#poetry
Constellations of Remembrance
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.
IN THE WRITING
It’s easy when I write my poems to see which way my heart is leaning.
I tend to write about what gives my life its purpose and its meaning
Looking back over years of writing there is this tendency in me
to write about love, compassion, kindness, acceptance, my students,
my friends and my family.
To write about the beauty I find in nature…
her lakes, her rivers, her oceans and her seas…
her stars, her clouds, her mountains…
her animals, her butterflies, her bees.
From these I draw my inspiration…because
over the years my respect and admiration they have earned…
for all they’ve tried to teach me..and all that I have learned.
The the words of every poem I write is how I‘ve found a way
to thank them all for helping me be the person I become each day.
A person whose been blessed with a wonderful life
filled with its share of joy and laughter too…
and when I post my poems…I get to spread that joy to you.
I hope you find joy in the words of my poems
that every now and then you find them encouraging, inspiring and exciting…
but no worries if you don’t…
because
for me…
the joy is in the writing.
A POEM A DAY
People sometimes ask me how I do it…how do I find a way…
how is it even possible…to write a new poem every day?
There really is no one answer to my daily poetry.
There is a myriad of ways words find their way to me…
Sometimes words flow out like a river and on that particular day
I’m swimming as fast as I can to catch them…before they float away.
On other days words seem to be floating under the surface of a lake…
happily milling about…
and I’ve got time to relax, sit on the bank and patiently fish them out.
Still other times like a soft and misty rain, a butterfly or a leaf tumbling out of a tree….
the words of a poem, without much help, gently land on me.
That’s how I find the words…or how the words find me…
but that is only half the story of my daily poetry.
Every day I’m inspired by people…first and foremost…my friends and family
by all I see happening in the world and by nature’s beauty that surrounds me.
It seems everywhere I look…everywhere I roam…
everything I see or hear is waiting for it’s chance to be a poem.
So the next time someone asks me how I do it…how do I write a poem every day?
I think I’m ready to answer…I know exactly what I’m going to say:
With an endless amount of words to choose from…
with a world of inspiration around me…
I too wonder when the day is done
how is it possible…
I’ve only written one?