Autumn is upon us and as the season takes hold we take comfort wherever we find it. It could be from a bowl of hot soup, it might be a warm blanket or a seat next to a warm fire. What is your comfort? We’re writing a comfort poem!
MARIE’S COMFORT:
Fall There’s a chill in the air. Just enough to grab a sweater and cute boots. Enough to birth sweet, crisp apples. The kind of perfect chill that calls my dad to mind - the pride I felt watching him direct the Star-Spangled Banner for the football pregame on a perfect autumn afternoon that smelled of popcorn and stadium dogs. The kind of chill that warms my heart and feeds my joy. Fall: The season of my heart. Fall: Collapse. As I drink in the season, life collapses at the feet of a friend. She writes of the woeful loss of her husband with words that both singe and chill. I know her only from afar, but I know her. How often have her stirring words and soothing photos of the beauty surrounding her touched my heart, and lifted my spirits? How often has she bravely shared the slow slide of Alzheimer’s as it stole her sweetheart far too soon? When the news came to me, I spent much time vainly stringing words and counting syllables - only to realize there’s a chill in the air, and no words warm enough. © Marie Elena Good, 2021 Dearest Janet: May you feel the strength of our Father’s love, and the warmth of your Poetic Bloomings family. Gentle hugs …
WALT’S EASE:
ALLA FREDDA TUA CAPANNA To Your Cold Hut (Translated) In my travels, I have seen great opulence, I have seen great want, just a scant spec of existence. But even such a life will spark a persistence to survive. The key is to keep alive. As the seasons transform from the warm climates to a chilled alternative, it is imperative we care for those sisters or brothers. I will come to your cold hut bringing a meal to feed you, a warmth to fill you and seed you with the spark of life meant for all. I will call on you to bring you sustenance. I will come to your cold hut bringing clothes more substantial than the tatters you cling to in modesty. I honestly care to share with you to fill your chests with my excess. I will come to your cold hut bearing logs for your fire, meant to stoke the desire within you. It is within you to lift yourself up in the glowing warmth of love’s flow. I will come to your cold hut to comfort you in your time of sadness, hoping to fill you with the gladness which your life truly deserves. It preserves your sanity, your humanity. I will come to your cold hut to share the joy of Christmas, bearing gifts of life meant to lift your strife and bring you its blessings through love. I have a purpose to help where I can and be the kind of man I was meant to be, to see the suffering of others, buffering my sisters and brothers from its pain, again and again. And I will come to your hut in love. In that, I take pause. I am (everybody’s) Santa Claus. © Walter J Wojtanik - 2021
Wonderful. 👏 Both of you have very touching poems that are fitting for the prompt. 👊
Touching, indeed. Both offerings are keepers.
Thank you both, gentlemen!
You bet!
I TAKE COMFORT IN THINGS THAT GO PLUNK
I take comfort in the downpour sea of rain.
The offbeat raindrops of pitter-patter.
A comfort of ocean wrested from above.
Distinguished teal liquid of particular matter.
I take comfort in things that go “plunk.”
Delivered from the gray borne hands of sky.
Of things that don’t cause stinging, searing pain.
Like water off a duck’s back, a release of sigh.
I take comfort in a martyred ocean sunk.
Descended by royal command from on high.
Settling richly below, deep in a bed of earth.
Doing its real work veiled from the prying eye.
Benjamin Thomas
Even things that go plunk in the night.
love the poem Benjamin and William that made me laugh…
😂
That’s right.
The way you string words together! Well done!
Thanks Marie. 😊
DAD
In memory I see him now
atop the Farmall in the field,
attending to his rolling land.
His smile
is small and tender as he works
to feed a growing family:
to pull the plow; to milk the cow;
all the while
massaging life from loam and sand.
His work is hard; his hours are long;
he could complain, but that is not
his style.
There’s scarcely need to wonder how
I still can feel his steady hand.
I love this tribute and found it to be comforting in its telling.
This is wonderful, Bill. The sentiment, the cadence, the word choices, the gentle rhymes …
I enjoy these stories, these true life word pictures, these expressions of your heart
just lovely
True source of comfort here, William. Nice tribute.
I am heading off to church this morning, yeah this not morning person groans at getting up early enough to make it there on time… in my fb memories this short poem popped up…. it is one of what I call lost poems… since my computer died and took lots of things…on what gives me comfort…
How many agree?
Chocolate
Should be an element
Unto its own.
Joy upon Joy
Dark Chocolate
Is rich with iron.
There is a gold foil
Dark chocolate truffle
In my future.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 5, 2017
Enjoy!
thanks
Oooo , yes! 🙂
thank and I may write another poem on Chocolate….
I’m in!
Walt: This poem is rich in content, and sooooooooo you. Love this!
THE COMFORT OF THE DAY
Just because we’ve the known the darkness,
doesn’t mean there isn’t the balm of light.
Just because others have sown the cold of hate,
doesn’t mean we can’t procrastinate in the warmth
of the garden’s glow.
Just because we’ve fallen, doesn’t mean we can’t
rise to witness and know, the fragrant flowers
of the meadow.
We may have sung the song of many sorrows;
but there’s always another song, and many,
many tomorrows.
