Today is September 12th. Twenty years after The Day After. We’re writing “The Day After” poems. You decide what day you are referencing and write that poem. “The Day After Tomorrow”, “The Day After I Lost My First Tooth”, “The Day After The Earth Stopped”… Let’s revisit that day. The day after.
MARIE’S EXAMPLE:
The Day After If it comes, the day after holds no guarantee. No absolute assurance. No perpetual protection. The day after comes with promise. With lessons. With knowledge. With newness. It is ours To perceive. To learn. To discern. To embrace. The day after is a gift. Be thankful if it comes. © Marie Elena Good, 2021
WALT’S EXAMPLE:
THE DAY AFTER I’M GONE
There will come a day
when I'll no longer be.
I'll be free of this mortal coil
and foil anything that would spoil
the world I leave behind.
The day after I'm gone
music will still play on,
filling every ear with a clear vision
of all that it conveys.
The love I feel for those that stay
behind will be kind and long lasting,
casting little doubt of what my heart was about.
My poetry would be a decree
of all my heart was able to see,
a gift from me to all who find that my words
touched their hearts deeply.
On that day, the day after I'm gone,
the sun will still rise though my eyes
will not see it. The birds will sing brightly,
the stars will shine nightly and memories
will be rightly held close to heart.
It will all start the day after I'm gone.
© Walter J Wojtanik - 2021
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Another great beginning to a new week! Splendid work. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you guys hosting this site. The prompts, etc. have been a real encouragement to me in my toughest years. Today begins a new week. Here’s to one more! 🥂
We appreciate you all!
THE DAY AFTER THE RAIN
The day after the rain
is never the same.
It brings about a change,
hidden from view.
Having no pride or boast,
but it makes things new.
The waters from above
are like champagne.
That the earth celebrates,
drinks deeply.
It brings about a cleansing
of the wild, like wine.
Showing no favor or style,
upon those below.
Showering the just and
the unjust alike.
It has no mind of its own,
will or emotion.
Timeless, yet having no sense
of time.
But you can see the effect,
power of its devotion.
Its abundant supply is
never powerless.
To the inhabitants of the earth,
constantly in motion.
The day after the rain
is never the same.
For it must descend,
drain from above.
And do the work—
of change.
Benjamin Thomas
This poem, format and all, has a raindrop feel to it.
lovely in its simplicity
Thanks.
i love the lines, “It brings about a cleansing of the wild, like wine”
Thanks Candace.
“Showering the just and the unjust alike”
Amen. Good poem, Benjamin.
Thanks Marie.
Marie nailed it!
THE DAY AFTER THE NEXT
The day after
the next.
Are like dominoes,
in effect.
That run.
Crash.
Trip,
into the next.
Wrecked.
By the
inevitability…
Of things
set—
in motion.
Things out
of control.
Out of our
control.
But on a
roll.
By the
pull.
Towards the
power—
Of gravity.
In the wrong
direction.
But there’s
nothing.
You can
do.
To stop,
or avoid.
The in—
evitable
Conclusion.
Of life’s
destination.
Benjamin Thomas
Makes a point, this does. Love it.
Thanks William.
truth
👍
this feels just like those dominos tumbling.
😂😂
Well-placed periods and short phrasing work well with the subject matter. Nice work!
👌
THE DAY AFTER TODAY
The day after today
is not apparent.
Directly out of our
grasp.
Beyond our sense
of comprehension.
The day after today
is not apparent.
To our sense of
continuity.
The pangs of
anxiety.
Deepen for what
we do not know.
What is after—
the now.
Just beyond our
reach.
Into the future
of tomorrow.
For the sake
of today’s—
Proposed wisdom
of the matter.
For no one
can reach—
Into the
morrow.
Or into
the muck.
Or presumed
treasures.
For no one
can even dab—
Into the future
of today.
Benjamin Thomas
the depth of your soul is amazing
Thank you.
Yes. And you and I were thinking alike yesterday for this prompt.
😯😯👍
Oh that unknown. Good one, Benjamin!
Der Bingle had a song for this prompt”
“Der Bingle” 😀
Bing sang about just about everything:
I’m going off-script here, but wanted to offer these:
PAEAN TO A POET
When in the course of human events
A poet arises,
Looses to all his humor and wisdom,
Truths and surprises,
We who receive his words
Or hear his voice
Joyfully proclaiming or declaiming sorrowfully
The events of our daily lives
And times both prosaic and momentous,
Never should take his gifts for granted, but
Instead should ponder all he offers and has done,
Knowing we have been blessed with his presence.
MEG
She sometimes offers a wisp of a sonnet
or a bit of sunshine with a rainbow on it;
she doesn’t mess much with in-betweeners
but is fond of writing seventeeners;
from her part of Ohio she will often partake
of banter from her chum across the lake
and join with him to encourage all bloomers
to write poems that are more than idle rumors.
How to sum up our dear friend Marie?
How’s this for a bit of repartee:
she has a pixieish sort of wit,
and that’s the long
and short of it.
Thanks for your kind tribute, Bill!
Wow, that’s awesome!
Amen…and Amen, brother
So well done, both. I (literally) could not have said it better, Bill. 🙂
How delightful and wow
Perfectly penned, sir.
Oh my goodness, thank you Bill! You certainly made my day!
