smooth a rumple on the stairs
where the carpet lost grip,
prevent what light steps skip as snag
turning to hazard for slow feet
'how is he today?'
draw from the drawer
papers with once immaculate corners,
degrees unmissable as right
words he sent from far
that can't avoid often opening and folding,
traces of fingers and balm of lips
on the starts and endings of his tenderness
'a little better'
pile what's dead
in a dark spot in the left alone garden
to curl in frost this way and that, sink in damp,
gather heat under a convalescent sun,
steam and juices waiting for his hands
to return from another stay and story
with power to spread and the heart for growing
IN THE END...AS IN THE BEGINNING...'TIL DEATH WE DO PART. A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY. THANKS FOR SHARING, JOHN. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
You immediately and deftly take us into the textured world of this couple making the poem an experience through your technique and your genius.
Blessings,
Christine
Easily felt as the whispers of one's inner voice, knowing that certain realities are better served in poetic musings. Beautifully rendered in just the right syncopation of rhythm and searching structure.
I always enjoy the high creativity of your poems. It seems to me that there is an older person in the house being taken care of and some of his belongings are being examined. Otherwise, I haven't a clue.
John - You have captured that love that deepens over the years to support the loved one in the inevitable frailties of living. The lines:
words he sent from far
that can't avoid often opening and folding,
traces of fingers and balm of lips
on the starts and endings of his tenderness
reflect the early love that has grown to the present.
The lines, "take his arm
first time out together in a while"
remind me of a book I read about an Irish farm family. The author tells of an elderly aunt and uncle who can't get around alone so they always go out together because they can get around by supporting each other. This poem brought that wonderful image back to me.
life, married life in particular is a serial of opportunities, challenges and an ever evolving process of recuperations. each demanding that we enlist additional resources, strength and accommodations to survive. as we fumble our way through we are buoyed by recollections of the fond times past and search through the hard memorabilia to support them. your creations, the howards are emblematic of the eternal cycle passed between the generations, not by choice of course, by the hands of circumstance and fate. unwilling yet unable to amend the courses we are dealt. john, i see my grandparents, parents and now me in the roles you have set forth with great care. acquiescence rather than acceptance of what is. you have set tenderness to the work which embraces the reality. here is an emotional event that few will not readily relate to. i wish you love and peace my dear friend. jon michael
The ambiance is genuine, quiet, heavy with closure. The sadness is lifted by a degree of comfort and familiarity. It simply is as it is, as it must be. You create in full-color. I bet you dream in full-color, too. This is beautiful and compassionate, John. I imagine an open window to let in a spring breeze laced in birdsong to further ensconse the bond between two.
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
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peace be with you
William
this one strikes home, john.
well don.
Your heart tender in this splendid write.
Lady Mary Ann
love in sickness and in health
tender strong real
harry
Blessings,
Christine
You have touched
with such Love!
Lady Vivian
Ron
words he sent from far
that can't avoid often opening and folding,
traces of fingers and balm of lips
on the starts and endings of his tenderness
reflect the early love that has grown to the present.
The lines, "take his arm
first time out together in a while"
remind me of a book I read about an Irish farm family. The author tells of an elderly aunt and uncle who can't get around alone so they always go out together because they can get around by supporting each other. This poem brought that wonderful image back to me.
Wonderfully written as always.
budd
Myrna