I remember when my Mama died the music went out of me too...She sang soprano with vibrato...
But the music couldn't stay dead, as it was a link to my mom. And sometimes, when I sing, I can hear my mama's voice in me...
Such a beautiful poem, Karla. And these lines..."Used to watch as his
fingers laid a trail so that the rest of the band wouldn't get lost,"...exquisite.
Memories are what we dwell on when we lose a loved one dear Karla and so many things will be noticed that we had no reason to see before. thank you for sharing your words.
You have an inexhaustible library of innovative poems stored in that poetic mind of yours. Thanks for sharing another great one with us. God bless, JMW
what a lovely little poem and thought dripping with a nostalgic bittersweetness... And you have the eye of an artist when it comes to sky pictures. That special blue glow you caught. Of all, this I envy the most of your talents. Someday, I'll use your pics when I can pay!
Karla, my sweet friend, you a r e singing. Just don't know it!
Read your poem out loud. Cor-re-ga-ted is not only a perfect
description, but part of a tune that makes you want to dance at the same time it haunts. I love its simplicity. I love its metaphorical jolt. Its h e a r t, its s o u l.
Hate the weather has been so worrisome. But you sure do know how to make lemonade out of rain.
A drum-roll for your King, Karla. The clouds will part, he will take a bow... and forever do an encore for his Princesses, I'm sure. But know that right now, Ain't No Sunshine When He's Gone... Love and prayers always, Kate xx
Great write and one that says so much but...
If you stop, look towards the clouds again, you may just hear your Father leading a few angels in a brand new group all his own.
Pieces of Eight is an eclectic collection of eight imaginative novellas/short stories. Themes represented in the work are science fiction, paranormal, psychological drama, humor, murder/revenge and astrological fulfillment. Pieces of Eight is the com
High school student Kevin Borden has a secret and his name is Louis Lannegan. He also has an overbearing mother. A tale of coming out in the shadow of parents and friends. Award winning novella.
But the music couldn't stay dead, as it was a link to my mom. And sometimes, when I sing, I can hear my mama's voice in me...
Cryssa
John
Very well done. God bless.
B
fingers laid a trail so that the rest of the band wouldn't get lost,"...exquisite.
Be always safe,
Karen
Sandie May :o)
Newfie hugs are on the way, Rose
Edwin
Read your poem out loud. Cor-re-ga-ted is not only a perfect
description, but part of a tune that makes you want to dance at the same time it haunts. I love its simplicity. I love its metaphorical jolt. Its h e a r t, its s o u l.
Hate the weather has been so worrisome. But you sure do know how to make lemonade out of rain.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooxxxxx 'Pea' xxxxxxxxoooooxxxxxxxxxxxoooooooo
PS: Hope you & Karen got the e-mail I sent a day or so ago. Let me know if you didn't. MWAH!!
I hope you kick up your feet ad give us a song.
Be happy. -gene.
If you stop, look towards the clouds again, you may just hear your Father leading a few angels in a brand new group all his own.
hugs
Fee
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :(