You Used To Sing

You used to sing
When your heart was light
Your voice so harmonious
When life was easier

I remember that time
When your heart sang too
Joy came visiting
More often than now

Your voice went silent
Many years ago
Tunes of resentment
Are your music instead

Now fear has crept in
Pain has joined too
They’ve settled in deep
Happiness pushed out

No longer able
No longer can
Simple tasks
Bring you grief

Face contorted
With anguished woe
You’ve clutched so tight
To your suffering,
It’s made its home
Within your bones

And with your acceptance
It’s come right in
Can’t let it go
It’s become a friend,
A crutch, a tool
To have its way

We try our best
To give you help
To serve and attend
And offer assist
But your bitterness flies
And attacks our worth

Our spirit crushes
Underneath the assault

Poor, poor mother
We fill up with compassion
Such a dilemma…
We wish you well

I submit a revised version of a poem I posted previously; Victoria C. Slotto invites us to try our hand at writing in second person over at dVerse Poets:

I See It All Now

Weeding through my possessions;
weeding out all that is un-needed,
accumulations seem to have breed-ed.
Surely I had no reason to save these
multiple scraps of paper found or applied
importance to a broken pen spied.
But still, it’s all here, covered in dust.
I stop to sneeze…as it wings on the breeze
and gathers momentum up my itching nose.
Out go handfuls of old receipts of
an iron purchased, a phone, medications,
a hair dryer, printer, clothing, shoes
and a French press from
Now here is a treasure that I should
share a write about too…the last photo taken of
me with my longest, oldest (literally) dear friend.
She died last week at one hundred and two.
(It was taken when she was just 100.)
Oh, geez, look at these…assorted
cards that I have received (and kept)
for birthdays, Mother’s Day and a
Christmas or two…still tug at my heart
and I’m not willing to part with…just yet.
A newspaper-run obituary of my best
friend in school…gone too young,
of what, I can’t guess.  We had drifted
apart as lives took diverse paths.
Here’s a letter from the guy at Rutgers
who led the sociology study on our
commune in the 70s.  They’ve
followed our members for decades
wherever our lives moved us…even gave
us a stipend once for filling out
their lengthy 25th year questionnaire.
I even found you on Facebook, Ben,
and became one of your friends.
50th anniversary photo of Mom and Dad,
divorce letter to me from daughter at age 11
(I already wrote about that one), Save Tibet
decals from the International Campaign for
Tibet…I should go stick one on my car.
Gosh, this was only one small basket on
my bedside table…so much was here
that covered so many years.  And it took
a half hour to muse and to study and decide
what could go…and what still remains…
deeply attached…






In following in Schiller’s footsteps, we’re invited to write about what we “see” or observe.

This concludes our week of celebration of the first anniversary of dVerse Poets.  A wonderful reading was recorded by multiple members of dVerse…it was fabulous.  Go have a listen.  What great fun and thanks to everyone!

It’s Cold

It’s cold tonight and your
warmth’s gone missing.
Your eyes have an
emptiness, your
heart’s not in them.
I’ve felt the gap
increasing the distance.
Just a short time now
that our connection’s
been slipping.
Sharp pain snaps when
the realization is grasped.
Your presence dissipating,
scattering, spreading thin.
I know, it’s clear, I need to let go.
I need to be free of the knots
(in my gut)
of believing that which
is no longer true.
We both deserve someone
who will warm at our sight,
happy to hold us with
love in their eyes
without hindrance or
distractions between
our two hearts.
Goodbye then,
take care.
I wish you well.
But I’ll need
time to recover
from the


clinging, clutching, scrabbling through life

foot places miss, stumble, trip

relaxing, letting go, assures a secure place

breath comes easy, lightening the load

feel it, know it, live it within

life is expanded






Moment’s Regret

Sweeping up the broken shards
after it so quickly shattered,
the memory of the trip
we took and found this
piece of pottery.
A moments regret-
but I had to let it go.

Photo from Google Images

My entry for Monkey Man’s Sunday 160: 




There you are in black and white

A photo taken posed for the camera

Your eyes locked with mine.

After you died we were gathering pictures

For a collage to celebrate your life.

I stared at this photo and started to cry–

I wanted to see some kindness there.

I said to my sister, look, don’t you see it?

It’s there in his eyes–it’s there I just know it.

But as I studied it closer, I saw the truth–

Your eyes mirrored back to me the empty,

Shallow space I had always encountered.

What was it that had held you so closed?

What had etched and chiseled the pain

On your heart so deeply and fixed

That you couldn’t feel ours?

You freely shared your depression and darkness

And your deep regret for the life of your choosing.

As I grew older my hate softened to sorrow as I realized

You weren’t capable of being the someone I needed.

In the shortened span of time at your ending

You remained firmly entrenched in your narcissism.

It was my folly that I looked for something more.

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