So little Room — I occupied —
When Breath — withdrew from Me —
The House — enlarged — to wilderness —
And left — Infinity —
The Chair — appeared too vast — for One —
The Bed — a vacant Sea —
The Mirror — kept a hollow Face —
Where once — I used to be —
The Garden — could not find my step —
The Sparrow — ceased — to call —
The Window — bore a foreign Sun —
And Shadows — claimed the Wall —
So small a Claim — upon the Earth —
I scarcely seemed — to own —
Yet Absence — proves — how large a Space —
Is missing — when I'm gone —
after Because I could not stop for Death, by Emily Dickinson
Because I would not stop for Death,
he kindly stopped for me.
A wilted bouquet in one hand—
a reminder of life's mortality.
We began to walk—he knew no haste—
side by side, as we always were.
In silence, no sympathies were spoken,
as he knew I often preferred.
We passed the house where I once strove
to play and know no sorrow.
We passed a creek whisking ashes downstream—
something I was hesitant to let it borrow.
Or, rather, it passed us—
the mist in the air quivering with a dog's final breath—
for only I began to falter
on our beaten and lonely path.
We paused before some foothills that seemed
serene, yet all too demanding.
The soon-to-be graves were scarcely visible here—
urns in my arms notwithstanding.
Since then, it has been decades, and yet
it still feels shorter than the day
Death first took my warm hand in his own
and his comforting coldness became mine for eternity.
Dusty roads take me out
To the furthest reaches -
To places not thought of
Way off highway stretches -
To the rocky vales where
A lonely thrasher calls
And scarcely people hear
His excitable songs -
To where a streamlet flows -
Whatever it be named -
Where a line of hoodoos
See the course slowly change -
To the canyon shadows
I find laudable
To marvel at the rows
Of piñon for awhile -
To where the earth stands still
And the sky rejoices
And every glance I steal
Is bright and faultless.
There sits along a well traveled road, a house forgotten so long ago
Brown faded logs, bleached from hot Summers seasons
Stand proud against its kindred trees
Its roof top still shelters the memories it holds
As the stack from a chimney serves as anchor below
White linen curtain now tattered and soiled
Snag against each splintered pane
The lattice now gone where roses once thrived
Bountiful garden, now scarcely alive
Cupboards lay claim to a family of six
Nestled and sleeping among their beds wove from sticks
Barn owl now perched, as it waits for the shadows too grow taller
As the daylight grows dimmer with each passing hour
Strong against the test of time, a house is still standing
Very much, Still alive
Standing strong against the clearings
scarcely
minded
an
eventual
indulgence
an added
lustre
to life
natural
& normal
isolated
idosyncratic
away
from
the
sphere
of
life
Just as sleep bested my eyes -
There came a looming presence -
Strange and full of mysteries -
That alit upon my rest.
There wasn't a familiar word
Sufficient for such trespass
So silence was the measure
For my unexpected guest.
Time was also dissolved;
Every thought - every breath
Was confounded by a love
I scarcely struggled against
But the hour was growing late
So He flew off to find a heart
More predisposed and awake
And gave me over to the dark.
In my deepest melancholic mood,
when my appetite ceases for food.
When I can hardly get an hour's sleep.
When I'm tempted for nothing to weep.
When I can scarcely retain a smile.
When happiness goes a distant mile
away from my world of emotions.
I veer off from my own commotions,
when I journey through my own feelings
to get the best of inner healings.
Positive conquest takes center stage
as it defuses my inner rage.
I am renewed with positive thoughts
as my inner melancholy rots.
I simply relive my happiest days,
as my memory the good times replays.
I think of my friends and family,
and the good times we spent happily.
I retain my uplifting memories
which I penned down in Emory's diaries.
~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~
Seriously, when I looked around, the verbs
sound ... slightly, different. Then arise a clause
thought ... scarcely, distinct. Until a noun disturbs
rounds ... barely, noting. Conversed in pronouns, was
abound ... in other words ... adjectives ... adverbs,
school's out, she leaves a book and parts. Wave to pause
~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~
then open--it's signed, "Thanks for the Spelling path,
Miss. June, your "C" student Claire" --strange, best in Math.
~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~
Kiss seems erotic
Abrupt, slow, passionate
Love last a handful.
delicate
low
relievo
but
scarcely
scratched
inversely
sunk
surface
deep
in
half
relief
.
Some in the audience
shook their heads in
disbelief
whilst their entertainer
strutted 'long the stage
with the diaphanous
gown
Sum cheered
az
the performer
trickled the sheer
raiment
earthward
Several raced to the
exits
Scarcely any uv the
assembled recognized
who the artist wuz
'til
unto the stage
from twixt the
personage's legs
dropped
the box
uv
wheat'hes
We the people have had enough
Of insurrection and tyrannical stuff
Enough of scarcely getting by
Enough of the perpetual lie
Enough witnessing impoverished places
Enough viewing despair on their faces
Enough of congress not working as one
Enough of never getting the job done
Enough of this stolen election thing
Enough of this man who would be King
Enough fury and frustration
Enough dividing our nation
Now your crown lays broken
And your scepter duly snapped
Your feet so fleet now leaden
Your might of arm too, sapped.
Yet cling you to times due passed
And vainly hope for morrow bright
Your paltry breath would scarcely last
Sustained you still your burning pride
So quick to kneel and grind your head
To dust, so rightly blithe
Your noble soul demands be fed
Its wretched lust for life.
Imagine, if you possibly can,
The primate called orangutan.
A great many people admire his cuteness;
They don't even seem to mind his hirsuteness.
His arms are too long so his shirts never fit right,
And his legs are so bowed that he scarcely can sit right.
But for honey or figs high up in a tree,
Those long arms are perfect for plucking, you see.
So unless you're a barber or tailor man,
There's no need to pity orangutan.
He's been seen on the news with his latest fad,
He was learning to use an Apple iPad*.
So if you wanna find out what he's gonna do next,
You can friend him on Facebook or send him a text.
*Per the Smithsonian Zoo, Jan. 2013. Obviously, dear readers, this piece was written a few years ago. Don't know why it took so long to make it to the PS site.
Can you recall a time
When words could scarcely say,
The sorrows on your mind
Or joys of yesterday?
It often is the case
When urge is met with pause,
That silence stills our tongues
And minds us of our cause.
A broken heart disdained;
A love you gladly found:
Words we cannot utter
Lay littered on the ground.
I’ll fix them in my hands
And mail them to the stars,
For surely God will hear
And heal our carnal scars.
If e’er you lose your voice
Amongst the noisy clutter,
I’ll speak on our behalf
The words we cannot utter…
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