As the earth faithfully spins about on its axis,
there is always one solid truth.
Where there has been the covering of night,
there will also be the reigning of the day.
Benjamin Thomas
Just so. Wonderful.
Thanks. 👌
I love the gentle nudging in this poem to do better…
😊
“We may have sung the song of many sorrows;
but there’s always another song, and many,
many tomorrows.”
My favorite in this beautiful poem.
Thanks.
Gorgeous, and most reassuring, Benjamin!
Thanks Sara. 😊
Very nice, Walt and Marie.
Thanks much!
Our Old Family Greek Joint
It’s gone now,
the Athens Market Cafe,
given over to retirement,
and we miss it.
The first time we went,
it was for the food.
The second time it was
for the food, and for Nick.
The next three hundred times
were for parea, for comfort.
I could make an equal pastitsio
in my kitchen,
every Greek can,
so long as they use
their yia-yia’s recipe.
Same thing goes for
moussaka, horta, salata horiatiki
and avgolemono.
Well, maybe not the latter, but
surely yes, the lentil soup.
What I couldn’t get at home was
Nick’s beaming smile,
arms open wide,
assurances that when
the place was packed,
there were always
the “family chairs” in the kitchen.
The tastes, the smells,
the music, the ease,
evoking ancient memories of
Sunday afternoons,
with thia’s and theos and cousins all around.
So nice, going out and still being home.
Lovely! It never dawned on me that you a Greek heritage.
Panagiotocopoulos was the original name, changed by my grandfather, after whom I am named, Dionysios, changed by the demand of the immigration service
👌
Speaking of ” … true life word pictures…” Marvellous.
Oh, the warm smiles of every single line and sentiment! I LOVE this!
I love this, and brings back memories of places like this… and I thought your name sounded Greek
Feel much warmth in this comforting poem, Daniel.
Song of, Almost October
as dreams linger
sheets tossed off
the past whispers
to the new day
my bare feet sink into carpet
yet something I want to say
finds expression
a new verse
finds its way
to paper
and yet
the song I sang
last night
still resonates
warmth of joy
even when I look
out the window
a falling leaf
drifts to the ground
my ears ring
but I hear soft voices
my thoughts filled
with love
that comes and goes
and my bones ache
in a moment of solitude
weight of seasons
borne in my heart
as it lives
its many lives
Very beautiful Mike!
Indeed so.
Stunningly, poetically so. Wow …
this poem gave me loveliness and a smile
“as dreams linger
sheets tossed off
the past whispers
to the new day”
I love this, Mike! From the beginning, you are pulled into this poem.
Where I Find Comfort
I pull on my boots and head west
following the moon that is yet to set
sink beneath undulating waves washing
north and south pushing at my legs
stealing my breath
here I find comfort within
this mass of yellow blooms tramping
through waste high and higher grasses
to discover a perfect hand of red
raspberries with a ripe on at the tip
here are hidden late September surprises
in the guise of a single perfect caterpillar
devouring a tickseed leaf or two butterflies
Buckeye and Wood Nymph floating by
to sample the surrounding buffet
as I wade deeper into goldenrod taller
than my head my head now and everywhere
sunflowers named for the emperor, Maximilian
banked behind sumac going deep maroon
the flower I really came to hunt for fluorishing
for only five weeks bridging late September
and October then disappearing into brown sameness
swaying as if forgotten with switchgrass and skeletons
of asters now burgeoning with white clusters and
the less hardy purples fisted in my hands
even as bend to smell the rarer snow white
snakeroot’s tiny chalices nodding under the cedars
still too few to pick if they are to return next year
plucking only two stems of deep blue of pitcher sage
bloom heavy and bent by this wind along
the deer trails I follow barely perceptible
save for the musky scent still lingering in whorls
where they bedded earthy odors mixing
with these fierce floral essences demanding
my attention and yes, gratitude
so that I breathe it in take it all to heart
and tuck it in the deepest corners those
crevasses that open so unexpectedly on
dark winter days when darkness drops
its mantle and threatens to overwhelm
here I take a hundred photographs
without a camera for some things are
too ephemeral to capture with a false lens
listen to the calls of late bluebirds
the susurration leaves bowing stem strings
to take comfort where I find it.
Had picture but don’t seem to be able to insert??
Sounds like Nirvana to me. Wonderful.
This, Pat, I wish I could close my eyes and listen as your voice speaks (sighs) your poem. Oh the beauty here!
I’m sorry you can’t insert your photo. 😦
Guess I don’t know how except on my own. Help always welcome.
William manages to share links, which I assume he just pastes into the comment box. But I don’t see any way to share photos in them.
No one pens nature quite like you. I learned a new word! Susurration. Thank you! 👊
you paint a picture with words and I was mesmerized by that picture
Heavenly poem, Pat. You have such a keen knowledge of flora and fauna.
RANDOM COMFORT
There’s a time,
unbeknownst
to the recipient.
To hug oneself,
when there’s no
else to do the deed.
Benjamin Thomas
The point of this is one we should all embrace.
