RESPECT: GIVEN AND EARNED

A generous heart with the capacity to love unconditionally;
despite our flaws and our foibles, everything left on the table
came from a deep seated respect for life and my place in it.
Disagreements were never fights, and rights were something
that were never followed by lefts, or any combination thereof.
He gave me my space; room to grow and learn from mistakes
made with regularity early on; less frequent when he needed
a competent aid and caretaker. The inheritance came as an intangible,
a right of passage that gave every woman and man their due
in lieu of their station in life or place of origin. Giving me all
that he knew I could handle because he believed you earned
everything you wanted and were given everything you needed.
Respect always came at equal value. You only got what you gave.
I’ve saved it all these years, treasured and heart bound,
found in a generous heart with the capacity to love. Thanks Dad!

 

Written for We Write Poems – Prompt #90

THE CALL

“Dad’s got cancer.”
Words as lifeless as I felt at that moment.
My sister, Daddy’s baby girl, her voice
shaken from its confidence.
And I in exile deteriorating in my own
self-absorbtion, choking on words so harsh.
And words so healing; a feeling of redemption
in my reply. Wiping an eye or two,
and through with my vitriol; back in control
of the emotions so frayed. Four months
were all that were afforded me. It awarded
me a chance to reconcile for the while he had.
Two Walts contrasted; reunited while Dad lasted.

IN THE GARDEN OF THOUGHT

Attracted by lingering memories,
or drawn by a heart felt compassion,
we come together to fashion our thoughts
into some semblance of conformity.
The enormity of that which we wish to convey
touches the hearts and souls of other such
thinkers planting their seeds to flourish;
in poetic bloom we are nourished.
One to another we join; all invited and welcomed.
A home for such ideas in the garden of thought.

A place of such communion does exist. The venue is called POETIC BLOOMINGS and it is a garden of poetic expression shared by many. All are welcomed and encouraged to write.
Open to all poets of every skill level and age. All that is required in the garden is to have fun and stop to smell the poetic roses!

This poem was written to the prompt: Community over at WE WRITE POEMS. Thanks to Marian Veverka for the inspiration.

MEADOWLAND REVISITED

Hillside shadows stretch
into the valley of content,
embraced and drawn
close to the breast; close
to the heart. Waiting for one
to complete the scenario.
The breeze blesses everything
that blesses its path. Birds in flight
rushing to tomorrow’s offering.
And she enters your arms;
her charms entice you. It is nice
to know that in chaos and tumult,
the result of these interludes
gives the soul rest. The best place to be.

LOSING HIS GRIP

Their foundation had crumbled into a pile of stones;
their gate was bent and rusted. She had trusted
him to rebuild the barrier; to rebuild their lives.
He had forgotten how demanding she could be.
She was once a bubbling fountain of emotion
that set his heart fluttering like the flash of a thousand
diamond stars through the thatched roof.
But she had lost her spark.
The hearth within her had ceased to glow.
And as he continued to grope at her throat,
her breathing had ceased as well.

Written to include the words: thatched, bubbling, forgotten, gate, fluttering, hearth, breathing, stones, thousands, flash, rebuild and grope – for Wordle # 38 at The Sunday Whirl