As tears unbidden from my poor eyes fall I wipe them surreptitiously with your help sobs, suppressed smiles, snot; you have seen ’em all your wee bit does effortlessly emotions schlep from covering heads to wiping sweat from the Grecian times to the Victorian and the present an integral part of dressing you have been ne’er minding the grime or being wet luxuriating being doused in a heady scent often carrying billet-doux unseen!
O dear handkerchief, often your ends I have knotted to not forget a knotty affair and when I was foolishly besotted I did drop you with discreet flair sometimes it led to utterly dubious assumptions sometimes I received the response I craved sometimes you lay in oblivion in the dirt I rescued you then with chicanery and gumption my attempts at coquetry you valiantly braved keeping you close to bosom helped whenever I was hurt
This generation knows only how to use and throw upstart paper napkins and tissues scarce can take your place they may be fancy and pricey and convenient on the go your embroidered and laced appearance embodies class and grace from being neatly tucked in my school uniform pocket to your now delicately perfumed presence in my purse dear handkerchief, I cannot tell you what you mean to me whenever I leave home, you, I do not forget through thick and thin and better and worse you have been my companion, my best buddy.
Written for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly prompt and David’s W3 to Mich’s prompt to write an ode to our handkerchief.
Our words met by happenstance in a space without physical boundaries happy to make nodding acquaintance forming bridges in the ether with skeins of camaraderie gradually warming to each other; a veteran and a novice sharing thoughts and emotions cheek by jowl your words were incisive and insightful the words you left for me were encouraging and thoughtful
I knew you not beyond the realm of shared words but shared love of poetry bound us in a bond a little corner of my heart is empty with your passing away as you journey beyond the veil and board the bullet train may your words, that you have left behind continue to live and touch lives as they touched me.
Written for dVerse OLN. At dVerse today, we are remembering Glenn; a long time contributor and a force to reckon with. You can read Lillian’s beautiful, moving tribute here.
1. At the promise of spring the schooner is finally set to sail ’tis better not to kvetch
2. Soul sisters share stories at night doing mother’s will Winning battles our way
3. With me, you better tread with caution as passion often incites treason bubbling and frothing to putrid death
4. I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity with appreciation, this heart does beam keeping me warm and safe
5. As life transits towards the end it makes my staid life a mural of flavours and in my dreams the lullaby carries me home.
The first four stanzas were put together for the MTB at dVerse last week. Both Jane and Merril mentioned that it would be a cadralor if I added one more stanza. So I went back to my poems and picked three more end lines. Is it a cadralor now, do tell!
Will my words sit timidly on the threshold of life forever hesitant, directionless and self-deprecating or like restless vagabonds traverse the unlikeliest of places wandering on the lips of strangers unknown
What determines the life of a song is it the number of times it is sung or when its relevance surpasses time to flow into eternity morsels of soul wrapped in metaphors do they satiate other souls or meet disdain and curl up and wither trampled by indifference
From these tattered, stitched up verses would anyone try to piece my lies or would they lie gathering dust under a stash of showy strophes would some wise eye espy the thread of truth discreetly running through or would they be dismissed as trite tedious tropes
Spring-like these words gurgle on their own they know not what they want except that they want to flow my pen gives them the spotlight that they crave though I crave not the spotlight a mystery, an enigma I claim not to be I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity.
The grainy texture of hazy memories evokes myriad long forgotten tastes some ambrosial, some miasmic some that leave me pasty faced.
suspended in the half light of living an unnamed bird flutters haplessly singing no song of eternal hope yet it can’t stop whirring its wings endlessly.
tonight the moon’s forehead is lined with worries the fragrant skies will smolder throughout the night heaving under the haze of monochromatic thoughts the sun’s endeavour to slight the moon may never come to light.
time fades bit by bit bleeding every second hunger throbs voraciously in my aching bones tears gather drop by drop in the hollow of my neck I brace myself for the colossal shadows of unknowns.