon
harems to accelerate
truant arousal.
postscripts bargain ordeal,
casualties
fatalities
blossom hymns,
paying tribute to jagged wreaths.
and
bolero cotillions
applaud javelin
apparitions.
Categories:
postscripts, angst
Form: Free verse
Faucets leak another tomorrow,
pecking my shoulder with excuse
me's.
Always being asked directions to
streets never heard of.....
I choose silence over-
postscripts
bargains and
ordeals.
I embraced tributes to dying plants,future fatalities
with bruised Gardenias.
I should be dancing on fire but I forgot to
bring a date.
apart of me is walking down an ugly street where silence
is not permitted ,while the remainder part of me reminds
me......
that last times are first times gone bad.
meanwhile....windows wear the shirts of Dead Husbands.
Categories:
postscripts, angstme,
Form: Free verse
She used to walk alone
down dirt roads
in absence of pavement and streetlights
She used to wander
through summer evenings, cicada symphonies
nocturnal sounds of animal happenings
She used to lie alone
on her back, in the grass
silent among the trees
while scaffolds tossed new nightlights
into the July sky
watching a scattered sky, waiting
for stars to lose their grip
She could always predict
where the next one would fall
She used to walk alone
through the midnight world of longings
and wonder
what happened to the expectation
of horizons bright with dreams
Grieving over postscripts
of summer memories
Categories:
postscripts, hope, summer,
Form: Free verse
Grieving over postscripts
of a faded summer memory,
an outstretched autumn's arm
reaches through the trees---
-
Her leaf-fluttered hand expands,
brushing past dark branch silhouettes...
while tossing new nightlights
into the October harvest sky.
Categories:
postscripts, nature, sea, seasons,
Form: Personification
When
lovers
do converse-
postscripts are the
key
Categories:
postscripts, love, on writing and
Form: Epigram