A million emotions
Mask grief:
Anger and madness
Contrition and control
Exhaustion and endurance
Helplessness and hopelessness
Too many to name. So much to bear.
The hurt reaches into each pore,
Slender branches poking and prodding
Taking over until the misery spills out faster
Than we can process it.
And that is why we
Weep.
You always think you have another day,
Another moment to say I love you,
To hold the hand that
Needs holding,
To sing one
Last song.
But really, all you have is now.
And just like that, now
Has also slipped
away.
Peace, people.
I wrote this several Christmases ago and thought it worth sharing again. At any rate, I’m too stuffed with turkey and dressing to come up with anything original.
Wherever you are, however you celebrate, I hope this season finds you safe and healthy. Happy Holidays, friends.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/12/24/christmas-letter/
Peace, people.
World peace, or at least a reasonable
Facsimile thereof.
An end to poverty and love enough to
Go around.
Hands extended in kindness, hearts warmed
In gladness.
Food and drink to nourish every single
Child on earth.
A home for every stray, a warm place to
Shelter from the cold.
Comfort and joy.
Comfort and joy.
Peace, people.
If I tell you I saw Rembrandt this morning, his face staring up at me from my bathroom rug, of all places, would you think me insane or would you direct me to the proper authorities?
Had it been the Virgin Mary I’d seen, I’d know exactly who to contact. Alas, it’s a long-dead Dutch painter.
On second thought, it might not be Rembrandt at all, but instead the steely-eyed conquistador whose likeness graced the walls of my childhood home during one of Mom’s theme periods of decorating.
Although, the image bears a striking resemblance to a hat-wearing woman from a famous painting, the title of which escapes my mind, except the visage on my bath mat clearly has a mustache, and the lady in the painting does not.
But, wait. It’s none of the above.
The closer I get the more I realize it’s likely Sigmund Freud come to call. Oh, the irony.
Peace, people.
How strong is too strong
When one crafts a hot toddy?
I remain on my feet,
Yet my writing’s rather shoddy.
I’m light in the head
And wobbly in my body
I feel perfectly sane,
But I’m acting rather dotty.
Oh, dear, I think it’s fairly clear
I’ve too much whiskey in my toddy.
This poem came up in my Facebook memories today. I’d completely forgotten about it, but I think it has merit. As I recall I’d written a part of the poem, but felt like it was half-baked. Days went by and I had an epiphany that allowed me to continue the thoughts that first compelled me to write this. Now I’m not certain if this is two poems or one poem in two parts. I just know I like it. Maybe you will, too.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/11/12/broken-people
Quick burst of flavor
Ripe red cherry tomatoes
No two quite alike
This one like sugar
Unlike the fat squishy one
That falls a bit flat
One thing for certain
They taste nothing like cherries
I fell for that once
I have been so in love
With the crunch of autumn’s leaves
That I failed to breathe
Carpets of orange,
Crisp Crimson, and mellow gold,
Sun-dappled delight
On Fall’s mellow eve,
One season wanes, depleted
While nature comforts
When I close my eyes I picture my destination—a village on the banks of the Mississippi.
I see my daughter and imagine the hug I’ve been aching to give her since early July.
My grandkids. I hear their voices calling, “Nana!” and I’m a rock star for a brief moment in time.
The road stretches before me. Miles of interstate and backroads, small towns and cities. A hotel somewhere between here and there.
Two sleeps separate me from my destination. Tomorrow the journey begins. Illinois, here I come.
Praying for Eyebrowz 