Red Moon Rising

Coke Ovens on the Mononghela (2)

     Tears flowed like a downpour on a hot summer day. All around, Jennifer could see the wives of the miners in Swift Creek Mine. Earlier that morning, an explosion trapped eight men in the far end of the shaft. Three of Jennifer’s friends were among the women anxiously awaiting their fate.

     The siren on top of the tipple sent shrill chills through the little coal patch. At times like this, the whole neighborhood rushed to the mine for word of who the trapped miners might be. Those whose husbands were safe, stayed to give comfort and support.

A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills of the Monongahela. Jennifer could only wonder when it would be her time to weep; having a husband and son who worked there.

     Everyone went silent… as the men were carried out… one by one!

Painting of Coke Ovens and Mine: Dwight L. Roth

Prosery today at d’Verse: Lillian gave us the challenge to write a flash fiction of exactly 144 words that includes a given line from Carl Sandburg’s poem, Jazzy Fantasia . The line I included was A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills…  This story comes from memories of my childhood in Southwestern Pennsylvania.  Many lives were lost in the coal mining industry that supported our steel mills in Pittsburgh at the time.

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Tears of the Moon

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Tears of the Moon stream down evaporating in the abyss;
Memories of a blue planet rising and setting echo silently
off the Sea of Tranquility, they are quickly swallowed up
in fiery canyons and portals of a whole new world.
People have been gone for eons,
obliterated when the earth threw a world-wide tantrum
blowing its stacks // spitting fire and ice over everything
ridding itself of the leeches, ticks, and bedbugs known as humans.
Now its a new dimension of colored portals exuding light.
Silence speaks volumes on this Third Rock from the Sun.
The moon still shines, but the echo of voices is lost forever

Tears of the Moon painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Merril asked us to write a poem that includes some form of the world Echo. I decided to turn my painting into a sci-fi piece.

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Country Soul Music

Today at d’verse Amaya asked us to think about music that touches our soul and brings tears to our eyes! I have been a lover of country music since I was a teenager. Traditional Country Music has always been embedded in the lives of the listeners. Listening to it is often like watching a reality show. Vince Gill gained fame in the early 1990s, and his song Go Rest High on that Mountain touches my soul like no other. He finished it after the death of his brother a couple of years earlier.

The clip above is from the funeral of George Jones, where he sings his classic song with Patty Loveless.  George Jones, a veteran of Classic Country Music, was a close friend of Vince. As you listen, you can’t help but get caught up in the intense emotion flowing from this song. It is truly one of the great songs of our time.

Music searches the soul like nothing else;
Setting words on fire // lighting the spirit;
Inspiring our hearts // connecting us with God.
Tears flow as I listen to Go Rest High on the Montain;
Crying for my loss // Crying for their loss
Coming face to face with my mortality
Knowing at some time the center of focus will be me.
Empathy, pain, and grief all rolled into one;
Cathartic tears cleanse my soul // resets my spirit;
A time of reflection past … present … and future

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This is the official version of the song:

 

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Soul Glaciers

My heart sheds itself

A glacial calving

Splashing

Into an ocean

Of salty tears

Children dying

Barrels of hell

Incinerate

Unfortunate souls

In their wake

Ghost towns appear

Cavernous emptiness

Gaping mouths of

Fear, dust, and concrete

Atrocities of power

Continue

The world goes ‘round

I bend my knees

My heart cries, “Why!!”

I crawl into my warm bed

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Glacier Photo:  geologycafe.com

Our prompt for d”verse poetry group today is to write a poem using metaphors in a way that expresses a feeling without actually saying what that feeling is. The reader is supposed to tell what feeling came across to him/her as they read the poem.

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Why??????

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Why???????

No change is brought though prayers besought

Unanswered question of century…s past

What happened to the miracles we were taught

    when our call remains unanswered? 

When God sheds tears from heaven no joy is brought…

When we walk through the valley of the shadow

of death… we fear every evil

     of which there are many

     lurking in the shadows

     like fanged creatures waiting to strike

Parents without their children cry with the widows

Raging and venting their anger

      against God and man

     “Why?”

“Why was it my child who had to die today?”

Love and grace hide behind the storm clouds… 

Pouring buckets of salty tears over the whole land.

Forty days and forty nights will nare suffice…

No ark prepared for this kind of calamity

     will lift man or beast to the mountain top.

Grief runs deep as God remains in the shadows…

As always, waiting for the clouds of grief to separate

     letting the light and hope shine through once more.

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Love is Like an Onion

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Love

Love is like an onion

The more you peal it

The more it makes you cry

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Ah, but the taste is sweet

Making everything

Taste better

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Adding seasoning to life

And joy to the mix

One slice at a time

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In the year four score and ten

By the time one gets to the core


It is time to toss it

Into the compost bin

And all crying will cease




Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Raindrops

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Raindrops

Glad I’m not a raindrop falling

From ten thousand feet in the air

Landing with a hard splat on the highway

Dividing and joining with others to run

Down the ditches red mud along for the ride

Glad I’m not a raindrop falling on the roses

Soft landings with no bottoms sharp thorns

Splitting drops in half no injury or hurt

Painless tears running down a jagged stem

Only to be swallowed up by thirsty roots

Glad I am not a raindrop falling from on high

Freezing into balls of crystal with no flexibility

Stacking up like congressmen in cold masses

Chilling everything with cold unchanging views

What future promise do crystal balls hold

Glad I am not a raindrop falling into a lake

Pounding the surface in vain spreading abroad

Lost in the masses swallowed in vastness

Identity lost waiting to be reborn once more

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

 

Sweet Baby Boy

Being adopted must be a traumatic experience for a little boy who started the first year of his life with a foster parent. This was  the experience of my grandson. He was adopted into a family who spoke a different language, ate different food, and had other children.  You can understand why he did not want his new parents to leave him at night. I wrote this as a lullaby that expresses some of the feelings that I imagined occurred  during this time. He has since grown into a well adjusted little boy.

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Sweet Baby Boy

Sweet baby boy just close your eyes

Go off to dreamland with a sigh

Sweet baby boy fly away

To worlds unknown beyond the eye

*

Sweet baby boy come to me now

With all your tears a crying

Sweet baby boy I’ll ease your fears

And soon you’ll be a sighin’

*

And when you wake I’ll be right here

Near you I’ll be lyin’

To keep you safe and let you know

This is your home where I am

*

Through tears and fears throughout the years

I’ll always be your Mother

And though you might not understand

There’ll never be another

Painting by Dwight L. Roth