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.

7 September 2016

Bedtime

Did I, in those first days after you died,
put off going to bed? I don't recall!
Perhaps I went earlier, and then cried
half the night – or turned my face to the wall
long hours awake and silent? Did I call
in my mind to you? It's a blur today.
I do remember your going away –
the startling silence after your last breath….
I put it off now, four years since that day:
bedding always with the fact of your death.


(I wanted to try a Dizain: 10 lines of 10 syllables each, rhymed ababbccdcd. 
As for the subject matter, that is always near to hand.)

4 comments:

  1. Yes, the subject matter is always near at hand, my friend. The silence is so loud when the loved one is gone. I resonate with your poems about Andrew. He was a prince.

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  2. This took me back. I didn't go to bed for years

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  3. Rosemary, your helps me, to understand, what my mom went through, with the death of dad, in November 1998, as he had his fatal heart attack, while getting out of bed, for a medical appointment, in London, Ontario, about 3 hour drive, from my parent's home.

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