NO MERCY FOR THE OLD
in the root cellar were empty mason jars the grandmother
was moving
for the last time no longer to live alone no longer free
she lived in the house on water street san antonio texas
for 60 years faithful to her church the house empty now
there is no mercy for the old life signs erased
late nights on the porch/the neighbors strolling by/the children
grown
moved away lives of their own a life spills away
like water through your fingers/there is no holding on/the new dawn
wipes away memory/the leap from birth to death/happens so quickly
there is no finish line/no applaud from the crowd/the end comes at a
cost
each soul reaches its destination/as nonchalant as forever
carries her stories/neatly in a small bag/the contents like folded linens
the color of muslinor that color just before sunrise/perhaps a darker
gray
difficult to name life is a gift one day to the next
filled with small accomplishments/no time to spare/each scintillating
moment
the fragrance of honeysuckle fills the air/just when one thinks he has
found his groove
it’s over /it will be the same for you and for me/ bound by our earlier
flagrant choices the news comes will you be ready
or will you be flighty what to take what to leave behind
the old house empty now/children’s laughter quietly/echoing from the
walls
June 10, 2017
Note: I made a mistake. I thought yesterday was Sunday, and collected the words from The Sunday Whirl and Sunday's Whirligig and made a poem....it was really Saturday....so the poem above has the words from last week's wordle, from the Sunday Whirl and today's Sunday's Whirligig.
The Sunday Whirl #303
THERE IS NO GLOBAL WARMING
we are told it is a closed system the water we have
is all there is/and all there will ever be/we walk in the shadow of
this reality
this reality
yet our very touch dirties the water we drink
we speak in whispered tones the water clear sparkling
begins as snow in the mountains/tumbles down in spring/we dip
our loaded brush
and swish all of the water turns blue or orange…or green
depending on what is in the brush humans spoil everything
as we watch
we were given a miracle a garden of eden perfectly
suited
suited
and it is possible/there is no other place /scientists stare into their
telescopes
we pin our hopes on another world the universe is
vast
vast
search for other planets a place for us when all is
ruined
ruined
rancid we have spoiled our nest we need more resources
as if in a trance/we continue to live as if there were no tomorrow
plastic fills the oceans
floats on every ripple/we pump carbon waste into the air/we crack
the earth
we can ignite the water/that comes from the tap/but we can not
drink it
within we know what we have done/yet we deny it/ say there is no
global warming
June 11, 2017
19 comments:
I can see that woman, remembering her long lifein that house, now in a place with strangers. A hard change, that final loss of home.
These are both very good. The first made me cry.
Dear Annell, for me, your work continues to grow in depth and with such deft and telling poetic phrasing... A real treat to read - Thank so much...
There's no mercy for the old. Such heartbreaking truth. The first poem is so visual and moving. The second poem is very timely. Yes what he says has to be true. Ugh.
"Will you be ready, or will you be flighty?" The question that confronts us all. It's easier to ignore it, of course, and just get on with our daily business until there is "no time to spare." Then the game's up, and not only is the old house empty, but so are we.
This is a hauntingly beautiful poem, Annell. Thank you.
No mercy for the old brought me to tears, Annell. As all my friends and I prepare for our last chapter, these words are all too true. Thoughtfully written!
Your global warming poem hits me in the heart, Annell. Every word so true. We have to heal the world we have, only the billionaires will get to another place. I like this one anyway, just wish we had tended it more carefully. You are right - we were given a paradise.
OH, I LOVE this:
"carries her stories/neatly in a small bag/the contents like folded linens"
Thoughtful and heartbreaking.
Whew! A wonderful read for me.
ZQ
This is so heart-wrenching.
Both are good. Indeed, sadly there is no mercy for the old; and we all do reach that point sometimes. And, as for global warming...yes, we live as if there is no tomorrow....especially since there are the 'climate change deniers' that presently have their way. Sad.
Why does it have to be this way? All for naught? I wonder.
First of all who cares what words you use it is the message that counts.
One of the most stupid ideas is that we can trash the Earth so a few can make millions because we can always go to another planet to live. Sadly that is not going to happen. Exloration may take place but nowhere near enough will be livable. It would be far easier to mend our ways and make the Earth sustainable by protecting water sources, protecting the seas from pollution, stop using fossil fuels that affect the atmosphere and maintain a balance in nature and most importantly stop killing each other as that is so costly and wasteful!
the contents like folded linens
the color of muslin or that color just before sunrise/perhaps a darker gray difficult to name ... love those lines... both beautiful pieces.
Sometimes mistakes lead to good writing, better poems. I think that is clearly what happened here. Let's drink to the mistakes,
Elizabeth
Both of these pieces, for me, evoked (to greater or lesser degrees) long life - on an individual and planetary level. Where there is life, there is the certainty of change. Life is layered in joy and sadness - though, always, the end of life ... is sad. Brilliant writing!
As ever your insight and imagery are spell binding - a happy accident with collecting those words xo
Both poems touch me with your honest words. The end of life is something I am approaching (faster than I'd like to admit), the end of this planet may be approaching too. Both are sad thoughts, but real. I am impressed with the wisdom you share and with the talent you have to be so prolific with given words.
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