Death offers the warm embrace of peace
A loving homage to the newly deceased
Life used to stay busy; feel overly productive
The spiral of drowsing is overwhelmingly seductive
No more errands or things to do
No more arguments of personal truth
With warmest lust on the coldest skin
An allegiance unfurls with the shifting winds
What was once taken for granted truly is sated
The breath comes no more from the body related
And yet as a witness to the dearly departed
A journey, a pilgrimage, a trail never charted
Speculation like specters gather for court
Dressed in saint’s clothing, suspended transport
the breathing world is holding hands with Death
leaving lamentations from the loved ones bereft
Category Archives: Observations
Blooming Pebbles
Each breath is a step towards Death
Yet we take for granted the breath
not the inevitable destination.
Remembering to breathe is acknowledging life
It is the act of inflating our lungs
with air that has formed words
of love
of hate
of anger and grief
Exhaling out our life’s resistance
to succumb to a fate
written finitely on the pebble
which blooms as our gravestones
in our final hour of mortal coil.
Pass it onward!
Rejuvenation
A walk in the wild wood timber
When the leaves have all blown down
The wintery wind whips omens
Of the King who’s lost his crown
No longer sanctified or honored
Or otherwise enshrined
The gloom embraces obscurity
Elemental slumber consigned
Deep beneath the gloaming soil
The spark of life remains
Guided by the ancient ways
A labor of growing pains
For when the woods again awaken
And the leaves return to green
The King will once again be born
His life, again, be seen
Pass it onward!
Behind the Blinders
To the face I did not know
The one whose name is clandestine
Spoken whispers, just below hearing
Your breath did not share my space
I never knew your laughter
Nor could I recognize your voice
Your eyes and mine have never met
But I grieve the loss of you.
The you were human, like me.
The you who had happiness and sorrow
The you who was quiet or loud
The you who was every bit as breathing as I am
The you who was every bit as worthy of love
The you who was every bit as alive
You were invaluable to the fabric of the Universe
I stand as witness that you existed
I attest to your right to dignity as a human being
May love now surround you with grace and mercy.
Pass it onward!
Love Showed Up
When I have been in darkest pain
Feeling I could not hope again
Love showed up.
When I felt lost and overwhelmed
Riding grief on a boat unhelmed
Love showed up.
When I’d thought my demon’s vanquished
But they roared to life, causing anguish
Love showed up.
It didn’t try to change my pain
But gently whispered, “Try again.”
Love showed up.
It didn’t try to change my trouble
It helped me to clean up the rubble
Love showed up.
It helped me navigate which way to travel
Clothing myself in threads unraveled
Love showed up.
Its compass pointed to my true north
Showing me how to sally forth
Love showed up.
It walked beside me on meandering paths
Teaching forgiveness for my past
Love showed up.
Pass it onward!
Widow’s Peak
She desires to be a widow
so bad that she can taste it
The casseroles and condolences
With open arms embraced it
She wears no widow’s weed
Nor tithed the widow’s Mite
With crocodile tears in her eyes
Their mourning her spotlight
When the flowers have all wilted
And the calls have all but eased
Will she then be grateful
That it was he deceased?
Note: This isn’t written about anyone in particular. It’s a what if.
Pass it onward!
Delusional
The devil came to my door
He rang the bell and cried
He lied that I was once adored
His chest puffed out with pride
His deception blackly oozed because
There is blood upon his hands
By his nature he’s embodied faux pas
In his hollowed-out grandstand
Convinced there is an audience
Still, he bows his head to pray
“No.” is nothing obvious
I refuse him the time of day
He invades my home with anger
Grief that should have long been spent
His recklessness is dangerous
But he simply won’t relent
His wounds are dark and oozing
His heart is arctic cold
He reminds me that he thinks of me
At least that’s what I’m told
His prayers remain unanswered
He leans on crutch and wit
His aura is all cancered
No blame will he remit
Pass it onward!
The Ashes of Nobody
The ashes of nobodies
(No bodies?)
Are in a mausoleum
Placed on a shelf
Without ceremony
As if life repeats itself in death
Held without specific honor
No proof of ancestry
Tracing roots back to the dust
They’ve returned to
without a name or with
unknown cause or suppos-ed
forgotten or lost
As if life repeats itself in death
No words to dress them in Saint’s clothes
A hurried end without recompense
Humbly offered words of worth
They did exist here on earth
They dreamed the dreams of all of us
But the shelter line was drawn too high
The cracks they fell into, too deep
As if life repeats itself in death
Pass it onward!
Anger
Chickadee
On my front deck, I’ve allowed spiders to live as they will. There are several webs that are cluttered with carcasses of bugs. The hunters don’t hunt me, I feel good about being a steward to their dinners, and I can sit outside undisturbed by flying insects. Everyone wins.
While enjoying my morning prayers and ritual of Kawphy drinking, I heard a thump and saw a flutter at my front window. My curiousity piqued, I stepped to the window to see what happened, as did my cat.
Caught in one of the webs was the tiniest of chickadees, suspended in peril. I stepped out onto my porch to see if it were actually stuck. It’s beak was open and it appeared to be having difficulties breathing. I pulled the wicker chair away from the wall. To my horror, the little avian fell to the porch, wings outspread.
I gently picked it up from the porch allowing it to rest on my fingers. I slowly and carefully pulled away the web that was holding its wings. I noticed there was some web on it’s beak, so ever so gently, I pulled that away as well.
There I stood on my porch, holding this precious little creature. I cooed to it, told it how beautiful it was, and explained that it was free to go when it was ready. Together we waited.
Its head turning, tilting, and observing with its curiousity as sure as mine. It pooped on my hand, but I didn’t move. I was busy cherishing this rare occurence, reveling in the beauty of the intimacy I was sharing. I felt excitement, reverence, and in tune with the natural world.
This suspended time lasted for about five minutes before the bird took liberation from its ordeal. I watched it take off with an elation that I can only equate to winning a prize. In a way, I suppose I did.
Mare Martell 