The Mother Weeps

 

The mother silently weeps

The tears echoing her pain

as Mother Nature imitates her misery

The women of the world;

birthing heads and

giving life to us all

 

She gently rocks

Backward to front

The figure engulfing in her

sorrow, to witness it all

Empathetic motions to offer

her own condolences

Where her words could never mean

anything worthy of mention

 

In her head she screams

Shaking from the force to try

to keep it in

A haunting loss of control

that bounces in between the dark

corridors of her mind

A plea for mercy

A penetrating message for anyone

who understands,

those who can relate

 

Begging to a land beyond the frame

that she’s currently hovering in;

the ideal representation of grief

Feeling alone instead of connecting

to Father, Mother, Sister, Brother,

Neighbor…

Protected from the world from

the very source that keeps us allied;

even if some refuse to see it

 

She gazes out

With her wrinkled wet face

through the rain-splotched glass

Seeing past her garden,

The land where she was born,

The places she has lived,

the cities she has traveled

 

Ignoring any boundary laid upon

her memories

Only feeling the mourning and the fear:

 

Skin vibrating, tingling feeling

Hair standing straight on arms;

the first responder to the

aching hollow

burrowing beneath her pariah chest

Carving away flesh until heart is

discovered, hardened to the

blackness

Owls: Who? Who!

The owls are calling out tonight

Who? Who!

From the skies

from the trees

Their constant cries

their incessant why’s

and their ever knowing

Who? Who!

 

Three sit on a branch,

only by happenstance,

Feathered wing tips touching

other feathers

 

The first one there

lightly reflecting in the night

More resembling the canary,

Looking out of the neighbor’s window

through its cage

 

The other, a more handsome color

With specks of a gold so orange

Shades that overlap and create

their own unidentifiable appearance

Almost camouflaged in the darkness,

Almost

 

But the last one is a smaller breed

Wearing the dark grays of shadows

appearing like a bunch of dried

leaves, if seen by glance in the night

The ghostly figure emanating the

gratitude of

Distinction that,

She can make those aware of her

only with the calling out of

Her monotone chirped voice:

Who? Who!

 

 

I am grateful for quotes: “The person whom you would like to do away with is of course never Mr. X but merely a disguise. If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us…The things we see are the same things that are within us. There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.” ❤

Away They Go

~In my head this is played with an acoustic tune through a variety of minor chords and finger pickin’. Feeling the home grown roots tonight! I hope you enjoy :)~

She was sitting on a curb
Pillow and blanket in her hand
Watching the cars fly by
Seeing the predicament they were in
People boxed away in their
Containments of metal and glass
She turned her back to them
Feeling their fire burned up
and turned to ash

He floated down from the sky
A Kerouac book in his hands
And sat next to her
Like good ol’ lost friends
He talked about nothing
As strangers often do
He shot up from the ground
After a minute or two
and she waved goodbye to him

A light burst from the sky
He came back down to Earth
Grabbed her by the hand, and said
I could use some comfort and warmth
He took her on a trip
A journey of possibilities
Taking her to the house where she
Dreamt of knives and heard her own screams
and then he left her there

The murderer tried, yeah he did
He tried to kill all of us
She ran away from him
She ran away from them all
The girl found herself
Standing on another curb
Throwing out a thumb
Getting picked up by a trucker man
and he said

“Death will surely find you
Sooner or later he’ll come
He’ll have Bright Eyes you can stare into
And an instigator’s tongue
Telling you your stories
Until you think you’ve heard enough
Yeah, that death will show up
on your doorstep
Wearing a suit vest and
a shaggy haircut.”

And away they go
Off into the sunset
Away they go
Off into the sunset
The time is NOW, when
the shadows catch up with the light
And away they go
Off into the sunset

Away they go
Away they go
Away they go

I am grateful for all of my old neighbors who loved to play music at every gathering ❤

The Little Girl

There is a little girl with blonde pigtails

and white ribbons, wearing

A frilly blue dress adorned with a

red nautical helm

Maybe five, by chance six

Staring blankly through the

photograph

 

“All the world knows is only

what we can see

All the words we speak, clearly

are only heard by any of the

random opportunities given

Who would listen to a few questions?”

 

She asks in her little girl

squeaky voice

 

“Are we so quick to deny any

interpretations different

That we can ignore the

explanations floating on

the tips of our tongues

Shut out the chances of awareness?

Wave your hand, stand up to meet

the people just out of reach

Wake up, open your eyes

to see the ones staring at you.”

 

Maybe I’m going crazy

maybe I’m going blind

Maybe the little girl speaking is

only a figment of my vapid

imagination

Maybe someone is listening

on the other side;

maybe another lost soul

in an altered time?

 

The picture sits in a book with

other similar photos of other

People with their smiling faces peering out and

saving some of the stories long forgotten

 

“Until next time…”

 

She says,

As I box away the memories

Adding a few additional pieces

to contemplate and to store inside;

A metaphorical reflection created of a mirrored image of

the cardboard container

 

“Goodbye”

 

I whisper.

And the little girl waits until she

is remembered again…

I am grateful for lost treasures ❤