Sirens carving up the rose
of dusk
were the only songbirds
our neighborhood had to offer.
A drunken man’s oath
the only rooster to wake you.
My children never studied
the rural pages of quiet
in which you traced
your pine-scented gnosis.
Love was the immortal air
that animated
their hugs and voices
far too freely
for your reserved comfort.
Strength deserted your heart.
Pain stabbed arrows of time
into the hips that cradled my mother,
her two sisters, and four brothers.
The only magic tonic
I knew to give you was this
tattered shawl of presence.
Was I arrogant to consider
your soul a crippled sparrow
fluttering archaic hymns in the rain?
Beating tired wings against
the silent windows of heaven?
I would not have been had I
seen the beautiful hands already
poised to soothe your weariness.
How was it I did not know
that years after your final flight
my memory and smile would still spend
entire evenings softly singing your life.
Aberjhani
© 9/2/2006
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fluttering archaic hymns in the rain?
Beating tired wings against
the silent windows of heaven?
poignant lines..
Exquisite work as always Aberjhani..
Vesna
I only knew one of my Grandmothers tho, because I did not know my father or his side of the family. But my mother's mother, raised 5 boys and 2 girls during the depression. One of my aunts was an infant when she was killed in a car accident.
The strength of grandmothers is a strength we can all learn from and your grandmother is no exception. From this writing I could feel her strength.
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth, & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your little sister, Barbie
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."
I remember both of my grandmothers, saddened by the Great Depression and two World Wars, but giving freely of their time and love. One even joined me in an epic car trip across the country, showing me her frugal roadside traveling ways--cabins and baloney sandwiches by a stream.
Ron
Paul;-)
the silent windows of heaven? ---- I think your sweet nonselfish Grandma helped not only to inspire these words and thoughts you used so well! She helped guide you through this heartfelt poem -Abe- VEry exquisite and I could feel your loss! Her pain was much and you wrote it so well! Great Write once again~ Warmly, *She*oxo
Blessed are those that sing the memory of their family's members, for they they will never lose their identities.
The closing lines of "Grandma in the City" make it sublime:
"How was it I did not know
that years after your final flight
my memory and smile would still spend
entire evenings softly singing your life."
I have enjoyed the reading of "Grandma in the City".
In gratitude and admiration,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
In this folk poem I hear my own Memaw and her sweet voice, sing-song like, speaking quietly then opening wide her eyes to punchuate certain parts to bring out the laid open jaws in awe of us kids...like magic. Thank you for btinging this to me. I can't tell you how much your thoughts of your sweet grandmother is like my own. Both of these graceful women lived in Savannah and now I wonder if they weren't acquainted.
Susan
~~martin~~
Take care,
Sherry
You have a magnificient way of capturing family love and generational ties that bind...every image and word precious gems to ponder and hold up to our own lives to reflect back on. Thank you.
LL*
This is more beautiful than mere words; it speaks of family love.
Your tattered shawl presence blessed her more than you can know.
It seems to me that we truly reflect on the meaning of their lives and appreciate all that they meant to us when they have departed.
What a blessing memory can be!
Connie
Love Tinka
Regis
I felt as if I was reading a painting.
"Your pine-scented gnosis" ... the poet applying a fragrance to the understanding of spiritual mysteries, stopped me dead. Magnificent!
This write is so personal, but at the same time it manages to evoke personal memories, in this writer, of his own young life and those that left lasting impressions.
"The only magic tonic
I knew to give you was this
tattered shawl of presence."
It seems as if the poet is describing himself as a child caught betwixt forces that ofttimes made no sense to his young mind.
"GRANDMA IN THE CITY" was for me an evocative write which reminded me of one of the most important humans in my life, my own Grandma Gunvor.
I salute you poet, for your ability to paint life with such masterful strokes.
In fraternity and unity unwavering ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg
I knew to give you was this
tattered shawl of presence."
Those words struck so deeply in me,as presence is the most precious gift we have to give. Your poetry always drains me emotionally, because your beautiful mind and heart shine through every line.
I love the art too! Thank you, Aberjhani!
Eileen
You are the poetic and fluid master and minstrel of Savannah
It is all about Timing and Perception my dear friend...
There are some things that we are not meant to know at a particular juncture in our life, veiled and shielded from our ignorant and misguided eyes and ears, until the revelation and coming of Knowing..
Rest assured...you and your treasured Grandma are one in Spirit, and aligned and harmonized in the Unseen World
Benisons
Peter
We hold those close to our hearts in comfort and respect
Be they passed on.....or geographically far
I can see you are blessed by her love and always will be
she is part of you......and your poetry
pax A
that years after your final flight
my memory and smile would still spend
entire evenings softly singing your life.
But you know now, and you sing it very well.
Your choice of words is exquisite.
That's the beauty of free verse, the flow of words.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D