My Box

My box is made of flesh and blood

wrapped around a framework of bones

tied together with muscle and ligaments

once young and strong // now aging and weak.

It is a box that is ever changing

as it moves toward the culmination of life

diminishing // like a raisin in the sun

*

My box contains a soul // a spirit // a breath of life

Totally separate from the shell of flesh on bones…

A medium beyond the physical //yet tied together

in a codependency of light and darkness

where Light and darkness seem to live side by side

often exchanging places as events in our lives take place

in an ongoing struggle for dominance.

*

My box has served me well through the years

A medium of love and caring for others in my life

Bruised and battered at times // yet resilient and strong

feeling the power of Light // finding my way through the dark.

As my soul struggles to be set free, my aging shell hangs on

My mind knows this box will decay in time

while my spirit will return to its creator // unencumbered

Kim at d’Verse introduced us to Welsh poet, Gillian Clark, and her poem, My Box here. She asked us to write a similar poem about our own personal box, either real or metaphorical. I decided to write about my physical self as my box.

Responding to Karla Hales last post about the eclipse, I came up with the thought about light and darkness residing together in our being, so I included that in my poem.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Stardust Contemplations

Old George was celebrating his 85^th birthday and Jim had come home from UNC for the weekend to attend the planned celebration.

The large wrap- around porch was full of people enjoying a warm summer evening. George was sitting in the rocker with his hound dog Blue sleeping at his feet.

A second reason for the get-together was that George had been diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas. With not much time left to live, Jim wanted to see how George was coping with his diagnosis.

“How are you doing,” Jim asked, as he sat down beside him.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, Jim.”

“You know life will go on, with or without me.”

“When I look up at night, I think to myself, “What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead? All we are is Stardust!”

*

Watercolor Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Dora gave us a prosery prompt from Amy Woolard’s poem, “Laura Palmer Graduates”. She chose the line, “What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead? We were to write a flash fiction prose of 144 words that included this line.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Impatient Soul

Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula.

All her life she asked

“Are we there yet?”

Always impatient to arrive

Excited by what was to come  

*

Now

Lying there

Waiting to draw her last breath

Her echoes float among the stars

“Are we there yet?”

*

Photo from the family album

Reflecting on my sister, Priscilla, one year later

Posting a second poem for d’Verse Poets Pub Prompt, Out of this World.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Missing Loved Ones

Photo by John McKaveney: The Orion Nebula.

Today is the birthday of my father and my sister. My father passed away back in 1982 and my sister passed just a year ago, before her 81st birthday. They both are greatly missed. It is hard to believe that a year has passed already.

As I look at this photo of the Orion Nebula, I am remined of how small we are and how vast the universe is in the world beyond our tiny planet Earth.

Family members pass

Memories celebrated

Spirits soar beyond

Today at d’Verse, Lillian gave us four photos taken by a friend of hers, John McKaveney, who loves astronomy. She asked us to choose one of the photos and write a poem in any form.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Cold Snow and Daffodils

Old George remembered the day she died just like it was yesterday. Jim was home from college for spring break, and he asked George if he could come along to the cemetery when George went to visit Catherine’s grave.

As they parked in the churchyard and walked through the new fallen snow, no one said a word. George had picked some fresh blooming daffodils, before the spring snow fell overnight.

George broke the silence. “It was a day just like this when she died. Flowers one day and everything cover with snow the next. I can’t believe it has been ten years already.”

Jim commented that it was hard to believe how many of their friends were buried in the cemetery. As they read the name on the gravestones, George said, “Now all of the names swallowed up by the cold…  are gone!”

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Bjorn gave us a line from Swedish Nobel Laureate Tomas Tranströmer’s poem, After Death. We had to use this line from the poem, Now all of the names swallowed up by the cold, and write a 144 word story.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

History or Memories

 

How little we save of our history past or present

A few jots here and there left to memory’s interpretation

Disjointed thoughts perspectives often misconstrued to suit

 

Every life lost is a history in itself never to be recovered

No matter how much we try most of history dies with us

Sometimes revived but always incomplete and lacking

 

Death is like pulling the shade on a universe of bright stars

Hidden from view forever as new stars shine and twinkle

Before burning out becoming ashes of history left in time’s hearth

 

Still, we go on creating our own chosen narratives of history

Remembering the good as the bad memories exfoliate away

A feel-good history that we claim to be fact even when it in doubt

 

Written sometimes hundreds of years later from fossil memories left behind

Knowing that most of real history disappears with us when we go

*

Photo of Heidelburg Castle: Dwight L. Roth

Below is the Fictional Biography of my grandfather, Christian Roth. I wanted to preserve the stories I heard about him for the next generation. A few years ago, I took what little facts I had about his life and embellished them into a biography of stories. An example of my personal historical narrative. It is available to read on Amazon Kindle, along with my other books.

 

 

 

 

Questions of War…

The Unanswered Questions of War

(Written just prior to the Iraq war)

What do you say to the little girl’s mom

When all she has left is the child in her arms

And the girl is there, and the girl is dead…

What do you say to the little girl’s mom?

*

What do you say when no answers come

When the battle is over and the war is won

How can you say it was worth the cost

When the one you loved most is lost?

*

What do you say to the mother whose son

Was killed in the war so that freedom is won

And the boy is there and the boy is dead…

What do you say to the mother at home?

*

What do you say to the young wife at home

When all she has left is the flag in her palms?

And her husband is there, and her husband is dead

What do you say to the young wife at home?

*

What do you say when no answers come

When the battle is over and the war is won

How can you say it was worth the cost

When the one you loved most is lost?

*

What do you say to the little girl’s Mom…

Dwight L. Roth   3/03 & 4/04

Reposting this one today for Punam’s d’Verse prompt of an anti-war poem that describes the tragedy of war and its affect on everyone.

Join us at: https://dversepoets .com

When You Think of Me (flash fiction)

Julian could not believe she was gone. She had been his support for as long as he could remember.

Grandma Rosalinda had now passed on.

She knew she was dying, so she called Julian in to her bedside for some final words of love and encouragement.

“When you bury me up on the Stoney Ridge in our family plot, let it be a shallow grave,” she said. “Though I am now old and wrinkled, I was once beautiful, fair, and pretty as the flowers in the mountain meadow.

“That is how I want you to remember me. ‘To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes.’ When I am gone, they will grow, following the sun across the meadow. When you see those flowers you will think of me, and how pretty I have become.”

*

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Sanaa gave us a challenge line from poem by Isabel Duarte Gray called, Garden. We had to write a flash fiction prose piece of only 144 words including the following line, ‘To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes.’

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

turnsole: a flower used for dye that follows the sun…

Turnsole became a mainstay of medieval manuscript illuminators starting with the development of the technique for extracting it in the thirteenth century, when it joined the vegetable-based woad and indigo in the illuminator’s repertory. Its use was mostly as substitute of the more expensive Tyrian purple, the famous dye obtained from Murex molluscs. However, the queen of blue colorants was always the expensive lapis lazuli or its substitute azurite, ground to the finest…

Wikapedia~

When All is Lost

I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose everything. It is very sad to see the devastating fires in Maui that wiped out businesses, neighorhoods, and have taken over 90 lives so far, with possibly more to come. We see the same thing happening in the Ukraine with cities being razed by Russian bombardments.

When everything you have is reduced to ashes, it makes one realize the importance of life. Things can be replaced. Homes and towns can be rebuilt, but loss of life can never be replaced. It is at these times we realize the importance of friends, family and faith all coming together to help with recovery.

Wildfires floods and war

help us gain new perspective

The value of life

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Stalemate

Blood and smoke mingle

Freedom’s light of truth grows dim

Buildings blown to bits

***

Ukraine’s beauty lies destroyed

Bodies rest in shallow graves

*

Pray for peace in Ukraine

Watercolor Painting: Dwight L. Roth