PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

DAILY GRATITUDE

I am grateful for my understanding of grief…

when in grief I have been totally immersed…

I remember…I would never have felt such heart wrenching pain

without having felt the joy of loving…first.

Everyone grieves in their own way

that’s a fact not a belief…

Which means there is not date of completion

no timeline for our grief…

To all the thought and prayers 

those who’ve suffered a loss might be receiving…

Today I’m grateful to add

this Native American Prayer of grieving:

I give you this one thought to keep

I am with you still…I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone…

I am with you still…in each new dawn.

It’s been 26 years since that tragic day in Colorado…April 20, 1999

when 10 students and one teacher were killed in Columbine.

I remember most of us in the country with tears flowing at the time

assumed that things would change…that they’d be different…after Columbine.

But nothing was done…despite how the the fabric of our country shook…

and 12 years later, December 14, 2012

20 more children and 6 more adults were killed at a school in Sandy Hook.

Surely something will be done now we thought!

No government no country will sit back and watch their children die!

But again nothing was done and on February 14, 2018

17 more people were killed in Parkland, Florida at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High.

Still nothing was done to tackle this problem…to address why parents are afraid…

and 7 years later on August 27, 2020 n Minneapolis, Minnesota  

2 more children killed and 18 injured…at a church while these children prayed.

We should have learned the lesson that the1999 mass shooting taught…

but it’s clear by offering only thoughts and prayers…we certainly did not…

Because today mass murders of our children and others persist…

and the Church of the Annunciation in Minnesota…is now added to the list.

Our government must be heartless to do nothing…as parents tearfully ask them why…

Why have you done nothing for 26 years except watch our children die?

Until our politicians open their hearts, their minds and have the courage to act

there will continue be more mass shootings like the one that began in Columbine.

And when grieving parents plead for help…

they will be met at the door with thoughts and prayers…then told to stand in line.

They will be lead to the back of a long, continuous, cross-country, never-ending line…

stretching all the back…26 years…to April 20, 1999.

I. Thunder's Lament

In the tempest's thrall, you sought solace, 

Dragging my scent from the hamper's depths. 

Nestled in threads imbued with my essence, 

You braved the storm, your only fear.

The drumming deluge echoes your absence, 

A haunting refrain in the hollows of home. 

Each thunderclap a sepulchral remembrance 

Of the comfort you found in our warm, weighted form.

II. Olfactory Ghosts

Amidst the maelstrom, I recall fleeting notes 

Of your sun-kissed fur, earthy and wild. 

The petrichor mingled with traces of you, 

Wafting through rooms, a bittersweet perfume.

In the laundry piles, I recall scenes of coming home, 

Finding clothes crumpled and redolent of our bond 

Dragged from the basket to your silver bed, 

You snoring, sepulchrally sleeping, awaiting my return.

I press them to my face, inhaling deeply, 

Preserving the fading fragments of your presence.

III. Cyclone's Fury

As Alfred's wrath bears down upon us, 

I fear the deluge may wash away 

The last tangible proofs of your existence, 

Scattering your memory like windblown leaves.

The rising waters a visceral reminder

Of grief's unrelenting, tidal force.

Threatening to submerge and isolate,

Leaving me unmoored, adrift in sorrow.

IV. Beacon of Hope

Yet even in the tempest's darkest hour,

I cling to the light of your legacy.

Your boundless love a beacon guiding me

Through the turbulent seas of mourning.

In the eye of the storm, I find clarity, 

A renewed resolve to honour your perseverance. 

To carry forward the joyous tenacity

You embodied, my faithful companion.

V. Eternal Imprint

Though the cyclone may ravage the landscape, 

Transforming all that was once familiar, 

The topography of my heart remains unchanged, 

Forever carved with the contours of your paws.

No cataclysm can obliterate the indelible 

Impression you've left upon my soul.
In the constellations of remembrance,

Your star burns bright, an eternal flame.

Today if you encounter someone dealing with grief or sadness

may it be part of your plan…

to help ease their grief…their sadness

any way you can.

 On the first day of the new year in a nature preserve not far from our home

we ran across a Wind Phone when on our visit to a giant gnome.

The 17’ tall gnome (whose name is Gnomeo) was impressive

and a fun way to start the day…

but what caught our eyes and touched our hearts was the Wind Phone

one short walk away.

In 2010, after his cousin died, Itaru Sasaki, who lives in Otsuchi, Japan 

had this notion…

To build a phone booth with a disconnected phone on a grassy hill

overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

When his cousin died Itaru was crestfallen, despondent…dejected….

and he used this phone to express his grief and to his cousin stay connected.

Itaru would enter the booth, pick up the phone and talk to his cousin…

on those days he was feeling low.

He believed his words would be taken by the wind to exactly where they needed to go.

A year later, after a tsunami hit Otsuchi, Itaru found in his grief he wasn’t alone…

and with his permission people began lining up to talk to lost loved ones on his phone. 

When word got out people form all over came to Itaur’s phone…

which today still makes him stop and grin….

as they call loved ones they have lost and send their words out on the wind.

Now…you can find wind phones all over the world…

200 in the United States alone…

and Deborah and I were happy to have happened on this phone….

to sit for a moment in solitude…sifting through memories we’ve amassed…

and to send our voices on the wind to people we love who’ve passed.

Of the 200 wind phones in this country…

how lucky were we to find one so close to home….

while walking in a nature preserve…

just a few steps from a gnome.

The next time a natural disaster strikes…whether it be a tsunami or

hurricane from the oceans, a flood from the rivers…or a tornado from the skies 

notice how, all over the world, you see the same sadness…

the same sorrow, the same tears in everybody’s eyes.

And when we kill each other because of our differences…

our different countries, different lifestyles, the different Gods in whom we believe…

at the funeral of those we’ve killed…or who’ve killed us…

notice….how similar we all grieve.

When a bomb or a bullet kills a baby…whether in Palestine or Tel-Aviv

notice, as you watch the mothers at the funerals,

how similar they all grieve.

All the tears we cry are the same…

whether it’s a natural disaster…or an unnatural disaster we create…

no matter our religion, our politics…if we are gay…or we are straight.

Grieving is universal…it’s something we all share…

in every corner of the world…both near and far….

I only wish….

before the funerals…

we’d realize

how similar we are.

 On the beach of the island where we love to take a morning walk…

there…down by the sea…

all alone looking out at the ocean stands an old red mangrove tree.

Over the years she has weathered a multitude of storms…

that have left her branches contorted and a little deformed.

I suppose when I stop and think about it…she is a lot like me

and why this sentinel of the beach is a treasured and favorite tree.

We heard the hurricane…as she departed our island

took the entire beach with her back to the sea….

And with it, we’re afraid, our favorite red mangrove tree.

With a hurricane that took so many lives and homes as she barreled in from the sea

Why, you may wonder, are we upset over one old red mangrove tree?

Because when this storm hit Florida and then up into the country she marched through

every person, pet, house and possession lost…was someone’s favorite too.

So many people are grieving today…over losing a loved one, a house

their favorite photos. pet or teddy bear….

Someone or something special to them…that, today, is no longer there.

It’s an individual and collective grief…brought upon us from this monster of the sea….

symbolized today…by one old red mangrove tree.

The hour of dread, with soft paws and long whiskers,
Nears its cruel crescendo, as the twilight bleeds
Into darkened silence. Green eyes, orbs of emerald,
Hold galaxies of grief, as if understanding
The inevitable decision, kind but unbearable.

Mr Kitty, you’ve stalked shadows and sunbeams,
In this house of loving dreams. Now,
The shadow looms larger and devours the light.
Your purrs, once symphonies in the quiet night,
Diminish, a tremor in the cold winter air.

Cancer gnaws at you, a voracious ghost,
A dark star in the velvet sky of your mouth,
While I, the unwilling god, hold the power
To halt your descent into the abyss,
Yet tremble at the gravity of our goodbye.

How does one render mercy, when mercy
Is a sharpened blade? The decision, a bitter promise,
Etched in the ledger of love and loss.
I choke on the syllables of farewell,
My heart a shattered vessel.

You, in your tuxedo coat, an elegant spectre,
Press against my hand, unaware of time's cruelty.
I search for solace in your calm as if
You’ve found peace in the acceptance,
Of a fate that I cannot fathom.

This difficult choice, a merciful surrender,
To spare you immeasurable pain,
The indignity of losing autonomy,
A kindness carved from sorrow,
To preserve the dignity that you deserve.

Forgive me, Mr Kitty, for playing god
In this charade of mercy and despair.
Know that love has carved this path,
And in the twilight of our shared existence,
Your memory will burn, unquenchable, real and eternal.

As the final hour approaches, know I’ll hold you close,
A lifeline in the storm of sorrow.
Your green eyes, lanterns of ancient wisdom,
Guide me through the darkness, whispering
That release is not an end, but a gentle beginning.