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.

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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.

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Poets or Mushrooms

Poets like mushrooms rise in the dark

Growing in silence while inspired by

That unknown muse that drives them

Forward producing spores of words

Hundreds of them, perhaps thousands

Dropping them where they are planted

Not knowing what will become of them

There in the dark matter of life hoping

They will somehow take root becoming

Food for thought or possibly change

The way we see the world around us

All the while growing in the compost of life

… Often alone and unnoticed

*

Photo: bing images – Rural Living Magazine

Posting for open Link Night at d’Verse Poets Pub

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The Pause

Pause at life’s crossroad

Waiting for the light change to green

Which way do I go

**

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Ode to the Little Things

Little things in life that make me happy

Are all around if I open my eyes

Like the red cardinal looking quite snappy

He comes to my feeder then off he flies

*

Sunshine in the morning makes my heart sing

Breath of warmth gently calling daffodils

Tree buds swell fat with the yawning of Spring

While on the deck rail my little wren trills

*

Wake-up coffee steaming hot in my cup

Good morning hugs and a kiss from my wife

My chair, my laptop with feet lifted up

Connecting with friends the joy of my life

*

It doesn’t take much to make me smile

Little things around me make life worthwhile

*

Posting for d’Verse open link night.

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Life’s Cascade

Challenges come like overwhelming storms

Heartaches and sorrow leave lasting impressions

I attempt to adapt to the things I cannot change

Overcoming denial as time takes its toll

So much rubble left at the bottom of the cascade

*

Jumping into the pool of life not knowing how to swim

I face obstacles like crashing waves breaking over me

Self-doubt and insecurities seem to always be my shadow

Thinking myself never good enough to match others’ success

Challenges come like overwhelming storms

*

The realities of life and death left their mark

Knowing loss comes to everyone eventually

Watching family members face death with dignity

as both old and young pass on

Leaves holes in my heart and scars on my memory

Heartaches and sorrow leave lasting impressions

*

Somehow, I want my world to stay as I remember

Knowing in reality that is not possible

I find it difficult to accept change as life shows me I must

Aging teaches me nothing stays the same forever

I attempt to adapt to the things I cannot change

*

Denial can only last so long before reality sets in

Putting off the inevitable can only be a comfort for the moment

Sometimes I ask myself if this is the year the shoe will drop

Understanding that each day // each moment is all we have

Overcoming denial as time takes its toll on me

*

As I come to the end of life I am grateful

For all those in my life who have encouraged me

Seeing my children and grandchildren grow and succeed

Takes precedent over all of the things that weighed me down

So much rubble left at the bottom of the cascade

Photos of Looking Glass Falls in the Pisgah National Forest, NC – Dwight L. Roth

*

Today at d’Verse, Laura introduced us to a poetry form called a Cascade. The first stanza lines become the refrain for each of the following stanzas. I decided to write it from the perspective, not of water over the dam, but rather the rubble left at the bottom of the cascade.

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Expectations or Anticipation 2024

Entering the new year with great expectations

Yet knowing they are fragile shimmering bubbles

Blown from our minds… floating in front of our eyes

Some large… some small… rainbow colors of hope

One by one they pop leaving tears of residue

dripping on our well laid plans

*

All expectations should come with a disclaimer

reminding us that our perceptions cannot be projected

making others conform to our wishes

Circumstances, values, and baggage all come into play

often leaving our expectations shuffled like a deck of cards

Losing the magic when we cannot find the Ace of Hearts

*

Perhaps we should enter the new year with anticipation

looking forward to the positive things that will happen

Living with expectation, but knowing our thinking may

need to be adjusted and reconsidered as each day

Plans can change at a moment’s notice as we live

and work through this experience we call life

Anticipate that everything can be worked out

with a little work and in due time

*

bing photo

Stings and Sweetness

“If we want to eat their honey, must we put up with their stings? “

As I was reading Judy Dykstra-Brown’s post, in 2022, I came across this line. I realized that this is true of most relationships as well. Whether it be children or spouse, family or friends, we will have to put up with some stings in order to enjoy the benefits of being together. But in some relationships, you must keep your distance, or you will be stung to death!

Thorns guard roses

Bees guard their honey

Both must be carefully navigated

To enjoy their sweetness

***

People are much the same

Sharp tongues guard fragile egos

Clothed in self-confidence

We bring out their sweetness

***

“If we want to eat (enjoy) their honey, we must put up with their stings,,, “

The Vacant Lot | lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown (judydykstrabrown.com)

Lost in Transition

Lost in Transition

How does one transition from reality to faded memories

from a sharp intuitive mind to one lost in space?

When loved ones fade away, losing their grasp on life,

it seems so cruel to watch them lose touch

as memories dim like dying batteries in a flashlight.

What must it feel like to know that little by little your mind

is shrinking like a mushroom in the hot afternoon sun?

The agony of no longer knowing your friends

your family…. even your spouse

must be unbearable as one grasps for a name to go with a face.

As mind’s darkness closes in, the transition into denial and loneliness

clouds the eyes and numb memory shuts down…

but the body goes on living.

We say, “It really is good that he does not know at this point.”

But does he?       And… is it?

***

Today at d’Verse, Merril gave us the prompt, Transition. There are many ways to go with this one, but I chose to reflect again on the way Alzheimer’s affects so many people as they age. So many questions and few answers. My father-in-law pictured above went through several transitions as his Alzheimer’s progressed. It was very sad to see. Early on he asked questions, but as time went on he became more resigned to his plight.

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Sweet Vidalia

An Ode to the Onion…

Are we not all like the simple onion

A life layered with rich experiences

When peeled back make some eyes shed many tears

*

While others find in them sweetness of life

How many lifetimes are sheltered within

Each layer wrapped and tightly protected

Stories of our shattered expectations

Stories of our resilience and strength

*

In the end we like the simple onion

Have our lives chopped and diced to be savored

Our flavors are enjoyed and added to

The lives of people we care most about

*

May we live our life filled with sweet flavor

Enhancing the experiences of all

Photo: bing images

Today at d’Verse, Melissa Lamay guest hosted and asked us to write a poem about the onion as it is peeled away! When thinking of the Videlia onions, an old country music song comes to mind from Sammy Kershaw, “Sweet Videllia, you always have to make me cry…” A little corny, but a fun song you can hear below.

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