“Embrace” … oh … an accidental pun. 😉
big smile… I live alone so I hug my cats…which they seem to thing repulsive at times… like a two year old they want down
Marie your poem is majestic in its kindness and the memories of fall… how lovely these two go with a word that mean more than one meaning…. amazing…
Thank you so much, Mary!
Walt how sweet your poem is in its generosity — almost makes this Grinch want to change.
The Dictionary, the Reference Books, the Maps
Da dropped out of high school,
And taught himself to be a civil engineer…
Even invented new ways to build roads…
He taught himself the ways of wildflowers
Studying their habitat, and
Could recite their names
Common and botanical.
But where I found comfort
Was in his books…
From which he taught himself.
When I was small before
I started to school…
He brought me rocks,
And said tell me what kind of rock.
He grinned when I knew if it
Was sedimentary, ignatius, or metamorphosis.
He brought me leaves to learn the plants,
And taught me how to tell what type of tree
In winter when there were no leaves
And only bark was the clue.
When I would study and ask
Him how to spell a word…
He would point to the dictionary and
Say look it up. I would groan…
He would look down but was smiling.
Maps was part of his work, and
I could read a map when I was young.
I could follow the lay of the land
With the topical maps laid out
On our dining room table.
He encouraged me to study
Places I would never visit,
And from that I wrote
A study for Christmas
Of Turkey a Muslim country
That it was there the legend of Santa
Had begun centuries ago.
I chose to dress when I was ten
In a Sari my mother made
To speak about India,
And the customs of that land…
Encyclopedias, globes, maps,
Books on wild flowers,
Books on rocks, and trees,
And dictionaries
Were my treats when I was young…
I still possess some of those books,
And all those memories,
When I sat at the dining table studying
My school work, while
He studied writing a poem
Or creating steppe slopes
Or writing a letter…
And sometimes he would say,
“Sis, come let me show …”
I am like him,
And that is a comfort.
I have my reference books
Mostly religious, but
There is the Tudors,
Books on gardening…
And I have dictionaries…
Books on the travels of others,
And a book on the life of trees,
For I know as long as I live…
Our likeness gives those
Who didn’t know him-
A glimpse of him
Through me.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 26, 2021
The relationship with your Da is of mutual respect and warmth. He was a teacher, obviously, in every sense of the word. Yes, we get a glimpse of him through you. Thank you!
thank you…
How lovely to be able to see him in yourself.
My brain works like his did…. and yes it is lovely…
COMFORT IN WHAT I AM
I am a mist of ravens.
A gale of pink petals.
Weight of precious metal.
I am a gallop of wind.
A heart of granite.
A dollop of passion.
I am the naked truth.
A season of change.
A flock of dahlias.
I am a camp of crows.
A clique of swans.
A gang of falcons.
I am a barren land.
A helping hand.
A crown of stars.
I am the woodwind.
I am the violin.
I am the taste of gin.
I am a song of shadow.
A chant of praise.
I am the rays.
I am me.
I am—
what I need
to be.
Benjamin Thomas
Oh … be still my heart …
This would well become a classic, if it has the freedom to do so. WONDERFUL, Benjamin!
Let it run wild. Thanks.
Love this and Marie is correct….I posted a couple of days ago on FB one of my older poems about who I am not as beautiful as this…
It’s hard to imagine this becoming a classic. It also hard to be objective about your own writing.
You are exactly what you need to be!
👌
The Night, Da Rocked Me to Sleep
I was not quite eight.
The Asian flu sent my fever
Up to the dangerous levels…
Da was leaving for Chili,
On a jet airplane,
The next morning…
I slept on the couch
For Grannie was staying with us.
I woke up screaming
My nose was bleeding,
And Ma fussed and
Told me to be quiet.
Da said, “Clean her bed.
I will clean her up.”
We sat in the bathroom
As he gently washed
The blood from my face
And from my hair.
He changed my clothes,
And brought me
To the living room
Where I was to sleep.
“Louise, go to bed,
I will rock her.”
In the old wooden rocker,
He sung to me a bit
Then stopped,
“Listen to me sis,
I won’t be here to care
For you, and
You need to do it yourself.”
He kissed my temple,
And whispered,
“You are strong,
Be stronger.”
I nodded my head…
But in his arms
As he rocked me
I knew he would
Be there to help me get up
Whenever I fell, but
Knew he knew I could do it.
The next morning when I woke
He had gone to catch that jet airplane…
To a land I have not been.
One week later,
A doll from the airport he mailed to me,
For it was my eighth birthday,
“I miss you.
Remember what I told you.”
Neither one of us knowing
How those words
Would guide me through
The first difficult year of my life.
There have been times
In the last twenty years
I wanted to quit, but didn’t
His voice spoke to me
Across time…
“You are strong.
Be stronger.”
I still have the old black rocker, and
So many babies it rocked,
But for me it is that night
I was rocked to sleep
In my father’s arms
That gives me comfort still.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 26, 2021
… and now, my tears are falling … If only every child was raised with such tenderness …
thanks and I did have the best and the worst tied up together but it is the best that kept me strong.
It’s amazing how far the encouragement of small words can go.
And you never know when your words might sink into someone’s soul…. and thank you…
Fall Calls Out
Fall calls out
to all things
comfy. Open windows
whisk in fresh air.
