Communing with Ghosts

Morning coming thin

in a small town with hills and a river.

I got home just as the light was changing,

the cool and sweet

rain running down.

Our house had stained glass windows.

The water blurred the glass:

waterfalls of cloud.

You smiling,

drinking the quiet cold.

I wonder at this great blessing.

But that was only the beginning.

Late afternoon sun,

long summer nights.

Hibiscus buds fall open,

red gauntlet to bloody the first ...

trails of fern move to evade.

I am not quite ready to engage fully with my sorrow.

The old church never alters.

The wind clings to the wall,

down through the strange dark –

the confluence of waters where

further mysteries open,

chalked on dark stone.

You kept falling over

in absolute amusement.

The gates were slow to close.

You don't remember that now.

You cough in your sleep.

The old dog knows.

Today I'm grace but for litter.

I am a void that everything flows through. 

(Owl with the black face,

what is the name of this power?)

He is alone in another country

using his derelict hat to salute me.

It was all a long time ago.

Again we have stayed silent,

not knowing we lied.

The moon is coming to the full.

Moonlight and your shining face.

And afterwards we wept as we embraced.

And remember last year in Lamesa –

the evening light on the grass,

the house where she planted roses?

She came on the night blinded,

radiant with tears.

Her skirt fluttered...

I had to do what I did.

This is an 'egomaniacal cento' (found in The Crafty Poet: a Portable Workshop by Diane Lockward). A cento is a poem made up entirely of lines borrowed from other poets. The egomaniacal cento uses lines taken from one's own discarded drafts, journal entries, etc. In this case, they are all from discarded drafts, and chosen to create a certain mood. The fun is in the arranging, and sometimes re-punctuating, so as to suggest actual meaning.

Linked to dVerse OpenLinkNight #176

The Next Great Adventure

Opening the door

this morning

devoid of song

I almost

would come into the room

where the sun comes in

and I wonder about that. 

Rain is auspicious,

a different thing.

It's all over now — but still

if the way had been clear....

Some give up altogether. I go on.

At least the marigolds

covered the road,

creating a new path

as one dimly remembered

more than any other.

That memory of that moment,

indeterminate as clouds —

this is everything!

Where have you gone

from ghosts and weeping?

Without breaking down and screaming,

it seems uncertain.

Darkness.

Poetic Asides April Poem A Day Challenge 2013, 29: Use a line from a previous April poem as title. 

I decided to have fun taking it further and making a whole poem out of lines from previous poems written this April, i.e. a cento. To be specific, an 'egomaniacal cento'; the normal cento uses lines from other poets. (The resulting poem is nonsense, of course — but I hope that it almost makes sense!)

Also submitted 8 Feb, 2015 to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #238