Ecclesiastes 9:11

I will aim my anger at randomness,
good memories my ammunition.
Like an atheist angry at God,
I, a theist, curse life's random condition.
Though there are signs of fine orchestration,
and there's rhythm to life, like a dance,
the race is not to the swiftest,
for we're all at the mercy of chance.

There is a beauty in nature
(milkweed leaf with sun behind)
but it is innocent of inspiration
to my weary grieving mind.
And robins may sing to the morning
(liquid music drips from the tree)
but they cannot lift the shattered heart
that has known death's finality.
Where now is the hope I lived with
(in the days before he passed);
where's the light of a new day dawning,
now the whole world is overcast?

If death is natural, and neither evil nor not evil, it is at least true that the parting, or separation, as in the death of a loved one, is an evil, and I believe, a "type" or fractal foretaste, of hell.
......................
Not even in my dreams do I see him any more.
How can he be so finally gone?
If this grief is all that is left me of him,
Long may I bleed, and long feel the pain.
The ache of missing him will surely never end.
How did I not know that he had passed on,
Until days had passed by? And I his mother.
And he my beloved son.
If I scream loudly enough,
Will the universe wake up?

At the occurrence of the impossible
be not too hasty to accept it;
let denial of the horror
testify to it's enormity.
Only with a wounding fury
can I even begin to ponder
that this nightmare may have happened,
and you be lost to us forever.
Long ago I heard the whimpers
when a dog was dealt his deathblow.
from his very breathing depths
came the cringing cries of pain.
Mine come out in words as I lie bleeding,
Into the world around me I leak the spreading stain.

I don't know where
I just know not here
I don't know where
I just know gut pain
I don't know where
I just know I miss you
I don't know where
I just know I can't stand it

Ripped to ribbons, cut to shreds,
How can I offer a heart half dead

(Photo: Insects at night at the yardlight around the corner of the barn roof)

Pounding my fists on our side
of the floor boards of heaven
all I get is:
stinging eyes from the dusty gold trickle through the cracks;
the faint strain of trumpet solos;
the distant sound of the door slamming after new arrivals;
welcoming laughter and introductions;
a wave of cheering as the game turns for the team that will win;
an occasional and all-to-rare, muffled but unmistakeable voice with the wisest, most loving tones, and silence as all there listen;
and left alone in the basement world
I make my way through mould and dark
by the long thin lines of light
that are all I have to see by.

I don't know what means the word 'never'.
I guess I will be waiting the rest of my life.
I don't know if it's a furious pain
Or a painful fury but it cuts like a knife.

Your absence changed the look of trees.
There's a great unfocused fury;
Too angry to eat and then cursing my hunger,
Wanting only to feed my tribute rage.
As awareness registers, one knife thrust at a time,
There is no reason to go upstairs to relax,
And I may have to buy a new remote control.
Good thing I didn't hit the big screen.

There isn't any part of you
That we can cling and hold onto
You
Are
So
Gone
And, me? I'll walk and carry on
Pretend to live though you are gone

I never knew one was such a big number.
Losing one beloved is so, so much
a number beyond counting
a seeming endless void
a constant subtraction
a measureless vacancy

You didn't know, when you folded your clothes and put your phone on top,
eyeing the cool smooth lake water;
you anticipated the coolness, the silky caresses
as your strong lean body pulled it's way through the welcoming wavelets;
too welcoming, they would not let you go.
And what unexpected adventure are you seeing now?

You create and call it good
And so the creatures come to love it.
But You say "wait, i've got a better idea!"
And yank the child so suddenly into the next world
only silence is left behind.
There can be no understanding between us, Sir.
But You do not need my understanding.

Denial, you were a lovely blanket, and I wrapped so snugly, with the pillow of disbelief hugged underneath my cheek.
Now the blanket is being slowly pulled away, or maybe it is wearing thin.
Because I am starting to feel the cold; the cold is coming.

Part of my mind is convinced the underwater search and rescue unit is unnecessary.
Why seek the living among the dead?
Surely he will come walking back into the house. Or call on the phone with his distinctive way of saying, "hi, mom?"
I can hear and see him; he's very much alive in my mind's eye.
I will think about it later.
If only people didn't keep phoning, messaging, hugging,
Rudely reminding me.

Who can tell me where he is?
The all-powerful one isn't listening.
He can't be missing: he's my son and I can see him so clearly coming back home to us.
Why are people bringing us food and offers of anything I can do?
Surely they don't believe the reports!
It cannot be true.

But I know this is how God operates.
I have seen it before.

 

BECAUSE I DID NOT STOP
The words came as I weeded, thoughts urgent pouring down,
like the sun's unending heat on the overheated ground.
Too intent on work before me, swinging weedy battle sword,
I made no pause to save them, coming of their own accord.
Building rhythm, still they fell into my mind intent on working,
and I wondered whether stopping to seek pencil would be shirking.
Surely it was solemn duty to keep tilling in the soil,
though the shiny verbal glitter tempted me away from toil.
So, persistent in my calling to do work of worthy merit,
I forever lost the golden song; to my regret I'll never hear it.
-HJ July/August 2001