Lush leaves dress trees
in finery. Orange
pumpkins piled high
make me salivate
for pumpkin pie.
Picking apples with
colorful names like,
Honeycrisp, Pink Lady,
and my favorite–
Granny Smith–nice
and tart. Say a sweet
goodbye to September.
Wear a light sweater,
for Fall calls out.
Big smiles over here, Sara! Love this!
Thanks, Marie!
Very soothing voice and style. I love fall too!!
Thanks, Benjamin!
This is so enchanting and entrancing, and the use of “whisk” is perfect, in my opinion.
Thanks, William. I value your opinion!
I love this and I LOVE apples…. once I found an apple called Mutsu and it was the best I ever tasted, but it is not popular so it is difficult to find and my favorite is Arkansas Black… let it mellow and it makes the best homemade applesauce.
Haven’t heard of either apple, but it brings back memories of Grandma’s homemade applesauce. Thanks, Mary.
in this – your time –
the wind may brush across your cheeks
soft as caress, stinging as a slap to sentience
a murmuration of comfort for you to find –
rising and falling, whirling about this time –
find comfort in the legacy of your
grandchildren’s small sparkling
smiles, their hugs of velvet skin –
find comfort in your children and
all the children of mothers –
the children of fathers of the hearts
that grieve and tend and live on to
remember -and yes, find comfort
taking and turning from all the beautiful
sayings and psalms and songs and wishes,
beating drums, and dancing feet, fragrant
blossoms, traditions, and customs, sweets,
and such and yes, even poems-
find comfort when needed in turning from all
to bathe in naked, pure solitude –
let tears fall or not – it is up to you-
comfort in the flutter of a solitary
feather, a flash of a cardinal’s wing
in reiki, in each unexplained meaning-
full appearance that offers itself to you –
comfort in that cascaded waterfall
of all that was and is – forever
pulsing through you with each
heart beating – still – Find comfort
wherever it finds you – for it will –
it cannot be pushed or pulled but
as a whisper in the wind, a turned
tarot card, a sparkling crystal a
look, a hum in a frequency other
than all others – in ways both
unexpected and familiar –
Comfort will find you –
as tangible as a thick puffed coverlet
pulled over you on a down bed as
sure as each drop coalesced to power
the shimmered sea – it shall find you –
and leave on quietly slippered feet
and return again and again – Comfort-
Perhaps it shall rise up and grab you
with powerful arms and crush you
to its chest and shout his name
unto the wherever of the universe
and return you in full knowledge
of all that you thought you knew –
take comfort where it finds you –
when you want it and when and if
you wish to shout and scream
and smash mountains to dust –
if you should choose to desire
to obliterate all so that you are
once again – together – under
that waterfall of all that can still
be – do so – take comfort when
it comes to you – or where it is
offered and take comfort to reject
comfort when pain or vacuum or
blankness is the order of the moment –
feel free in your heart to decline and
accept and decline again –
for now, once again you are granted
choice of when and how. Let the
softness of dove’s feathers and
the grandeur of the storm driven
sea and all in between, the things
that live and grow and breathe and
the monuments natural and created
that stand in memoriam let all that
moves without, about and stirs within
– let it be – each and all in the shifting
kaleidoscopic magnificence ….
with love
always
Very inspired Pearl! Good to see you. 😁
Hi all… I am going to replant this offering directly to Janet which on reflection I consider more appropriate- apologies for my impulsiveness to write and share – Stay safe and of course …write on.
No need for apologies here. Your words are always welcome.
Beautiful, soft kaleidoscope.
Pearl, I know you did not post this here to get compliments/feedback, but I just want to say again that it is just so tender and full. So sensitive and loving, and gorgeously written. I’m so glad you shared it with us, as I can learn so much from it. Thank you.
thanks for this… all of us grieve at one point or another…Comfort is rare in the beginning of grief, but will come later…
A grand poem, Pearl!
The Night Stills My Soul
I was born near two in the morning…
A night child I am.
In the night stories were born…
While trying to go to sleep
Or stay awake
While driving down
Some roads in towns I barely knew.
In the night after shooting
A few games of pool…
I would walk out in front
Of a building
Where English and history were taught,
And there I would belt out a song…
Pour my soul into the words
Letting my heart bleed
Until the pain drifted into the darkness
And was lost for a time.
One night I spent spitting off a dam
With a man I barely knew…
We howled at the moon,
And laughed as the sun began to rise.
Spent a night with a nephew
Watching the stars dance across the sky,
And I was thankful I was living…
Nearly twenty years later
I am grateful for each of those days
I almost didn’t have.
But it is those nights
When I took a ride in my car, and
Stopped upon a country road,
Listening the coyotes yapping,
And owl calling into the dark…
As I leaned against my car
Alone with the night
Comforted by the stars,
And the moon…
Symbols for the creation
That was all around me…
And I felt my soul
Become still and
I was
One
With
The
Creator,
And
I knew
What comfort was…
And understood
Why stillness
Comes in minuscule moments
When the molecules
Stand still within me…
And I know
Who that Creator is
And how insignificant
I am except
I am loved…
And that is not insignificant
At all.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 26, 2021
Nor is this piece. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you…. 2o years ago today was the beginning of an experience I will never forget. I was dying and in denial….the first Saturday in October about midnight the dead came to visit me, and during that time, Christ came to me. and told me I had more to do. I struggled all night for my father was there, but it was my mother’s snore that made me stay for I could not leave her. U entered the hospital the next week and my hemoglobin was 2.8 normal is 13. The doctor told me they did not think I would survive, and I told him I had no doubt that I would and told him that story. HE told me had heard similar story and he believed me.
Wow. Amazing. Glad you’re still with us! 👏
thank you and I am thankful for every day even the really bad ones…
Mary, thank you for this. The images, sounds, and senses. The humanity, and the awe of our Creator and His creation. Wonderful. So wonderful.
you are welcome…
THE WOLF AND THE MAIDEN
Where is the comfort amidst the solemn halls,
ardent screams of the unheard maiden?
She wrangles in the throes of vicious crowds,
where querulous voices contend for the crown.
The maiden’s reverberant wails summon a savior,
her incessant cries halt the howling heart of a wolf.
He knows well the perilous howl of a beast,
who hungers a care, who’s least, in the kingdom-
Who is shackled by the frayed remnants of hope,
constrained by the chains of fiery circumstance.
The night wolf takes upon himself her mourning,
he faithfully dons an eternal coat of sour shame.
Yet in her silenced name he howls for another,
facing a jewel stone moon, he howls yet again.
He defiantly vows to sound a fair maiden’s siren,
until the echo of her wailing has been paid heed.
Benjamin Thomas
For me, this has a Brothers Grimm feel to it. Marvellous.
The night wolf takes upon himself her mourning,
he faithfully dons an eternal coat of sour shame.
Yet in her silenced name he howls for another,
facing a jewel stone moon, he howls yet again.
/These lines are to exquisite!! Could be their own poem for sure…. such a blend of words and emotion–liquid on the tongue.
Thanks Pat! So glad you enjoyed it. 😊
Thanks William.
Exactly what I was thinking!
The variety of writing you manage to excellently pen astounds me. Absolutely astounds me. Wow, wow, wow!!
Fun stuff!
reminds me of the first romance novel I ever read… The Wolf and The Dove… My friend Gracie took me to the beach… First time I had been. She told me I had to get a book to read… I got something very serious. She took the book from me and said… at the beach you have to read romance… I loved that book and I love this poem…
Thanks.
A CLOUD OF COMFORT
There is comfort like a newfangled cloud.
Inadvertently allowed into our state of mind.
Full of hazy grays, hesitant baby blues.
There is comfort like clues of a newborn cloud.
Soaked with crocodile tears, somewhat near,
but mysteriously intangible.
There is comfort like a cotton candy meal.
Just fine and dandy, chamomile sweetness,
That’s good for a time—then it disappears.
Benjamin Thomas
So haiku-like, this.
Oh, that final stanza!
😁
sigh
HEAVEN’S CHAMPAGNE
Comfort is taken in the small things.
Like the words that soak from poetry.
Like seeds of calm that halt anxiety.
Like the psalm of roots that read the rain.
Buried stories that breach the depths.
That tell how Mother Nature wept.
How the kin of soil accepts, and kept—
heaven’s champagne.
Benjamin Thomas
This reminds me of Service’s “Little Things.”
Never heard of this.
This is what I was thinking on:
http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/robert_william_service/poems/12419
This begs to be read aloud.
lovely
Love “heaven’s champagne”.
A ROMANTIC PLEA
I seek the sweet receipt of your eyes.
Ponder, seize the steady rain of your gaze.
Covet the hallowed praise of your lips.
May I sup, and sip of your peace?
Alas…
May I take fellow flight in thy comfort?
May I partake of your searing sun?
May I tease a share of your intent and will?
May I chance a heightened thrill once begun?
Benjamin Thomas
So chivalrous, and I love the use of “sup.”
Chivalrous. The perfect word.
I agree with William and Marie
👍
THE GREAT COMFORTER
There is no greater comfort…
than a leaden head
upon a willing pillow—
to bear the burden
of the broken day.
Benjamin Thomas
“Leaden head”…. Perfect.
I like that word too. 😁
Oh my … one of my favorites, this. Another to become a classic.
Oh cool, thanks!
true and such simplicity in how it is spoken in this poem
Thanks. I love this part of my day.
AUTUMN’S HEALING
Springtime proffers flowers
with regenerating powers,
but nothing comforts faster
than goldenrod and aster.
Love this!! Mine from yesterday ‘went to sleep’ in the house, but fun for a few hours!!
Awww! Charming!
lovely and I love golden rod… but my allergies don’t – still they are gorgeous
Splendid William. 👌
Love this, William!
Comfort comes in strange ways…
During the months my mother was dying,
Comfort rarely came, and I was lost
The exhaustion I felt each day,
And the pain of watching her wane…
I saw the sitter and Ma’s doctors,
But only now and then saw others
For dying is a lonely business,
But often I wished
Someone would have come
Just to hold my hand,
Or tell me that I was strong
And could face it
When I felt I couldn’t.
Laughter I didn’t expect,
To invade my moments of sorrow,
But Ma told me
I was her most difficult child,
And I laughed for I knew I was.
The next morning, she fired me.
I laughed again,
For I knew I was some strange woman,
And not the little girl she remembered.
My friends would call me, and
That was a comfort, but
One night my friend from Alabama called,
And I was laughing
For Ma had told me to get a man,
And LEAVE.
The next morning, I was fired again.
It was a daily thing-
For she would tell the sitter
To fire me.
After she left…
And the rigmarole of the funeral was over…
The house was so quiet…
And so empty
And it creaked more
As I strained my ears
Listening for her voice,
While knowing I would never
Hear it in this life,
And would not be fired again
By my mother.
One night I watched a funny movie,
And I began to laugh,
As tears of funniness and sorrow
Collided on my cheek
I found comfort
In my breathing,
And knew I would
Somehow muddle through the days
To come while
Knowing
I would always feel
An emptiness
That no one could ever fill.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 27, 2021
Such depth of emotion in the retelling.
thanks
A unique for voice in poetry.
thanks I am kind of a one of a kind person…
Editing is a pain…
The last couple of weeks
I have been editing
My novel series…
Two novels down…
Working on the third…
Editing is a pain-
A royal pain…
No comfort in doing it…
But as I finished
The first novel…
I was comfortable
In what I had written…
The changes I made…
Were important changes…
It was a better story.
Editing is a pain…
And when I finished
The second one…
I knew I was not done.
I give myself a few weeks,
Because this takes mulling.
I will be back
Reviewing and pondering…
And this time
I will have it finished,
Or nearly finished.
The Third one is not finished.
I had planned to finish
It by the first of October,
But grieving Gus
Set me back…
Took a year and a few months
Before I felt everything was right again.
My chatty companion kept me going.
But the book I would have written last year
Is different one than this year.
This one deals with Sardis’s grief…
And how it distanced her from those she loved.
Within my soul there is a quiet comfort…
That even if no one ever reads this story…
It is a good one that I have written.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 27, 2021
I look forward to reading your published series.
thank you…
Keep writing. I’ve been writing mine forever. I’m learning that the first person I write for is me. Even if no one reads it.
I will…
One of the rare occasions Hank makes an entry:
http://imagery77.blogspot.com/2021/09/clear-blue-skies-above.html
the 10 of 12 given words:
clear blue grace open seek room
spacious waves simple plains
clear blue skies above
with the grace of Providence
in all of His benevolence
and love all in the open
being evidence
of the care for all of us
seek rooms spaciously
in the comfort of freedom
like waves across the sea
simple pleasures to roam
the plains across borders
so as to overcome the distress
of the lockdown
all in the spirit
of awareness and sharing
long-absent
viciously imposed
for many months
stay safe people
for all the simple joys together
even though under siege
to huddle for now
with hopes for the better
Brenda’s Sunday Whirl Wordle#520
Marie’s Poetic Blooming: Take comfort
Prompt #353
Big welcome to you, and we are thankful you decided to share this “rare occasion” with us! This is a lovely piece, and the fact that it suits two prompts is impressive.
The prompt is all Walt, btw. 🙂 Hope to see you around more often, Hank!
Fascinating construction.
the way the words flow towards the end is just lovely…
Very nice. Thanks for sharing.
Panhandle Fall
A Panhandle fall
Is no fall at all
At least not a fall as we know
Our leaves turn dull brown
Then fall to the ground
Never to be covered with snow
As temperatures fall
A few degrees, but that’s all
We ready long pants and a coat
While the kids are in school
We still enjoy the pool
A bit chilly whenever we float
When temperatures drop
The AC we’ll stop
We’ll open a window or three
Our Panhandle fall
Isn’t exciting at all
But it’s just good enough for me
This one gave me a chuckle. 🙂
Reminds me of where I used to live in southern California. The place was at 1000 feet of elevation, which was important because the snow line in the mountains was related to elevation. Only once did I see snow there. Wasn’t good enough for me. Still enjoyed your poem, though.
Big smile and a giggle
Flows very nice with a good sense of humor. And true! Love fall.
Shelter….
My hearts beats
Not for the building
Which in I reside…
For the shelter I seek
Is not made of walls of wood,
And spackle, and sheet rock and paint
But that of a beating heart.
It is where I seek my shelter
From the storms of life…
And the damages those storms can cause.
I have always sought
A place where I could find a home…
I have been homeless
Most of my life…
I have lived in houses
With people I loved,
But I was separate…
In a way no one can know.
I have a house…
A place to lay down at night,
Except for the love of myself…
And my cats…it is an empty house.
Memories never give shelter
They just remind me of
Those I have lost.
I have wanted to give another shelter,
A place for comfort in the storms,
The place where in the darkness
There is always light.
In my heart is shelter
Within the chambers of my heart.
It is what most of us seek,
And some find it,
And others like me
Have not.
I heard a song from my youth
About someone asking
Another to give them shelter.
The world was filled with
Injustice, filled with war,
And spilling out with hate…
Nothing much has changed…
We still burn down cities,
Destroy what is not ours,
And declare it good…
There is within us
The ability to give shelter
Not just to those we love,
But to those we do not know their names…
I have a name.
I need shelter…
I know your name.
