Tick-tock-DING!

This tick-tock

Is the time

Of our lives.

Each moment

That we donate

Each kiss

Each smile

Each tear

Each mile

Are our silent

prayers

Of unmindful

Gratitude

To death.

That we didn’t

Taste

The wormy

Tick-tock of

Our own demise.

This tick-tock is

Our tiny truce

Taking for granted

That this tick-tock

Won’t be our last.

But a moment,

Just like this,

May not come

At our willful

Bidding

But will,

instead,

Cause someone else

To donate

Unwittingly

Their moment

To notice

Your absence

Your Tick-tock-DING!

Commemoration

It seems so long ago since yesterday

when you grabbed your toast,

shined your sunshine smile through the clouds

and scooted out the door because you were late.

I followed you, halting at the doorway

You dropped your toast on the sidewalk

You cussed, waved, shouted “I love you”

got in your car and vanished.

I didn’t have police officers showing up at my door.

I didn’t have alarms screaming

I sat on the back porch watching the sunrise

with a hot cup of coffee in my hand

your words warming my heart.

“Hey, doesn’t he work at the Towers?”

called the neighbor over the fence.

I didn’t even realize they’d been talking to me.

“What? Oh, yes.”

“Why aren’t you watching the news?”

I didn’t understand. I thought it odd.

I waved with a friendly wrist making my way to

nothing

Cold pillow. Cold toast. Crystal blue sky.

gone

Gutting of commerce, ashes of hope, lost

It’s years later and it still seems so long ago since yesterday

But I’ve never forgotten your last words to me

Every morning I walk out to lay toast on the sidewalk

Every morning I sit on the back porch and drink coffee

Every morning I watch the news

Everything a sacrament commemorating your unintentional sacrifice.

Storms and Kisses by Joys of Joel

Storms and Kisses – a poetry by joel f. found at www.joysofjoel.wordpress.com

A quote by Anita Krizzan inspired me to create a poetry

Why do you expect a rainbow

when you’re afraid of storms?

Did i let all my fears

stop you from being near?

Why do you expect a sunrise

when the moon didn’t say goodbye?

Do you expect it to follow

every dawning of the sky?

Then why do you want my kisses

if you only want the roses?

Because you think that all the tears

are not really worth it?

And if you say goodbye

because you hate to cry

I won’t stop you from leaving.

I hate to see you grieving.

**You can’t blame someone for leaving if you never gave them a reason to stay.

via Storms and Kisses.

Falling of the Son

There is no tree bedecked with lights

to push away the coldest nights

There is no ornament in your name to hang

There are no bells, their music to clang

There will be no feast to honor the sun

There will be no hours of festive fun

There will be dust and ashes upon my hearth

With saddened heart absent, a disguise worn of mirth

As the tears refrain down memory lane

with whispers of the joy that remains

etched on the holiday with stains of your haint

re-purposing, recycling you into glorious saint.

I’ll stare out the window to witness the world sing

As I dread your fair haunting that this season brings.

Rose colored apples

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

buds of generational history

blooms repeat to be the same

pink, red, rosy, given names

Rotten roots lay undetected

Bloody branches disrespected

Refused a haven in the storm

Beaten, battered, broken, torn

Bearing into the furious wind

Dropping seeds, again. Again.

The seeds removed found fertile lands

Grew tall and strong with loving hands

When they bloomed, with rooted shows

They bloomed into a fragrant rose.

The cycle once born is now rejected

crisis averted, genes defected.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

But that does not apply to me.

Somehow there must be A same

But there is nothing in his name

The branches torn where childhood sits

are splintered, demolished. Daddy did it.

He hacked at the bushes with angry words

clashing, lashing, striking swords

No matter what gifts that rose bush gave

it was never enough, but it remained a slave

in hopes that someday, a small reward,

would champion out, three little words.