Walt, this is you. This is your work. This is your legacy. Bill nailed it. 🙂
Bill, I love both of these… and having Walt’s name create a poem is wonderful and I agree Marie is a bit of a pixie with her wit…
What a tribute, William! So well written and so true.
A Day Later
After the Apocalypse,
the skinny people will die first,
the Nutrasystem people,
the Weight Watchers and joggers.
After Armageddon,
it won’t be all bad.
There’ll be no more ads
for breast augmentation,
e-mails for penis enlargement,
no calls for dental implants, or
teeth whitening.
Cataclysm will chase away
the need to get your belly
toned, tucked and tightened,
the desire for skin resurfacing,
the non-surgical solutions! to
thinning hair and poor eyesight.
The Day of Reckoning means
an end to rhinoplasty – creating
beauty one face at a time!
No sales taxes, no drowning in debt,
no DUI’s, no parking meters and no
meter maids. No more Craigslist,
and, after the Last Day, no need
for Suzy’s Coupons.
Depression? Normal.
Migraines? Everyone gets a few.
Smokers? Go ahead.
High blood pressure? You kidding?
Of course there’s the little matter of
Judgement.
But, hey, it’s the End of Times,
Not Eden.
Even we unbelievers can enjoy this one. Love it.
Thanks for a big dose of humor (and truth) today!
HA! I would never have guessed this one was penned by my Pai Man! Very different from you, and it made me chuckle. 😀
Inspired after I made a list of all of my spam emails
😀 !
I love this….made me smile from beginning to end…
This is excellent and most witty, Daniel!
Graduation Day
On the day after
my “final” session,
my “last” day with
my brilliant PTSD therapist,
I mostly gnashed my teeth,
tried to get some sleep,
still felt the pain beneath,
tamped down the urge to weep.
Even with helpful friends,
a patient and adoring wife,
I knew that graduation day
left me with more work to do,
as the sentence was for life.
It was time to stand tall,
shoulders back,
not focus on the lack,
behave like a Marine,
treat myself like
someone who can ask for
deserved help,
whenever madness or
panic attacks returned
to my daily scene.
Years later now,
life goes on,
as I live it with
bold common sense,
aggressive simplicity,
and my version of faith.
And poetry, let’s not forget,
and always, a cat to pet.
I was drawn in to this poem continually, and was wholly satisfied with the final line. Marvellous.
I like your survival techniques. Keep writing.
Oh my friend … this touches me deeply, deeply. Big hugs.
I get this… it is a life of struggling…Writing and cats and faith get me thru….
Marie, you poem was a reminder that we go on…
🙂
Walt. you poem was a lovely eulogy to yourself… how perfect …. at my father’s funeral we had several of his poem read.. I hope for all of us who love you that is a long way off…
The Day After I was born
I was considered a keeper,
Though at the end of her life
Ma deemed me her most difficult child.
It made me laugh
For I knew I was.
But on that day after,
I began to crawl,
Then walk, then run,
Then stumble, and fall
Then get up again,
To walk slower
Towards that day
That would be my last day.
Whether it will be considered
A good life or not
Will reside between those two days.
I would like to think
My days as good days,
But there are those days
I stumbled and fell.
They were not so good days.
I will admit
I have much to repent.
But those days
Led me to a better me.
Here is to the next days
That lay before me.
Let me rejoice,
And be glad…
For the sun shines,
And the moon glows,
And there are flowers
To stop and enjoy.
Life is a gift and a dance,
And I plan to enjoy those next days
Until that last one.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 12, 2021
Keep dancing, Mary! 🙂
thanks
Stay with enjoyment!
thanks… I plan to make at least 90.
The Day After Salvation
The day is long spent, our backs to the sea,
the thunder of hooves advance from a far
Clouds of Dust and loud clacking
of wheels on the sand
Thousands of soldiers
with swords in their hand
We’re slaves without weapons, no bow and no spear,
we ponder our death, our last evening star.
In the depths of the night a pillar of fire
cast long shadows across the dry sea.
Mountains of water
on the left and the right;
Marching towards darkness
the shore out of sight.
What we witnessed this morning, a sea of dead soldiers,
to be saved without conflict we could not foresee.
“We’re all here” father shouted, as heads he was counting,
“How we made it I still do not know”
“I thought sure they would catch us
as we hurried our flight;
I surely discounted
God’s mercy and His might”.
“We’re slaves nevermore, safe on this shore,
witnessed God horse and rider overthrow.”
Through the LORD’S mercies
we are not consumed,
His compassions are sure,
never fail
They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
Renewed this great morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
Salvation behind us, enemy vanquished,
a new hope has risen, we finally exhale…
Exodus 14:26-29 (NKJV) Then the LORD said to Moses, “Stretch out your hand over the sea, that the waters may come back upon the Egyptians, on their chariots, and on their horsemen.” And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea; and when the morning appeared, the sea returned to its full depth, while the Egyptians were fleeing into it. So the LORD overthrew the Egyptians in the midst of the sea. Then the waters returned and covered the chariots, the horsemen, and all the army of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them. Not so much as one of them remained. But the children of Israel had walked on dry land in the midst of the sea, and the waters were a wall to them on their right hand and on their left.
This draft is rough; please excuse the typos. typing is difficult, and I can’t edit…
Excellent, excellent, excellent. To take scripture and write it poetically is one of my favorite things to do. This is well written, and gives much to ponder, Kevin. Love it!
