Remembering

Can you hear the silence
in the chilled winds
after the feast and fat bellies
brought us to a crawl

The moist eyes lubricate the memory
the heart weakens a bit in pain
loss can take from you like that

You are not forgotten
nor have you been replaced
the roots of such love run deep
and cannot simply be replenished


I choose to remember you in life...
the click of your happy feet upon the floor
the perpetual tail motion
the beauty of your long red hair that anyone could envy
but I cannot forget how you left
in my arms a year ago
our eyes silently saying goodbye
knowing neither had the power to stop your departure
though both our frail hearts so desperately desired to



[On this evening - 1 year ago, Barron - our beautiful long haired, red dachshund died in my arms. The last year and a half of his life, he was being treated for heart problems. He is missed daily.]

Poetics of Space

This Thanksgiving holiday - many will be entertaining extended family in their homes, or perhaps traveling to another's home for the holiday. We'll each experience various levels of comfort or uneasiness depending upon the environment in which we find ourselves. The Poetics of Space is an intriguing attempted to show how our perceptions of houses and other shelters shape our thoughts, memories, and dreams. From an office cubicle to our own home - creating feelings that impact our levels of personal comfort provided French philosopher, Gaston Bachelard the subject matter of a book on this topic.

The Michaela Tease

It appears Michaela is doing another road show. She pretends she won't leave her faithful readers lamenting her quieted blog while she is away. Ha! Another lap dance!

Mommy Dearest

Carol didn't want to be my mother.
Those were her words, I heard them
quite often in fact. I believed her.
The scowl on her face added sincerity.

Carol bids me to turn the entry light off on our way out.
I had it covered. I opened the car door for her first than
seated myself in the drivers seat, we pulled away.

I turned the radio station to NPR. Are we listening to that?
The question mark was missing from her voice. I changed
the dial as I turned onto Elm street. You were going through town? I smiled, oh the expressway would be best I guess. Why would I need a mother?

Sullivan

Well Kasey caught my attention this morning. Pointed me to Chris Sullivan's Slight. It's worth the trip over to see what it's all about.

This Woman Needs Help!

I just read a wonderfully insane poem and am convinced that the writer needs help. And I hope she gets it!

The help she needs is the fulfillment of her desire to get into the MFA program at the University of Houston. I adore her poem titled This is Not the First Time You can get both the poem and her blog about the style in which she aims her writing at the link.

Katey... I wish you every success in achieving your aspiration.

11.22

arthur, my arthur,
why and by whom?
your table split asunder in one afternoon
your blood splattered upon your queen
did so clash with pink.
grown men like babies bewailed;
moaning and weeping spread
beyond the grassy knoll
a tear touched my cheek
and froze in time