I can shelter you…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 27, 2021
Superb, in my opinion.
Thank you so much…. that song is Rolling Stones Gimme me Shelter….
Wonderful. 👌
thanks
Outstanding, Mary!
thanks
The walk with a butterfly….
My knee ached…
I knew what I must do.
Check my driveway for downed trees.
The night before a hurricane named Irmo
Raged into the night,
But by morning there was sunlight
And just washed skies.
I heard no sounds…
The forest was silent…
Forests are noisy places…
Birds chattering,
Bees buzzing,
Wind blowing through leaves…
It was silent.
There came the drumming
Of the Pileated woodpecker
Down in the hollow and
I smiled for it was
A sound that broke
The eerie silence.
At the curve I was greeted
By a yellow swallowtail butterfly…
Who decided to join the walk with me.
I was limping
For I had a bad knee,
But the wings of that butterfly
Were tattered and
I knew it spent a rough night.
It flitted from leaf to leaf
For a bit of a rest…
Its flutters
Made me smile,
And forget my troubles.
If it could fly,
I could walk.
I came upon two downed pines.
Close to the end of my road.
They were too big for me
To bring my handy-dandy hand saw
And work at cutting them out.
I thought my little friend
Would leave me there,
But she didn’t.
She flitted to and fro,
And I chatted with her
About my days,
and my fears.
I conversed
How alone I felt
After storms
Like last night.
I praised her
About how beautiful she was,
And how thankful that she shared it.
As I came to that curve
Where she first joined me
The yellow flutter-by
Flitted in front of me,
As if to tell me goodbye.
She dipped low
And then caught a breeze
And flew into the forest.
As she dipped from sight
I felt my tears fall,
For I was lonely
After the storm,
And it was pleasant
To have a companion
While I walked.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 28, 2021
Hurricane Irmo had hit, and I had no power and so I went out to check if I had any trees down… this story covers about 1/3 mile… my driveway is a ½ mile…. This what wrote later that day…
As I was leaving the curve area, I was joined with a butterfly… a yellow swallowtail… it had a little tattering from the wind… I heard no birds chirping or fussing… the blue jays and the Ravens usually fuss at me when I go out walking… I saw a pair of wood thrushes and heard the pileated woodpecker down in the hollow doing its work… but other than that I heard nothing… then the butterfly appeared…
As I walked out the driveway it stayed close to me… flitting from leaf to leaf but always within six to 10 feet of me and always in front or beside me…I talked to the butterfly as I walked… my knee was hurting, and I really needed the distraction to stay my course…. When I arrived at the place where a big tree and another tree had fallen. I turned around and thought at that point my little friend would leave me… the butterfly followed me back. It again went before me or beside me all the way until I saw my house again… then it flitted close in front of me and then flew off back up the drive and out of sight. September 28, 2017
Again, wonderful storytelling.
Thank you and it was an amazing experience
Things I Find Comfort In
A hug or two, a hand in mine
A pine-scented forest path
A friendly pat, a homemade gift
A warm smile, a charming laugh
Chicken and noodles
Hot tea with sugar and cream
A full belly and a full tank
Ocean waves, a mountain scene
Joyful songs in harmony
A gospel hymn a faith-filled prayer
A Bible promise, the Holy Ghost
Sisters and brothers who show they care
Strumming my uke, a cheerful song
A puppy cuddled on my lap
Faded jeans and tennis shoes
A toddler taking an afternoon nap
A gentle rain, a lilac scent
A warm fire on a cold night
A cool breeze on a hot day
Writing in the evening light
I love what gives you comfort..
Amen and amen.
This poem is so comforting, just to read.
CONSUMING OF SHAME
Should we then, turn on the faucet of blame?
For innocence of buoyant moth—
bustling toward a wanton flame?
Seeking its comfort amidst its burning
hues, purified whites, maddish reds,
and the hottest of blues.
Perhaps, there’s a sure pleasure
in one’s desire to tame; artful bliss,
healing, and the consuming of shame.
Benjamin Thomas
ah yes and so many pleasures also contain shame… this made me think of the Moth song which I love.
A Brush going through my hair…
My nieces and nephews
Would tell you
I loved to have my hair brushed…
It was the reason I kept it long,
And when no one would brush it
I had it cut off…
There were two times
I did not like my hair brushed.
Both of them caused me pain.
Ma was determined
That my braids
Would not fall out,
And she would pull my hair
Until my eyebrows
Touched my hairline.
One day I was being tortured,
I said, “I want my hair cut.”
I didn’t mean for it to be cut
That short.
I cried and ran
To my favorite tree,
And there in the limbs
Clinging to the trunk I cried.
Thus began the war of my hair
With my mother.
She liked the short bob;
I did not.
In defense
I learned
To do my own hair.
The second was a hard
Hurtful lesson to learn.
Sometimes at the end of the day
While I was visiting
A child,
They would request
To brush my hair…
Since the day had been long
And I needed the solace
I would agree…
But when that child
Just happened to be three
I learned the lesson
That a brush could hurt
When slammed into your head
When that three-year-old
Did not like how
Their beautician skills
Weren’t working.
I live alone these days,
And miss the soothing
Feel of someone
Brushing my hair.