The words paint a visual that is breathtaking
The day after I was first molested…
My innocence was stolen,
And I knew darker secrets
That could not be spoken
On threat of more…
Except I would learn
There was more
It was not an empty threat.
My trust was shattered
Into a thousand pieces…
Then thrown into the wind
And down into wells,
A jagged edge jigsaw puzzle.
Finding those lost pieces
Were the ones I needed
To complete the puzzle
Took years to find.
Anger, hate, revenge
Were in my heart…
It would take the great Healer
To pull those chards
From my beating heart.
In once instance,
My life changed.
My abuser’s life continued
Without even a scratch,
And when he saw me
He held me in his view
Grinning that he still owned
A part of me…
Until he died.
The day after he died,
I was freed…
It was not up to me
Where he went next.
I had forgiven him
Years before…
My freedom was
I never had to look upon his face
In this life again.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 12, 2021
I have been asked why do I write poems about this… because there are women and men who were molested as children… I want to give them hope that they will be stronger and a victor in their life.
On, the pain and depth of this. 😦
“My trust was shattered
Into a thousand pieces…
Then thrown into the wind
And down into wells,
A jagged edge jigsaw puzzle.
Finding those lost pieces
Were the ones I needed
To complete the puzzle
Took years to find.”
I’ve never been molested, but this totally speaks to me and seems spot on. I’m so sorry for what you endured.
thanks and I am sorry for the little girl I was… but the woman I am now… it is part of what made me yesterday in church the passage where Jesus says he who is forgiven much loves much… I think it is also true of those who are healed much love much…
Oh yes, amen!
❤️ Powerful words here. Loved it Mary.
thank you
Powerful, indeed
thank you…
“jagged edge jigsaw puzzle” is an apt description of your pain. I am sorry you had to endure this.
It was difficult to endure…. but I survived and then I forgave and became a victor because other than that grin… I was free from him… He would never hurt me again. He tried but I defeated him each time. It helped me know what the children I worked with had such deep angry emotions…It made me into the woman I am and I happen to like who I am.
as well you should!
This is the subject matter I wanted to write about for this prompt, but did not write it until just now. Looking forward to coming back here to read all your offerings!
Woman, Why Do You Weep?
How do I respond
to such an oblivious
question of this man?
Why, sir, do I weep??
I have been weeping nonstop
for the last two days.
What I lived Friday
I can never unlive, nor
ever put to rights.
And then, yesterday,
the loss began to sink in.
I could not face it.
Now, today, even
His buried body is gone,
and my life, with it.
You ask why I weep?
What kind of question is that?
How can I not weep?
But I don’t say that.
All I can muster is, “Where,
sir, have you laid Him?”
Compassionately,
almost playfully, this Man
says only my name.
I nearly collapse.
Only one Man has kept my
name safe on His lips.
The tears continue,
but they are no longer the
tears of yesterday.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” ~ John 20:15
Now I’M weeping.
This is my absolute favorite scripture. I can’t read or contemplate it without misty eyes or downright tears.
Oh that is beautiful… and what a loss that was for those who knew him daily walking, talking laughing….
I agree. So hard to contemplate such great loss.
Lovely retelling of this comforting story
Thank you, Candy! ❤
Wonderful.
The day after death
It starts all over again
In eternity
Oops!
Knew it was you, Earl. 🙂
This is something to ponder.
love it
The Day After the Day Before
The day after the day before
With the shock of it all still felt
Our nation had changed forever
Or so we were being told by many
Who lived on the dividing line
There were calls for us all to unite
As they stood on the Capitol steps
Singing “God Bless America” in tune
All promising to work as one once more
On that day after the day before
But the unity quickly faded
That’s what always happens in DC
‘Cause they’re not there for you and me
And they couldn’t care less about unity
However……
On the day after the day before
The Heart of America kicked back in
The people felt the pulse once more
A pulse that had almost gone silent
Was renewed on the day before
One the day after 20 years added
The divide is even worse in DC
But the Heart of America still beats
And the people are much more awake
Soon there will come a day after
When the people will right the ship
I hope I’m around to see that day after
When America rises from the ashes again
Earl, your use of “in tune” is brilliant. Just brilliant.
Love this and my sentiment also… we have lost so much bowing to people who do not care…and count on us not noticing…
I hope I’m around as well. Would be a splendid thing to see.
The day after I was born
I pooped and sucked some milk
And although I can’t confirm this
Doesn’t every newborn do that?
😀 !
This reminds me of one definition of a baby: a “long tube with a loud noise at one end and no sense of responsibility on the other.”
😂😂
Big smile and Babies are leaky creatures that leak everywhere….
When the Storm Came to Town
the sun came out the day
after
as if mocking us for fearing
the storm
It shone its usual yellow shine, while
people,
here below, shoveled mud from basements and
had hope
the overflowing creeks would soon recede
once more
#waltmarie poetic form
Your Waltmaries always amaze me. This is fabulous. Love the hopeful message here.
Personal experience, Candy??
I agree about the form, and this poem.
I like personalization of the sun. Well done Candace.
I remember when the tornado hit on May 1, 1995… my forest was forever changed, and the sun was so bright the next day… I like this a lot.
Well done, Candy!
The Day After the Hearing…
I had sat waiting in the courtroom
For me to testify…
It was a hearing to dissolve
the parents from the children,
and amputate the children
from their parents…
They call it the death penalty
case in family court.
It was my first hearing
of this kind…
The father did not come;
he was drunk.
As I sat in the witness stand,
the mother’s eyes slid
tears down her face.
I wept within….
The next morning
I was escaping
to my mountains.
As I rode into the mountains,
and stopped to feel the mist
upon my face…
it felt like a thousand tears
that mother cried
knowing her children
were lost to her.
I rested in my room,
but it was marred by the sorrow
I had brought to this woman.
Logically, I understood
that it was not caused by me,
but in my heart, I felt her tears
gully-wash her pain
into my soul.
No one would understand
my need to grieve
a loss that I did not cause,
but someone had to grieve
the loss
of what should have been
a family bound by love,
but was bound by pain and fear.
The scars to my soul
began that day after
and built scar upon scar
until I could bear no more.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 12, 2021
Mary: For me, this is one of your finest. When the beauty and creativity of strung words manage to enhance rather than distract from the pain and point expressed, that is poetry at its finest (IMHO). A WOW, this.
THank you I always grieved after a TErmination of parental rights hearing… it was a death of a family…
I can feel the pain in this. Thanks for sharing. 🙏🏽
Thank you and most workers did not feel that pain…one of my dearest coworkers did and we are both retired and both talk about how those trials drained us…
This one is almost palpable. Superb.
thanks… they called me the terminator… I hated that name… I was good at my job but my heart broke each hearing I had… lost only one case, and I know the judge made the right ruling.
The Day After I retired….
The work that been my purpose
Was behind me, and
I had a luncheon
To prove that it was over.
Most thought I would die at my desk…
They didn’t know me…
I dreamed of a life
Beyond that job…
The next morning
My friend from Alabama
Gave me a hug
And went on her way back home.
I looked and Ma, and
Felt the world crashing
Down on me…
I was no one special,
And those scars
Were needing to be healed…
I slept almost three days…
I was that exhausted.
I didn’t second guess myself…
When I rose from
My slumber…
Life was still ahead of me,
And I was more than that job.
It was the right thing for me to do.
If I had stayed,
They might have been right…
The job might have stolen me
From whom I am today.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 12, 2021
From a point of contemplation. Well done.
thanks
Wow. Amazing. Glad you were able to retire when you did. 😯
thank you…. it was good for me to retire…
AS OUR DAYS WALKED ON
Even as we held hands
Sunlight danced in your hair
Feeling our feet on the sands
I knew the day after, I’d still care
Your laughter at dinner
Toasting one more sunset
We both felt like the winner
The day after, not one regret
Tirelessly you edited my work
Your reassurance resonating through
You applauded with that little smirk
The day after, I always knew
Your lovely deep voice
Saying with love my name
When it came to loving you, no choice
The next day was always the same
Our lifetime of build up
Set the winning stage
For an endless array, a full cup
As we grew and would eventually age
The day after you took your last breath
I knew I would love you forever
I’d seen you through unto death
Will this love ever end, never
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
A beautifully compelling and loving piece of poetics, Janet! I’m sure Bruce knew the depth of your love to the very end. Well done here!
I was saddened to see the love of your life had passed. And yet, happy for him. Thankful that horrid disease didn’t last any longer. Your poem captures your life and love. Gentle hugs to you, Janet, and prayers that your grief will be gentle and your memories always always uplifting.
Heart-stopping, this.
Sigh and so beautiful and what a deep loss you must feel… for you grieved him going and now is the grieving of a deeper kind… take care…
A poem filled with love, Janet.
After The Storm
Day after the storm
houses gone,
widespread floods,
homelessness, horrific heat.
People weep at loss,
ponder rebuilding.
How many times can they start
anew? So
weary on
day after the storm.
I can’t even imagine, Sara. And are you okay?
I’m getting along. I’s just so heartbreaking to watch the destruction over and over again in the same areas.
No doubt. I’m so sorry for what you have to endure! 😦
Or, elsewhere, after the wildfire…..
Exactly.
and that weariness routes out your heart… I understand the questions.
Thanks, Mary!
This poem is so true! 👌
Thanks, Benjamin.
WHY DIDN’T I KNOW BEFORE?
Did I miss the sound of the drums?
Not knowing that day, our last
Just like tomorrow comes
That moment went too fast
Why didn’t I have an inkling
To step outside with you
To watch those stars twinkling
Holding hands like we do
Why did I falsely assume?
There’d be so much more time
Maybe too much time in the next room
Too tired to make the climb
Every time I kissed you
Why didn’t I think that would be it?
Now that you’re gone, I’ve missed you
All our hours, our days, each minute.
How can we know when the end is coming?
How can we brace for that truth?
Do we just keep singing and humming?
Much like we did in our youth
Or do we just let go
Knowing we did our best
Surrender what we know
Feeling grateful for all the rest
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
Such a sweetness in the sorrow expressed here. And how can we know? Maybe it is best we don’t.
As Mom used to say……
There is such a deep yearning in this poem and though it is your pain – it is also universal….
So Lovely, Janet. I can feel the sentiment here.
Walt. I thought that was one of your finest poems. The internal rhyming was perfect,
and it brought me to tears.
Marie: Your leadoff poem is a study in how to live and look at life.
Thank you, Sara. And I agree 100% about Walt’s piece. Goodness …
[…] PROMPT #351 – THE DAY AFTER […]
Hangover
I don’t drink.
I never have.
But I think I know what a hangover feels like.
Headache
Foggy brain
Sluggishness
Like you wish someone would stop the world
and let you off.
That’s how I feel the morning after I eat ice cream
or some other sweet just before bed.
One evening, my nephew and I
bought giant homemade ice cream sandwiches.
They were delicious.
We each ate a whole one.
We both had headaches the entire next day.
Just another reason not to drink alcohol.
Sweets are bad enough.
Oh my! That is just sad! 🙂
🙂
Some things are worth it….. Enjoyed this thoroughly.
ah I feel for you…
Oh wow. Do you have an allergic reaction to this?
there is an allergy to cold and hot things… Cold does not bother me but sometimes like in fall when the ragweed bloom, I break out in hives if I don’t take vitamin E… not sure why it helps but it does.
It’s a blood sugar thing.
The Day after Karaoke
remnants of song linger
the beatles and badfinger
my mind plays lyrics sung
rhythms now tapped with my finger
a night of spirits and music
memories of song linger
lyrics and melodies made my own
the night I am a singer
a new friend made that night
a hug I bring her
I listen to the notes of a morning breeze
remnants of song linger
This one made me smile. Music is a powerful thing, isn’t it? Well done, Mike!
Love the rhyming here!
Hugh smile and you had me at Badfinger saw them once….
How were they?
They were really good….I enjoyed the concert a lot…
Lovely.
This has a beautiful style to it, Mike.
The tornado hit and was gone…
There was no light.
There was no water.
There was no power…
But we were alive.
In the pitch black
Water dripped everywhere
We stepped out
Climbing over
And under the downed trees,
They would no longer live…
We cried for all that was lost
And what we almost lost,
But we were alive.
The next morning…
The sun threw out her fronds of light
Shedding light on the damage
I climbed over and under
Forty-one downed trees…
There were no birds
Making bird noises-
Huge trees clung
To other trees
Waiting for a high wind
To bring them down,
But that was for another day.
When I got out to the end of my drive,
I cried that I had escaped, and
Today we were alive.
I roamed my forest.
I saw a giant oak
Split in half
By a giant sweet gum
Both with new leaves of spring
Would not have fall leaves
And I felt my tears
On my face,
But I would see fall
For we were alive.
After that night,
Tessa, my dog, feared storms,
And ate our house
If I did not sit with her…
And many a sleepless night
I sat with a flashlight reading
With an odd thought
To how that storm
Had wrecked carnage
All around us…
Leaving poor Tessa
Afraid of lightening
And storms.
We were still alive.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 12, 2021
Through the Centuries
The day after the war was started…
Mothers wept for their sons…
Fathers put on a stern face…
And pretended they were not worried.
Sweethearts tried to be brave
But failed.
Little siblings
Played games of war…
Not knowing death was permanent.
People would gather
To cheer the young men,
But would not be there
When they returned
Busted, broken, and plagued
By nightmares that never ended.
While the old men
Plotted their lives
With toy soldiers
Far away from the battles.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 13, 2021
You speak the truth. It’s old men who send our children to battle.
Yes it is and you and few other good men I know were in my thoughts as I wrote this…
toy soldiers indeed!
I know….a bit of my pacifist mother came through in that poem…
The Day after Neon Dreams
time whispers
the sun colors
the trunk of the tree
gold
leaves turning yellow
about to fall
the tree
living and dying
and dreams linger
of songs I sing
one night
neon lights
in the bar
when I
was onstage
accolades
when I take
the persona
of paul mccartney
making dreams real
the new bartender watches
losing herself
for measures
a hug
a new friend
through song
now this morning
softness of a breeze
through window
and resonance
of memories
Now this a pure poem. Thank you for it.
Thank you for your kind comment.
The almost-staccato feel of this piece beings to mind the beat of a combo in a small cafe. Wonderful.
nice
THE DAY AFTER THEY’RE GONE
Sometimes we take life for granted,
until it’s gone like the wind.
You feel the power of its presence,
beautifully, until it slips past your fingers.
But we should live our life just as it is,
one breath at a time.
You inhale the beauty of a loved one,
in one solid breath, taking them in.
Then they are gone within the next,
exhaled, expelled like carbon dioxide.
Perhaps, they join the ranks of the mysterious
ephemeral parade of the wind.
Perhaps they become part of the tease
of breezes, for us to feel time and again.
Benjamin Thomas
Smiling here
me too
😁😁
😁
THE DAY AFTER THE LAST BREATH
The day after the last breath
was a test of what I believed.
If I truly believed that she was
gone—my mother.
It’s such an oddity to witness
the final breath of a parent.
The person who brought you
into this world of whirlwinds.
Who witnessed your first breath,
languished in the genesis of life.
To see them devoid of that same
essence when the tables are turned.
It’s such a tragedy to see them take,
the very last breath.
To see them close the final chapter
on life, while you begin the next.
To witness the exodus from their body,
to a place called paradise.
Benjamin Thomas
lovely and it resonates in your soul forever
Thank you.
THE DAY AFTER HER HEART STOPPED
CPR for forty minutes—
before her heart would cooperate,
trickling a pulse.
Forty minutes.
