I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

12 April 2015

How I Deal

Child me saw ghosts
no-one else could see.
Night after night
I lay rigid with fear,
until at last I wrote
the poem of the ghosts.
Then I owned them.
It made me brave.

When I fell in love,
my poems were pink roses
soft with romance,
and my poems
were yellow roses
bright with celebration,
and my poems were
deep red roses rich with lust.

When love fell out with me,
my poems curled
into balls of weeping,
or shrieked their rage
or hissed poison.
Some brandished knives.
And they brought me out
to the other side.

When my first cat died —
my dearest, from kitten
through 18 fond, full years —
I made poems of her life
and poems of her death.
Readers said, 'A noble animal'
and, 'You can be a great poet'.
I was glad I served her well.

When government
betrayed the people,
and we marched
and we demonstrated,
my poems raised their fists and yelled.
The fire in their bellies
inflamed other minds and hearts —
but those poems burnt out fast.

When my first great love
died suddenly, shockingly, young,
my poems took me on long walks
to talk to the sky, to send
invisible messages aloft
and visible ones to the world.
I wrote him such fine poems
after he was dead!

When our Mother called to us
and we saw she was hurt
and could be dying,
when we knew we were killing off
whole tribes of her other children,
my poems evoked green Nature,
a blue, unique planet,
and the great love of the Mother.

When my husband Andrew,
love of my life thus far,
died at his time, old,
my poems held my hands
and mopped my tears.
'This is right,' they said,
'But you are allowed to grieve',
and afterwards brought me peace.


Prompt for 'Poems in April' at 'imaginary garden with real toads: how to keep balance in the face of life's exigencies?

11 comments:

  1. Rosemary - this poem, this is beautiful. Really touched me.

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  2. This is so beautiful and touching but you came out the other side. That gives me hope.

    Thanks for visiting with your kind comment.

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  3. Oh, I felt and shared the power of every true perfect wonderful word. This is magnificent, Rosemary. Thank you so much!!!!!

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  4. Such a personal and deeply felt poem cannot help but move. Thanks, Rosemary. k.

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  5. Then I owned them.
    It made me brave.

    To own something as alive and independent-minded as poetry is to have a spiritual friend that will never let you down. Marvelous, Rosemary. I bow to you.

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  6. This is so touching and sad~ You left your emotions all over this poem~ Bravo

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  7. "Then I owned them."

    That is it exactly!

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  8. Writing of the Ghosts and roses and kitten were polishing you to be able to handle the most serious and mournful situation of your life so far, Rosemary. I have watched you overcome a lot from Andrew's leaving us.
    Even with support like that and from your friends and admirers of your poems, this has to be so very hard. And for us? I love reading you poems, they hold such good messages and you are writing much more of them now. May God continue to Bless you,
    ..

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  9. Oh Jim, what a lovely comment. Thank you!

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  10. Your poem is deeply personal and takes us through the many stages of life and loss, showing the power of self-expression. I really like the way you phrased each stanza, especially 'when love fell out of me'. That is unique.

    In reply to your questions on the Miniature form: from my reading the term decastich applies to all 10 line poems regardless of form, whereas Miniature refers to a specific 10 line poem created by Margaret Ball Dickson. As you rightly pointed out, I have not stuck to the letter of the form in my example, so please do not use it as a guideline. I found this online resource helpful except that the syllable count given here incorrectly includes an extra line (the last 5 lines should read 6-7-6-7-7)
    http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/decastich/

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