Wednesday, June 27, 2007

"Raising Daffodils"

Life is evanescent. Momentary. Like the wind it comes and goes. Today is a rather somber day for me. My gramps is in the hospital in sore shape. Whether or not he makes it will depend on how much fight he has left in him. So I post a sad poem I wrote years ago.

My memories hum a tune I can’t hear, only feel
the night plays on my mind as well as the sky
the stars flicker and dance like the rustle of leafs
My eyes linger on the chasm whose teeth chatter
to the cold breath of wind that wafts of fall

I sniff in the fragrance of rain just fallen
my eyes search raindrops for conscious thought
but reflections of clouds cover hope
leaving echoes of summer’s sweet memory to fill my nose
with the scent of daffodils

An old trees carcass lays where a young sapling
grows through broken branches
I cast its grey‑weathered bones between dangling feet
I hear them shatter on rock and splash into river
my startled breath fills me with the earthy tang of rotting leafs
I look up at the moon riding towards the horizon
and see the leafs raining, tumbling towards the Earth

I find one, reddish‑yellow tipped in green
In my hand, swallowed by stars, the light plays with my eyes
and my mind imagines the dead leafs veins pulsing
and my own heart beats in stride, beating until my face is blushed
and my own two hands full of foliage reach up to the sky
where my own body becomes more weighted and tied to the earth
where my own legs become more laden and rooted to the land
where my own emotion becomes more raw and hewn to the seasons
where I am induced to reach as high as I can

HIGHER still
so that the leaves would again turn green and wave to summer breeze
to once more be full of life’s blood and breathing!

But the wind blows and my arms weaken
the rain falls, and I weaken!
This terrible wind continues to bite fiercer and a torrential rain descends in sheets
burdening me
until at last I fall to the ground disgusted
clawing my fingers into the dark soil in search of meaning
in search of anything that would mean more than the past
digging so that I could leave what I couldn’t forget
leaving it so I could move on toward to morrows worth living
forgetting so I could remember
grieving so I could move on

Days turn to months, seasons turn to years
and a young man now old visits the cliff near the daffodils
and recalls memories of past friends and family, past loves and lost youth
each time watering and cultivating the past
so it will not be forgotten