Last Request

Now I lay me down to sleep.

For my bones, do not weep.

 

I do not lay here wanting grief;

In my rest I’ve found relief.

 

No more worrying over day to day affairs;

No more crying over unhappy cares.

 

In the earth I now have peace;

In the quiet all has ceased.

 

All my sorrows are washed away;

No more suffering, no more dismay.

 

Weep not, I say, for what is gone

Look to others, look to your own.

 

Care for those who continue to struggle,

Care for those who cannot juggle

 

The mind’s chess game with them as pawn.

Weep for the living, those who walk alone.

 

Turn your eyes and hands to them,

Let your love be their stem.

 

For it may be their life was spared

Because of you and those who cared

 

To see the pain behind their tears,

Who understood and calmed their fears.

 

Then come the morning and the rising sun

Come to me and say, “Thy will was done.”

 

And I will smile in my sleep

Because you did not weep.

 

*Probably a good idea to not snack too close to bedtime…you know, in case you wake up crying from a dream you can’t remember and the lines to a poem running through your head and neither will let you get back to sleep.

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The Reverie

zoebyrd-e1441214843389***In honor of the first edition of the Reverie (in which I am privileged to be featured), I am breaking with my usual format of plain ol’ silliness and posting an old favorite- it’s a bit out of character, and angsty poem. Wanna see another angsty-one-a-la-Ivy, then get to the Reverie or download a free copy of the entire first edition today from Kindle. 

Octpowrimo: day 11 and a link...

जुपिटर  

Secure as I slept,

So out of character to feel sheltered by another’s presence.

Feather light kisses to my closed and trusting eyes—I wake.

“Is it time?”

Don’t let it be time.

            You don’t fear the quest. There is no self-doubt.

In its place an all-consuming determination to defend those you love, here and gone.

***

We always anticipated it would be you,

Your arms around me as I slipped away,

My hand in yours.

It was all a set-up, a confidence game of the fates,

We didn’t realize the train was coming,

Or that the roster had changed.

The morning you stepped away

off to places I could only try to understand,

I still believed you’d return.

***

How foolish to think Jupiter lived by earthly rules,

Hurling bolts of lightning while we brazenly tempted fate.

The strike was made—our destiny sealed,

Impenetrable and unyielding to our impassioned pleas.

Z~

Badge 4

#NaPoWriMo Wasteland

No Love Lost

Wasteland
In between
Layers of self

Between
Two worlds
Belonging in neither

Worlds
Torn apart
Lives now incompatible

Apart
New way
Same but different

New
So unwanted
Never the plan

And yea -wanted
I am
Not.

00NaPoWriMo15

Today we had to write a thing which sounds like a sneeze gone wrong (a hay(na)ku (gesundheit!)) which is a tiny poem operating in three lines of one, two and three words. You can do these as stand-alone pieces or link them as part of a longer poem. Well, I needed to write a bit longer than six words, because today Husby left. I’m still processing all the ins and outs, but that’s what came out in the poem.

I give up.

 

#NaPoWriMo The Algea

The rending of our sorrow will be heard  The Algea

We cry our raindrop tears
From sodden, marble lids
Let the wind howl our lament
Let it carry from our midst
Around the world
The rending of our sorrow
Will be heard

Our faces staid in masks
Of long-borne grief
Observe the pain of years
Ne’er destined for relief
From this sharp world
The rending of our sorrow
Must be heard

Our lonely arms
Will ne’er embrace elation
Alabaster; raised
In stony supplication
Yielding to the world
The rending of our sorrow
Shall be heard

Our bodies fixed in anguish;
Dolor carved
We cling forever,
Our misery never halved
By this cruel world
The rending of our sorrow
Needs to be heard

Our heartache on display
Eternally
Algos, Akhos, Lupa;
Grievers, we
Lament this world
The rending of our sorrow
Will e’er be heard

 

00NaPoWriMo15

Our prompt today was to write a persona poem; one a bit more serious than other, recent prompts have elicited, and so, being tired of life and in the kind of mood where sadness is hanging in the edges of the air, I wrote of statues, carved forever into their pain – a public spectacle of misery which would result in congratulation for the sculptor and endless sadness for the statues (were they sentient (not in a freaky in-yer-face, Dr Who-style way, either)).

So I researched to figure out who would like as not be turned into such a piece of artistry and upset, and the Algea appeared in my world – three Greek goddesses whose embodiment was grief, sadness, and mental and physical pain. Learn more about them here.

Dear Beans

Dark Pit Infertility

Dear Beans

I thought of you

Today, cos

Internationally

I may – for

Pregnancy and

Infant loss;

Awareness raised

With grief at

Life’s great cost.

Or is it death

Which still

Exacts its dues?

In losing you

I had no chance

To choose, but

lost again, though

Now I can think

That somewhere

In the aether

You have a brother

Each – To care

Whilst I can care

For neither.

Yet my dears

I care so much

And thrilled to

Hope one day

I’d feel your touch

Yet life or fate or

Destiny deemed

Somehow through

Lack of worth, or

Arbitrarily

That we would

Just have time to

Feel a tiny bit

Elated

Before you were

Cut off:

Your lives

(And ours)

Truncated.

 

 

For J&S

Always (but never quite) mine

And really real.

I love you ❤

 

00OctPoWriMo

 

Worn

Peasant-Sitting-by-the-Fireplace-(Worn-Out)source

My brother came to me in a dream

He thanked me for standing by him,

For believing him when very few could.

I told him I never believed him.

 

“You didn’t want to know,

You never asked.

You just wanted to think that someone believed.

I didn’t matter to you.

What I thought was never of great consequence.

You just didn’t care if I believed you or not.

So why come to me now?

Are you searching?

Or is this my doing,

Somewhere in a restive slumber

Hoping beyond hope that you could?”

 

The whole thing has me worn.

I’m tired of praying that my disbelief is the sin of my arrogance,

That the truth has not gone with him to the grave.

I hope I was wrong to think him a liar,

Because even if he didn’t care what I thought,

I care what he did.

Two Shoes Tuesdsay the cue was “tattered.”