Where your body once filled our bed,
Leaving your imprint, your unique shape,
Is now filled with piles of books to be read.
Words are my new companion, filling up the
Emptiness that you have left behind.
You loved all kinds of writing,
Reading them and sharing your thoughts
In poems, songs and plays,
Adding your unique beauty to the world.
These books provide me escape,
Often to England, where we once traveled.
I read until my eyes are heavy with sleep.
The voice from the audiobook lulls me
As I drift off to the land of dreams.
Your warmth and breathing no longer there
To soothe me to sleep.
Tag: life changes
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Book Bed Companion
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Blank Page
The daunting blank page
holds an invitation to create.
It embodies endless possibilities.
It gives space to the words that
Have been longing for a place
To escape their home in my mind.
It beckons the paintbrush
That lingers in the air to let go of perfection
And follow the vibrant colors where they lead.
The white sheet whispers, “Transform me.”I’m that paper, forever being shaped and reformed.
I may just see the blink, blink, blinking of the cursor
Demanding to be filled with something, anything
As my hands hover over the keyboard.
Sometimes, the colors of my mind are
The steel gray of a rainy, wind-swept day.
The promise of life is that it will change
And bright colors and words will emerge.
In their own time. Patience, my dear. -
Broken Lens
Nature’s beauty spreads before me,
Begging to be photographed
But the lens is broken when
I take off its cover.
Sometimes, it’s spider cracks.
Other times, chunks of glass are missing.
Each time, it takes me unawares.
How can I forget that my lens hasn’t been repaired?
But the camera sits on the shelf, in pristine shape.It’s my brain misfiring, straining my eyes.
I still see the beauty.
The ability to capture that moment is still there.
With folly, I put myself out there like I’m the old me
Snapping away as if I can trick my brain.
But my eyes, my eyes, they refuse to cooperate
“Rest,” they say. It’s too much.
It will cost you. Are you willing to pay the price?And so, I must listen to the wise voice,
The one who cares for me,
Being okay with the unknown future,
Finding new ways to express myself.
This poem was inspired by a dream that I kept having. I would be somewhere in nature, see the perfect shot, only to have an unusable camera. It was only after I realized it was my brain trying to deal with visual vertigo and I wrote this poem that the dreams stopped.
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Under Construction
The blockades are set up
And the caution tape skitters in the breeze
Warning, merge left, merge right
Detour this way,
This road is under construction
Until further notice.It’s uncomfortable having the road torn up,
Reshaped, uncertain of what it will look like.
Every day the street looks messier.
Will it be days, months, years
until it is back to normal and
traffic adjustments and restraints are done?How glorious it is when
The barricades are removed.
The wheels move smoothly over
The fresh black tar roads, relief replacing
Frustration and despair.I will find joy in driving on this
Quiet road for as long as it lasts,
Knowing that potholes will return,
And it will be upended again.
This poem was inspired by the continual road construction that is going on. I always feel a sense of frustration with the delays. Then I turn it inwards, reflecting on how my life is constantly under construction. Those times are often overwhelming, and I wish I could skip them. But once I’ve walked through those changes, I come out feeling and functioning better than when I started. This perspective also helps me when I must undergo another excavation, knowing that I will continue to grow.
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13 Christmases
Traditions change as time moves on.
From the magical mornings of childhood,
Standing at the top of the stairs,
Waiting for the sheet to be pulled down
That would reveal the awaiting presents under the lit tree.
Teenage years met with the blasé response
That occurs with the knowledge of who has
left the presents
And the angst of adolescence.
How fresh the season felt as we celebrated
Our first Christmas as a married couple.
Watching holiday movies and shows,
Our tree decked out, carols playing.
Celebrating our joy together, alone,
Before spending time with family.
With the birth of our children brought a new enchantment
as we saw the excitement of Christmas through their eyes.
They’d wait at the top of the stairs,
Like when I was a child,
Their little bodies vibrate with anticipation
Of what Santa left.
This is the before world,
The world that I could make sense of.
The one where you were still with me.
Thirteen years have passed since we celebrated
Our last Christmas,
Not knowing it would be our last.
Those first years were brutal,
From Thanksgiving until the new year
My body ached with missing you.
Tears came easily as the decorations and music
That once brought delight
Now were hollow and painful.
I’d avert my eyes as I’d get groceries
From the festive lights and messages of joy and togetherness,
but I could not block out the singers blaring from the speakers
through the aisles, with their empty promises of Christmas peace.
Our family traditions changed.
What once was Christmas Eve
Dinner around the dining table
was replaced with dinner
At a local restaurant,
No reminders of Christmas past.
With time, the pain eased, though never erased.
Every year, no matter how well I think I’m doing,
The grief hits me during December, and I’m
Still surprised by the ache. This was your favorite season,
When you found the most peace.
Now, I live alone.
I get to choose how I observe Christmas.
The decorations are minimal, the baking has been reduced.
Christmas Eve and day are celebrated with my found families.
I still wear the last Christmas gift you gave me,
A silver Mobius strip on a chain.
It reads, “I love you. I love you more.”
The message of love and connection
That is never-ending.
Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems 