My name is loss I come to you when all you have had is crumbling when all you have given is riven with me loss is humbling
my name is grief and I bear the pain of loss when you are humbled beyond belief when you thought you would be always proud and strong I am here to tell you that you were wrong
my name is relief when comes a day you realise that grief will eventually deliver a clearway a freedom from regret at losing what you had gained losses your mind held and retained these burdens your cross until you find you can accept loss
my name is acceptance where past material possessions and anxieties prove hollow where a hopeful path is a worthy path to follow where reflective plans present themselves as many possible futures where eventual understanding of loss the future nurtures and our transient presence can still be an enriching presence a new time we have in which to live to love enjoy feel touch smell hear see and give
I am attaching a trigger warning here. This poem is about witnessing a death under horrible circumstances. All too often such deaths are afterward referred to as part of a generalised experience that denies the raw truth of severe witness trauma. A truth that is embedded not just in loss, but also in living with the graphic detail.
I remember that awful December, when bushfire turned our world to cinder. Ah yes, I remember, I saw her surrounded by brilliant embers, alight on the burning grass. With shaded eyes I approached her, willing the fire to pass. But her eyes repelled me as she was torched, boiling as she screamed. I saw them dripping, down scorched cheeks they streamed in streaks that never made it to the ground. Only then did she fall. Only smoke for a pall. Never again to be around.
God bless my daughter. I’ll never forget her. To her spirit I remain eternally bound.
The last time I saw my mother she sent me a kiss across the void. Two fingers touched her puckered lips, then cast into the air was a kiss at the mercy of the stiff breeze blowing everyone’s hats away. Was I meant to catch it? I have never really been sure. One reason was it appeared to be barely cast in my direction, the other was that she was in fact looking at her new husband as her hand regally flicked yet another token on another impossible journey of placation. She, number three plus stupid yappy little dog were on a boat to somewhere. Ten year old me? I was left standing on the dock unaware somewhere meant this was our last almost acknowledgement of each other. One thing I learnt that day to believe forever is lips forget what they have kissed.
For today’s dVerse 144 word prosery challenge, Mish chose the following line from Toni Morrison’s evocative poem, “Eve Remembering”. “Lips forget what they have kissed.” Besides writing eleven novels, five children’s books, two plays and an opera, Toni was the author of “Five Poems“, first published in 2002. You can read them here (well worth a read). I chose to respond to the challenge with a work of flash fiction that hits the 144 word sweet spot precisely.
If only you had stayed, I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you. Why wouldn’t you? We could have learnt together. Such contrasts are about opportunities, about understanding different perspectives, about understanding each other and how to live and love together. All sorts of days come and go. All types of moods. There are enough days for everything we could imagine sharing - good days and bad. If only you’d waited to see how bright the future could be. If only you had taken the time to see through the clouds to the clear air beyond, to project us into that space of hope and optimism. Instead you allowed us to falter at the first hurdle without even thinking to explore how we could make the dark days bright again. You succumbed to the transient storm as if it would last forever.
This week Kim’s dVerse Prosery Prompt comes from Walcott’s Dark August , “I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you.” The task was to write up to 144 words of prose incorporating this line. I chose to write a flash fiction about the disappointment of a short love affair quickly lost to stormy weather – in 144 words.
In the Valley there are few trees now since white settlement the river gums have bled steadily back into ever depleting soil the dehydrating sap bleeding red
some majestic sentinels remain on final watch across the floodplain of gritty dust and cropped introduced grasses as the parade of indigenous extinction passes withdrawing from the flats retreating across the hills ascending to heaven after suffering grave ills
and the broken remnains of centuries of trees stand skeletal or lie shattered on the ground as if awaiting a last chance for redemption after each falling whoosh and final thump of sound in atonement for overseeing the loss of forest they crave to protect their young who escape the cut of plough or chainsaw or grazing teeth they
enfold survivors in fractured parental branches fostering the roots beneath attempting nurture of trunk and leaf but they have nothing left to bequeath to young individuals left standing exposed to sadly age in grief witness to a parasitic human occupation a relentless quest by the future’s thief
I watched him as we sat upon the deck of the sinking ship the stern about to dip our chairs starting to slip our hands white in their grip he wondered where we would be tomorrow
he stood as fires erupted upon the tilting deck walked around the wreck sought every way to check for escape that he did seek only to find himself on the rails of sorrow
the water now was rushing over both our cold wet feet with no sign of relief in sadness and in grief life’s surging wild thief he told me he wished well for his wife and children
I looked at him I took him into embracing arms no protection here from harm just wishing to disarm anxiety and alarm one last moment of loving calm when going under the waves was the only given
we held each other standing there on the edge of fading hope to the horizon we did look to the water of our grave cold and churning were the waves then into each others eyes resigned to our good byes we held hands before stepping forward
the last things I remember are treading water in my doubt the water in my mouth the imminent blackout wishing I’d never roamed my loved ones left at home wishing I’d never sailed slipping under as strength failed his tired smile as we fell that I forgot to tell him how much I loved him
then came the wings of rescue they winched me up into the sun I the chosen one the sky it turned to gold but I had lost my hold on my brother and my friend who supported me to the end all I could think was how much I’m going to miss him
it’s been ten watery years passing underneath my bridge I’m wasted and I’m damaged with nothing left to salvage I relive our time together the fractured brother tether brothers ever a pair ever together everywhere and here I am still left with no way of knowing
how I can go on without my brothers song days are dark and long I think it’s time I must be going underneath the waves my lonely soft parade in hope that I will find my brother left behind always on my mind I want to join him on death’s seas a rowing together across the waves nothing in it brave just our watery grave and our time together saved
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not want AI to use my work.
At evening when the sunsets vary when the birds settle in roosts far and wide when the lowing cattle lie down to cud I reflect on days toil and try to decide will I stay on here with Mary will we try another place far away will it change anything really? or is it just another run and hide no loss can transport you to such misery no grief can claim you so deep inside like the death of the most precious to you the loss of a loved first born child
The people are raining in bits and blobs the rain is red bled tears and sobs the people are flying up through the sky arcing like rag dolls to heights very high the thunder is frightening the lightning is death the people are dying taking last breaths fleshy lumps are dropping back to their berth with fractured bones falling to rattle the earth the children are worst as their bodies burst with each new detonation another curse as the soldiers wade through the carnage they create claiming it’s orders no difference can they make instructions come from those sitting above but the executioners fit in with them hand in glove while mothers cry and fathers weep some bodies may heal but other scars run deep and the harm ensures an eye for an eye more and more people will rain from the sky
Melissa’s dVerse prompt for we poets today references the surrealism of Rene Magritte. I chose the painting Golconda (1953) of raining men to address the terrible wars around the globe and our repeated failure to learn the lessons of history.
I sobbed while I banged my head on the dock I lit the fuse tick tock tick rock With nowhere to go I ran amok because I knew no one gave a fuck
and my children died inside the conflagration while outside I died as a witness stationed to watch this act as the ultimate martyr from lover to mother to miserable failure
now my babies don’t suffer anymore don’t you see? their loss was my hope for my babies three their release from torment my relief and my grief I their life giver corrupter and thief
I scratched at the doors where help is the word I pleaded for help and not one cry was heard I make no further excuses for this desperate crime judge me oh judge me and I’ll do my time
but I urge you who judge to stop and reflect on the festering harm of abuse and neglect on how absence of care equals opportunity cost from pitiful existence my babies were lost
Night’s last lingering cool breath Marks the beginning of the end As we rouse and arouse Sleepily rising and realising This cannot, must not, ever happen again
Bidding farewell to the events of the dark With butterfly kisses and nuzzles Tears of grief dwell, well and fall As we own everything and commit to nothing more
For the first time, the last time we lie together We listen in silence as another day’s hot outback wind Begins to worry the doors and windows And again rattle at the foundations of our lives
It’s the same drought wind that has been blowing forever Forever keeping us apart no matter how much we lean into it It keeps blowing us backwards to where we came from It marks our passing back into life as it really is Demanding and obligating with survival at its core As dry as the land, as gritty as the sand
Juliet
is all slick and wet
her long hair in her eyes
she has been hit
by an idiot
drunk driving by
bye bye
Romeo
roams idly by
sees the girl on the ground
He looks at her
quizzically
then realises what he has found
Juliet
breathes in gasps
as blood pools under her back
She looks up sees Romeo
last look last love
as limbs go slack
Romeo’s
not much you know
but this time
things are different
He wipes the hair from glazed eyes
and wonders where
her life went
Juliet
rises above the scene
She watches Romeo
He cradles her head
gently in his lap
He whimpers out a moan
Romeo
struck by love’s full fist
his only love has gone
He whines he weeps
at his loss
Death into his soul creeps
Juliet
bears final witness to
Romeo’s last testament
“Did my heart truly love till now?”
he whispers
For the first time
he knows what love meant
“Good night Good night”
“Thus with a kiss I too die”
He declares to her
death pale face
Romeo
bends his head down
tenderly brushes her cold lips
with his own
he lets her head down
lightly beside him
as he lies quietly beside her
takes her right hand
with his left
Romeo
from his pocket
retrieves a knife
meant for other men
he eases the blade
between his ribs
it finds his broken heart
As blood pools under his back
his life is also gone
Juliet
utters one last cry of grief
before she disappears
or was that one last cry of relief
in hope he reappears
for never was there a story of more woe
than this of Juliet and her Romeo
I was asked to read the letters
With my father and my sisters
Written by my long dead mother
Lost words faint as whispers
He will struggle to see and read
So sharing seems a good idea
I will struggle to read and see
There's hurt combined with fear
Her pony tail her loving arms
My sisters in her face - and me
What will I learn of her aspirations
All the things she wanted to be
Sad blue of the paper blue of the pen
Blue in each letter written back then
There's blue in thinking about her again
When will I recover I don't know when
51 years later grief can rise be real
Camouflaged it waits in ambush
The loss the pain once more I feel
I have no trust in life
Maybe one day I'll let this blue sadness go
Release it to an infinitely clear blue sky
I'll stand tall throw back my arms and head
And no longer suffer what if or why
poetography.ink 