It is an intoxicating sensation.
I close my eyes and
Remember those days,
And hope they were not my last
Time to be seduced
By a hair brush
Going through my locks.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 29, 2021
AN EPISTLE
A blanket
of
words warms my soul.
big smile
Pretty little piku.
Deliciously poetic! And it warms my soul too!!
Beautiful, Paula!
To Binkey (Ink-Bink, Inky)
What will give me comfort tonight?
An old gray cat…
Who was abandoned at my door,
And fed with a bottle…
Who will purr at my feet,
As I read
Or watch whatever is
On the box with the magic pictures.
I will invite him closer
To scratch his ears,
And sing a lullaby
I tell him that it is his song
About a cradle that tumbles down.
I tell him
I will always catch him,
And not to worry so much,
But he will
For he is a worrier,
And I am his comfort
That bumps in the night
Will not hurt him.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 29, 2021
So touching, this.
Thank you… BInkey is 12 years old, and getting old fast… He is part Siamese, and whatever room I am in… he is there… He is a sweet kitty most of the time…I am in my office and he is asleep by my chair…
Comfort…
Comfort like peace
Comes stealing slow…
Like riding home
On a dark night…
Where the road
Seems to never end,
And life’s struggles
Seem ride the waves
Into your life…
Many a night,
I drove miles and miles
Hoping that tomorrow
There will be rest.
Nights dark
With weariness
Miles from home.
The stars for comfort,
And the moon for guidance…
I wandered roads
That I might never ride again…
Hoping that the morning
Would bring rest…
But the next day
I rose, and the obligations
And promises
Always won,
I would walk out my door,
Trying not to cry
For the days
I was losing for myself.
I wanted a place of comfort.
A place to lay my head,
And for fleeting moments
Those roads would disappear,
And I would gather strength
To travel onward…
It is hard to live a life
When you are always
The stranger…
My wayfaring ways
Are behind me,
And I found comfort
In whom I was,
And peace came
Drifting
In on twilight skies
Talking to the one
Created it all,
And I know
Without those
Years of traveling
Backroads,
Looking for comfort
I was learning how to seek
It where I wasn’t
A Stranger.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
September 29, 2021
I’m envisioning nighttime drives in the moonlight, headlights off. Enchanting, this.
thanks
THE WEIGHTLESS KISS OF TRUTH
There’s a misbegotten truth,
weighing heavily on the tip of my wings.
Impeding the ascent to the height—
the cumulus flight to bigger, or better things.
Whispers of resistance, continue, in the
soft echoing of resilient wind it seems.
Companies of snow-capped mountain
ranges now break upon my sight.
Arises now a forgotten strength, and
defiance—to engage in a bitter fight.
Suddenly a pang of thought, rushes to
mind, and its presence was just right.
I bear no burden, I need no wings, the truth is
weightless—instantly I am light.
Lighter than the resistance of ageless wind.
Lighter than the veiled air known to men.
Lighter than tenfold painful lies.
Lighter than the unheard strangled cries—
For the swift healing of crippled wings.
Or laments that the mourning dove brings.
Lighter than the feigned beast we call doubt.
Lighter than the wicked weight of the world.
Lighter than the hurled exercise of hate.
And soon—
I just evaporate.
*Poof*
For I am lighter than the lightest of them all.
For I’ve become the unsung molecule, of small—
Belief. Relief.
Even until this very day.
No knows the sage old mystery.
Who wrongly assumed I’ve disappeared,
in the gist of fledgling history.
But you’ll never know where I’ll be.
Perhaps, when you round the corner—
There I’ll be.
But don’t be surprised when you see…
The weightless kiss of truth—
from me.
Benjamin Thomas
Wow. The rhymes are akin to a murmur.
Thanks.
THE COMFORT OF AUTUMN’S SPICES
The fallen make the fateful decision
of parting ways with their lush green mother.
Drifting, drifting, drifting
down….
A humbling process, of becoming,
a hairless crown.
They saunter along, falling,
drifting, leaving for another.
Sailing, surfing, hailing slow borne breezes.
Down, down, swirling, swaying.
Time and tide has come,
no more delaying.
Reminiscing a season of summer.
Of blistering heat, rains, of smother.
Drifting, drifting, lifting…
among the shrill teases of wind.
Down, down, down, again.
Soundless it prays upon the ground.
“Father, only if it pleases thee,
allow me to bend, break, and scatter free.
Amen.”
The fallen then had shivered and shook.
The trees knew the end, but they couldn’t look.
It quivered, crumbled, became very brittle.
It broke, shattered, tattered from the middle.
Hands of wind came scooping, scattering
fallen ashes.
Adorning the land for the demand of color
and sashes.
Drifting, drifting, sprawling—
in the inevitable season of leave’s falling.
It’s the unspoken change of season’s prices.
It’s the awesome price of becoming…
autumn’s spices.
Benjamin Thomas
I think this is written beautifully; the whole effect is a swaying, one, for me anyway, consistent with falling leaves.
Thanks.
Marie, I like your uses of Fall. So sad to go through this, but your words are a comfort.
Santa, you never fail to amaze me with your words. This poem is a blanket of good will.