Lost for Words

Words scattering about in disarray

No form nor sensical points

Unconnected they spill out and lay

In confused betray

Thoughts rattling about in discordant rounds

Raysar trayingbe; a gibbering expression

Broken stilted murmuring sounds

In sense of proffered crowns

Sentiments and times of glory sit in wonder

Or pace about in pursuit of the empty days

Place and time have been torn asunder

And dread, fear and anxiety brood in plunder

The sitting rooms host emptiness

And invite silence to swallow random words

Catapulted into the air of madness

As satisfaction and want are both meaningless

Lost words and faltering meanings

Thoughts escape into jigsaw fractures

As the eyes glow then fade in flickering feelings;

Like shadows moving across the wall’s photograph gleanings.

Dawn’s light wakes the day

Without a name as they are all the same

Kindness and care are a visit of gentle stay

So to hold a hand and kiss the fears away.

Finding Joy in a Garden

Finding Joy in a Garden

The woman in the garden grows her flowers –

with care

Tending the array of blooms so to nurture for her family’s safe keeping

someday

A lifetime of planting and gathering so together

they grow love

The many seasons come one by one; folding and opening

into blooms of nostalgia

Until imperceptibly - the garden grows dim where familiar things become strangely

unfamiliar

Where are her things; her garden wears; are they carefully put away -

In a closet somewhere?

Are the garden tools, with wooden handles, stored and separated –

neatly aligned;

Or perhaps they were laid down casually; or misplaced in some forgotten drawer -

someplace?

Maybe stored in an imaginary shed, where keep the seeds and other secrets –

behind dissolving walls?

The glean of the rich emerald summers is a fade of seaweed-green

hues

And, Mother draws back her generous warmth as the day’s light

wanes

Leaving the cold onerous night to touch at the edges

where there are old pains

Yellow rose and red hydrangea flower petals strewn across the garden paths

like quilted blankets

While she sits in her garden, with unattached memories, her fears holding

her alone together and alone

And gathers her hands in close with her blanket of flowers that she weaved

as a master florist

Her unspoken thoughts are hidden and masked by the layers of a long life

lived  

Dwelling at each of the fifty October's that came and went

in wedded celebration

As she plays with each flower petal so to find the girl who is the woman

in the garden

For Fall was never about falling – it was and will always be about the joy of finding

her loving Nibs.