Without the heart pounding,
pumping, precious life-oxygen.
Forty minutes.
Of a brain starved, robbed
of precious blood.
Forty minutes.
In limbo—is it life?
or is it death?
Her heart would beat again,
but not willingly, under its
own volition, in the shadow of death.
Her heart would beat again,
mechanically, by way of
a ventilator.
Her heart would beat again,
blood flowing once again;
but the brain refused to cooperate.
Her heart would stop again.
Chest rising and falling the last time.
No more life to demonstrate.
Benjamin Thomas
Masterful
Thanks William.
I worked with children on ventilators and other machines…. there is a freedom when they are released from them; One lived 15 years before he died.
Oh wow. 😯
This is true sorrow.
THE DAY THE SUN DESPISES
In that fateful day, when the sun
closes her eyes, despises her ray.
When men tremble, hiding their faces
from him who sits on the throne.
When men realize the universe
was never— ever truly alone.
When men feel the deep darkness
of their own regret.
When the time to repent is over,
and judgement is set.
When the time of day stalls, already
barren of light.
When the time comes, and they
see the sight—of him.
Benjamin Thomas
Powerful
haiku
morning after night
sunlight rises over fields
winds sing morning song
Nice. 👌
Yea
smile
Love this haiku, Mike!
THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY
Who can live yesterday’s pain?
Only the scarred warriors, who’s
wounds lie just beneath—still remain.
Whose scabbed souls bear witness
to timeless, unseen injury, branded
by betrayal and broken trust.
Who can sing the woes of yesterday’s
sorrow? The written hymns inscribed
by the stain of brokenness—they must.
Whose song has become the melodious
healing concert to the ears of the weary,
a symphony of tears—a masterpiece.
They have become priceless instruments,
constructed by the surgical pangs of darkness;
striking a chord in the hearts of the many.
Benjamin Thomas
The power of this piece begins with its title, in my opinion.
Thanks 👍
amen and amen
THE DAY AFTER IS IRRELEVANT
Time is a continual, flowing state of now;
like a vigorous, dominant tidal wave.
It is high, and it is awesome.
Sweeping away everything within its current.
The wave is now.
The current— is now.
Now is.
Yesterday’s now is history.
The future is irrelevant,
because the future is now.
The now is immediate.
Primal.
It is a magnificent state of being,
in the present.
Always flowing.
And never final.
It is—the moment.
Every, moment.
It is a state of
being.
Existing.
Living.
Forever
freeing.
Truly
seeing.
One
moment.
At.
A.
Time.
Now.
Benjamin Thomas
Another one that makes a point. Almost literally.
👍
In my study of First Corinthians Chapter 13… I mulled over the last verse for decades…. These three will abide, Faith, Love and Hope… and the greatest of these is Love… Why is love the greatest… Faith is looking back, looking forward and in the now, Hope is for the future, but Love can only be given in the present in the now.
👌
The Decision was made…
The choices were
Ma would have the surgery
With less than a quarter
Chance she would survive
Or
No surgery
And she would die
A painful death
That no painkiller
Could reduce the pain.
I asked one question
“Could I think on it
For one night?”
My heart was heavy.
I called no one
For I needed
To pray in stillness,
And a story
Came to mind
Of a father telling his son
He wanted to be worthy of Rest.
Ma was worthy of rest…
She had lived longer
Than anyone in her family.
I asked one thing
In my prayers that night…
That she lived
Long enough to see the dogwoods bloom.
She loved their blooms,
And before she left this earth
I asked for this one last gift to her life.
Our lives are just eyeblinks…
In the timeline of history…
And Ma’s blink had been a long one.
For her to see those dogwoods bloom…
I had to trust that she would survive
The surgery… and so I made my decision
And the next morning I signed the papers
Knowing that she might not survive.
I was accused of taking her life
More than once, but I know
That night as I prayed
It was not for me I prayed
But for her to be granted
One last spring to see
What she loved so much
But
To get there
I had to let her go
And agree to the surgery.
The barbs I heard
Hurt.
In the end
I knew I had made
The right choice,
And gave her
A gift of love
From the One that heard my prayer.
Spring came early that spring,
And she picked a bouquet of flowers…
I took a picture of those flowers,
And cherish it for it reminds me
Not only of Ma,
But
Of the love she was given.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 14, 2021
This poem was about Ma and one specific dogwood… which lived about 150 years…
Perfect, Just Perfect
The old dogwood had stood a hundred summers,
Even summers with little rain.
Its bark a jigsaw of perfectly fitted pieces.
In Spring its flowers greeted all travelers
Who happened down this dirt road
To the house in the woods.
But part of it died
And fifteen years ago
That part was removed
In hopes that the old dogwood
Would have a few more blooms.
The woman who lived here
Came in her early sixties…
She loved the dogwoods…
Each spring she watched for the emerging buds
Of the flowers that made
Clouds of billowing white
Floating through the forest.
She saw them bloom
One last time the spring
She turned ninety-three.
As she touched each bloom…
She said, “Perfect, just perfect.”
There were draughts after the woman left;
The old dogwood began to weaken.
In its last spring its blossoms
Floated on the air,
And the wind seemed to whisper,
“Perfect, Just perfect.”
In the fall, the old tree
Let its last leaves drift
To the ground…
A circle of crimson
Like the red berry crown
It wore each winter
Where the flowers of spring
Had once been.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
2016
from the book on grief “The Time I did not Dance” not published…
this is one of those poems which is actually two… the odd verses are about me and even ones about Ma… I call it dueling poems… they should be staggered but I have never been able to transfer correctly
The Dogwood Bloom
I dream of springtime
In the mountains
Soon after the leaves begin to show.
The white clouds begin in the valley
Flowing thru the coves and hollows
Of the woodlands
Finally floating up the mountainside.
Ma loved the dogwood tree.
If there was a symbol of her
It would be the dogwood flower.
I can see her looking
Down into the hollow
Trying to sight the first sign of blooms.
There is something different
About springtime in the mountains.
Spring in the deep south
Changes in one day to summer,
But in the mountains
Springtime lingers
With nights almost cold as winter,
And days that hint of summer.
I do not remember a house
That I lived in without a dogwood tree.
If there was not one,
Ma would plant one.
Ma hated winter,
Each year she watched
For spring to come back again.
I loved winter
With the cold crisp air
And stars so bright and close.
But this year,
I dreamed of springtime in the mountains
With the white cloud floating up the mountainside.
Her last autumn, Ma came close to dying.
I knew the surgery
Could take the days left to her,
And yet without it her days left would be pain filled.
I asked for her one last spring.
One last time to see the dogwoods bloom.
I had been in a long winter-
In a dark and cold place
With no end in sight.
I needed a change of seasons.
I needed the springtime
In the mountains to linger in my heart.
Ma came through her illness
Only to go backwards to a place I could not go.
Spring came early that year
As if, just for her-
For her days were at an end.
She had one last time
To touch a dogwood blossom
To wonder at their perfect blooms
And springtime in the mountains
Has come late for me,
But I see the buds of the dogwood
Begin to open green.
The green will spread to white blossoms.
I will have a change of seasons
That I have this long winter dreamed would come.
The dogwoods will bloom.
This spring I will think of Ma;
I always will,
Until my hands become with age
As gnarled dogwood bark, but until then
Ma looking for the first dogwood bloom
Will be forever in my heart.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
2012
From the book “The Time I did not Dance” not published.
I think I may ad the poem I wrote today to that collection….I cried as I wrote it..
The Peacemaker and Her Warrior
Da had told Ma
After midnight
That he could
No longer fight.
Ma told him
We would be fine.
She was strong like that.
I was sleeping through this,
But when I woke…
I felt the weight of loss
Upon my heart.
I closed my eyes
In an effort
To put off
What I knew.
Da was no longer with us.
Ma called to me
“Please come check
I think Joe is gone.”
I saw her hugging the wall
Hoping it would keep her standing…
Her eyes pleading
With me to tell her she was wrong.
As I stepped into the room,
I felt the emptiness of it.
But checked him just the same.
I turned and shook my head.
I heard Ma wail
As she clung to that wall.
I bent over to kiss him goodbye.
I left Ma with him alone.
I made the calls I needed to make,
And thought of this fierce woman,
My mother.
She stood up to her family,
And married my father.
They told her she would be trash,
And bought her a coat that didn’t fit.
She stood her ground
For she believed in her man.
She wore that coat
Until both her parents had passed.
Da bought her a black coat.
I never saw that ugly coat again.
She was the best decision of his life.
The second best was to let her
Handle the finances.
He could have gone either way, but
With her he reached for the stars
And captured a few.
I did not worry that she would fall apart.
She was made of sterner stuff than her siblings.
She was a widow but never wore widow’s clothes.
Life was to be met; life was to be silly.
Her eyes danced with mirth.
Her job was to care for her children,
And show them the way to be strong.
Her life was to be lived,
And there was more for her to learn.
I never doubted that she would.
When her sister arrived,
After Da left his home.
I had a moment to escape…
To my hill and wailed
All the feelings I had held in
To be her strength in those first moments,
For she taught me to be strong.
Da was a warrior.
I am one, too.
She was the peacemaker
And it was to her
We both listened
Before we chose to battle.
When I got back
To the house…
The family was gathering,
And my job was to serve.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 14, 2021
Most of the Time I Missed a Hangover…
I could hold my booze,
And remember once
I counted the ten glasses of wine
I drank but stopped then-
Not drinking the wine but the counting.
I woke up the next morning with no problem.
I didn’t like beer, except with Mexican food.
Wine is for meals, but my favored drink
Is a whiskey neat, and thrown straight down.
Most people think I never drink.
I don’t really drink much anymore.
One shot and I am through.
I prefer tea and coffee these days.
A friend tried to get me drunk.
We were at the beach, and I drank wine,
And whiskey and a mixed drink, and
My friend was on the floor,
And I was still standing.
But one time, I got some
Whiskey, I don’t think was legal,
And the only hangover
I ever had was the morning after…
This dubious friend laughed
And said, “I finally got you drunk.”
I told my friend…
It will be the last time.
It was.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 14, 2021
THE DAY AFTER WE TIED THE KNOT
That day after we tied that knot,
our union was strong, or so we thought.
The young chords of idyllic love had not—
yet been tested by time and trial.
Little did we know that in the days
to come there could be—a weak spot.
Those chords of love would begin to fray
under the hidden burdens left between us.
They would bear the weight of ill circumstance,
mightily strained taut, by things unforeseen.
Little did we know, that would only strengthen
our bonded heart in the midst of the storm.
Little did we know about the true strength of the
chords of love, until they were tested from above.
Benjamin Thomas
HOw wonderful for you…. I know that my parents were tested early on but there was a bond…built on that struggle and in how my mother healed my father…. for his childhood I know was a nightmare. Some African American men who were tenant farmers took him under their wing when he was about 12 and also helped in that healing. It was because of what Ma did for my father that I made Sardis be healed by her husband Renald….in my novel series…. it takes time and often the old stuff has to be revisited but each time they grew stronger…
Thank you. Things definitely made our relationship much sweeter.
After
the mowing by the county
with its big double-bladed growling
machines
there is the empty: silence
no susurrations no sandpaper rubbing
leaves as giant sunflowers sway
no pointing the way
by summer’s last compass plants
and after that other mowing
first the nose then the wings
then finally the tail dropping
through the smoke and dust
rising and the screams
like drawings by a cartoonist
onto a forever black canvass
me standing there
in front of the black and white
TV just in time to catch/not catch
it as it all fell then fell again
after: down the stairs
to teach English to stunned faces
whispers filtering through halls
and this language as if
it suddenly mattered every note
in the old lesson plan needing to be
addressed to fill the void and
after: leaving time for questions
that might fill this silence so loud
we can hear the boilers creaking
in the furnace room next door
the drip from the middle fixture
in the three-spigot water fountain
the slide of the map on its roller
that’s unrolling again falling
the once/before falling into after.
Powerful and beautiful at the same time
I’m so impressed by how well these words paint the picture.
Powerful poem with vivid images.
Pat Anthony
Ok somebody bale me out here. Anonymous?? what am I doing wrong?? Never had it happen before:(
It usually won’t allow me to post… I do things like refresh… and sometimes I close my computer down and it is fixed… other than that I don’t know what to tell you… I used FB to log in and it seems to have fewer experiences like that.
If you’re replicating steps you’ve taken before, the problem probably isn’t you.
After it broke this time…
The
Dryer
Was broke
Again.
My home
Became
A clothesline.
I
Worried
It couldn’t
Be fixed.
I
Cried
Because
Everything
Was going wrong.
I
Cried
Because
I felt alone.
I
Sighed
Loudly.
Another
Problem
To face
Another
Disappointment
To bear.
It
Was
Fixed
Yesterday.
If
The repairman
Had
Did more
Than change a fuse,
This problem
Would have been
Behind me
Six months ago.
Instead
My
Dryer
Was
Overheating,
And
This morning
I am thankful
There wasn’t a fire.
Mary Elizabeth Tod
September 15, 2021
For Doug Marlette….
I met this man
A political cartoonist.
He was a gentle man,
Who talked
About how lost we all
Seemed
After the Challenger’s explosion.
He drew an eagle
Looking into space
With one tear.
When I heard
Of his death
I was sad…
A man
I met only once,
And had
A delightful
Conversation
About the strength
Of some women.
He told me I was a strong woman.
One conversation
That gave me courage…
Thank you, Doug Marlette,
For giving
Your time
In a world
Where many people
No longer give
Even those they love
Their time.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 15, 2021
So well said.
Thanks
NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT
The day after yesterday
is when I’ll begin.
I’ll take time to play
the day after yesterday–
nothing will stand in my way.
With a giggle and grin,
the day after yesterday
is when I’ll begin.
made me giggle
Giggling here too.
Witty. 😊
chuckles!
THE DAY AFTER DEFIANCE
I still savor the sweet nectar of your eyes.
The slender smart stem of your neck.
Longing for your dapper green petals,
as the newborn morning dew is wet.
I still covet the proximate of your shadow,
for a chance to bask in your light.
To grieve your absence amid the meadow,
catch a glimpse of your peerless sight.
I aim to parry the fantasies of your kiss,
combat the fragrance of nigh Pearl skin.
To set defiance is only meaningless,
if challenge is to resist—then no man can win.
Benjamin Thomas
smile
Understood
THE DAY AFTER WE MET
Our chemistry was organic,
irresistible synergy.
Our bond is indestructible,
through seamless affinity.
The core elements of love—
is matter that can’t be destroyed.
When atoms attract their chosen one,
they can only be enjoyed.
Benjamin Thomas
truth
Pithy and precise. Marvellous.
Thank you sir.
I didn’t notice…
The coyotes moved in,
And the wild hogs infested,
The land where I lived.
One day in those invasions…
The last whip-poor-will cried,
And did its last mating dance
In my forest, and
I didn’t notice.
I didn’t notice
The day after,
Or next or
Even the next year,
But one evening,
I asked myself
When was the last time
I heard the whip-poor-will call?
The little brown bird
Who laid her eggs upon the ground,
Was easy prey for hogs and coyotes.
I closed my eyes,
And whistled, “Whip-poor-Will.”
In memory of that last bird
That called in my forest.
Coyotes and wild hogs
Were brought here by humans
Thinking they knew better
Than nature, but they didn’t.
I was angry for the gain
Was too low
When compared to what we lost.
I hope one day
A whip-poor will find my woods
Inviting and raise a family here.
The wild hogs are gone.
I do not miss them,
But I do miss the call
In the evening
Of a lone whip-poor-will
Calling to his lady love.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 16, 2021
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