Murder

I am repulsed by the weight of my skin

As if my every breath is a sin

Emotional trauma’s affection

Dissociative disconnection

Grappling a height I’ll never climb

For long ago, I was left behind

Every step I’ve made, I’ve done alone

Bitterness in my haunted bones

Illusions of love, of commitment, of joy

Are rotting with lies set to destroy

At times, I believe, I will rise above

That I will know peace of the mythical dove

But the curtain falls and the show is done

And I realize I have never won

I’ve stepped in line with my own path

Which cost me relationships in its wrath

But choices made were neither bad nor good

But all were made from a basic falsehood

That I was never good enough no matter how I tried

So, you see, I murdered her, so that I could live and thrive

Narcissus

I am the fairest in the land

I will not grant you to hold my hand

Women weep and lords they kneel

So taken are they by my appeal

I am a hunter, true, by trade

But that is not where my fortune’s made

For none can compare to my majesty

For those left behind me, it’s a tragedy

while wandering eve in forest’s thicket

the dusking chorus of chirping crickets

I leaned over the pool so clear and still

I heard the song of whippoorwill

Taken was I by the vision I saw there

With bright green eyes and curly hair

Immediately I fell head over heels

Born-again with religious zeal

I had finally met my illustrious mate

The vision fading as it grew late

I fitfully slept on the water’s edge

Praying not some sortilege

At morning star, I approached the shore

Gazing with beloved ardour

And there reflected so I could see

The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen

But every time I attempted to touch the hand

Ripples destroyed us like a reprimand

I beat my chest in furious pounds

Wrecking the forest with ferocious sounds

I wept to be kept from whom I truly desired

My chest turned purple, my loins afire

So intense was my love that I wasted away

And a flower with my name is known to this day

Narcissus, they say at my beauty unmatched,

Your vanity, your curse, will not be dispatched.

Hero’s Quest

Moonlight ignites the open shore

Heroic lives are no more

Ballads sung of victories won

will mist away in morning sun

Still, the waves continue on

The sword declaring, “It is done.”

Forgetful kisses of water and sand

Corpses recovered to the land

Formidible fortress now is silent

Peace ironic after the violence.

Groundhog Day

The atmosphere is filled with fear

While the scythe swings deathly near

Labored breathing, barely there

Scars of battles warn: Beware!

The flies swarm round like vultures keening

Recycled life of profound meaning

The Otherwhere claims the tiny soul

Regret is mine for the life I stole

Who knew?

I have a client whom I’ve been with for over 8 months. I companion care he and his wife three times a week. He is extroverted, claims he hates people while socializing, laughs with his entire body, and is charmingly impish. She is quiet, speaks when spoken to, defers to her husband, but is sweet and expressive when she feels it.

I was doing a normal Thursday visit. He was in rare form. He declared himself indomitable then laughed when myself and his other visitor cheered his word choice. It was a grand celebration of friendship and excellent conversation.

The following morning I received a text that said things had taken a turn for the worse and he was in dire straits. Could I go visit? Absolutely.

Dire straits is an understatement. Although no fever, he was having a health crisis not experienced before. The secondary visitor of Thursday was informed of the situation and they also arrived. It was crushing to know that what we experienced the day before had done a 180. His stats were critically low, but being on hospice, comfort was key.

We prayed.

Okay, I confess, I thought prayer, like funerals, were for the comfort of the person attending to their love. Positive vibes and all that. I prayed to the Universe that peace would prevail, that the highest good would be met, and that his children would arrive in time to attend the final hours. He was put on several prayer chains, of which, I’ve also been skeptical.

For four days he knocked on death’s door. He wasn’t eating or drinking. He couldn’t swallow. He was doing a version of Cheyne-Stokes breathing (It’s kind of like a fish out of water. Because they can’t swallow, the mucus that normally goes down remains in the throat causing a “rattling” sound) He knocked hard, but…nobody was home?

Tuesday he was awake and aware of visitors; even speaking.

By Thursday he was sitting up in his chair, conversing, demanding, agitated that he couldn’t exercise “to stay fit.” He ate more than he had all week. He drank hot tea. He was cranky, but alert and responding to input.

Okay, so let me explain why this struck me as unusual. I honestly believed, as did the nursing staff, that he was going to die. His body showed all the signs of that coming up quickly. The children (my age and better), were told to prepare. But, what changed?

I’m sure there is a scientific reason for his sudden turn-around. I’ve seen and experienced people doing a “rally” (That’s when the dying person suddenly has a burst of energy that can make them seem competely “normal” again. They may want to eat their favorite foods, or drink, or talk with their loved ones. It happens surprisingly often.) Four days of awareness is unusual.

This particular set of events has really forced me to confront my views on prayer, on my own experience, and honestly, I feel like a bit of imposter. However, I’ll take the guidance of my fellow guest and roll with the grace that has been granted with this incredible occurance. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be wrong, yet I want so badly to understand.

The next few days, other family members will be attending to him in conjunction with his children.

I will continue to pray. I am baffled, feel awkward in my Unitarian Universalist faith, curious as all get out, and willing to laugh at myself for thinking I knew enough. Do we ever?

Unknown Sacrifice

The earth requires sacrifice

The blood of generations

Spilled to sate the thirst

Women’s children slain

Prayers washing sins away

From the dearly departed

Best dressed pieces

Shards of life protruding

Draining deeply into the mud

Returning to the dust

willing to be sheep for causes

Draped in flags of uniform coffins

Souls unwittingly worth pennies to borrow

Billionaire comfort on widow’s grief and sorrow

Whatever The Face (VIDEO)

The poem I wrote after speaking with a woman who was dealing with profound grief amidst the loss of many kinfolk, including her son.

Beauty of Grief

Where is the beauty found in grief

when the eyes swell up without relief

and spill in torrents over cheeks?

when snot runs thick filling tissue upon tissue

and sobs are wrought of unresolved issues?

Where is the beauty found in grief

where emotions steal time like a skillful thief

rejecting what is, without relief?

An alteration of time, of space

pilfered from the “what was” place?

Where is the beauty found in grief

a loving acknowledgement of the deceased

acceptance of the transition to their newborn peace

One breath forward in the journey of healing

At the altar of death knelt keening

The Last Birthday

For Alan England

We gathered in joy to celebrate

92 years of adventures

We ate carrot cake with cream cheese frosting

He ate a whole slice

Small forkfuls gifted

I gave him nourishment of body

Refreshment of spirit

Asked questions of his life

Heard stories of his rescue

From a cave from a read report

From a caving buddy

Decades of friendship revealed

Small and barely loud enough to hear

The man approaching his history, laughed at himself,

Surrounded by love and tenderness

Exuded by his blessed daughters,

Cherished by friends

A relaxed camaraderie blossomed

Filling the room, breaking through the windows into the wooded view

We celebrated his life joyfully

By showing up in loving attention.