Poetry Meditations

Old love

       by D.W. Rodgers

Our fire, which once shone brightly through the night,
whilst tempered by age, is no less warm
and still burns slow with cherry embers bright
to keep us safe and sheltered through life’s storm.

Our light may dim, yet always kept its mark
though summer doldrums, winter’s icy gale
to show our path and guide us through the dark
hold steadfast to our course let love prevail.

In time, our flame gave rise to three new sparks
to nurture, guide and teach of worldly ways
and then release to find their own true arcs
and bear this fire to yonder days.

Face lined, flesh soft, and hair now grey
together love we greet each coming day.

The Loss of Love

       by Countee Cullen

All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
Thick-spraddled lies the dust about,
A fit, sad place to write her name
Or draw her face the way she looked
That legendary night she came.

The old house crumbles bit by bit;
Each day I hear the ominous thud
That says another rent is there
For winds to pierce and storms to flood.

My orchards groan and sag with fruit;
Where, Indian-wise, the bees go round;
I let it rot upon the bough;
I eat what falls upon the ground.

The heavy cows go laboring
In agony with clotted teats;
My hands are slack; my blood is cold;
I marvel that my heart still beats.

I have no will to weep or sing,
No least desire to pray or curse;
The loss of love is a terrible thing;
They lie who say that death is worse.

Storms

       by Chubbie Bunny

Dark clouds roll in over the calm waters
Winds howl and signs tilt and totter
As I sit and watch the big storm roll in

Waves crash hard onto the sandy beaches
Bright lights strike fast on the water it reaches
As I sit and watch the big storm begin

From the black sky, mounds of rain start to pour
And boom crashes fill the open shore
As I sit and watch the big storm hit peak

Lights begin to dim, thunder grows quiet
As nature starts to storms the storms riot
As I sit and watch the big storm grow weak

The seas calm and the black clouds disappear
A sight of beauty to all who are near
As I sit and view the storms creation

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A personal story about exploring the woods

Once There Was a Love

Once the world around me was beautiful and serene

and my life was filled with fiery passion and desire.

But those flames are becoming embers in my memories,

in reveries of a lost love for which I desperately yearn.

It's become such a ponderous burden,

leaving deep scars upon my wounded heart.

When in the gloom of night, I see his handsome face,

waves of emotions rise and fall inside of me,

for when his visits end, I'm left alone upon the shore.

With haunting thoughts of all that we once shared,

I wake with lingering images of being held in his arms.

Never have I been willing to accept the emptiness I feel.

Pensively, I search the horizon expecting him to appear.

It’s with misplaced hope that I imagine him there.

I walk the beach at dawn and to the ocean I confide

my wish to be with him, if God would close His eyes.

Hindered by knowing it's not the course I should take,

but feeling as though I'm drowning within an abyss,

A bottomless pit from which I will never escape.

Once, there was a great love, yet sometimes it seems

it was but a dream, and now all traces of us are fading,

for each time I draw his name with mine in the sand

the tide rushes in and quickly washes them both away.

By Jenny Logan

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/once_there_was_a_love_1495507

Read here: https://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/square-root-of-i/

On the night we dug up your father’s body

(for reasons I can no longer remember)

we took turns with the shovel

as we passed a bottle of Whyte & Mackay

             back and forth.

 

You didn't say anything

until we opened his casket:

looking at his corpse you said,

“He’s smaller than I remembered”

and then walked away,

leaving the scotch and the shovel behind.

 

The next day,

when the police came to the apartment,

they didn't say anything—

really—

even though we were covered in dirt

            and stunk of death.

 

After they left,

you made breakfast,

and we watched black-and-white movies

             until it was time to go to bed.

By James Millhaven