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NEW POETS OF
POETRY CONNECTION!


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This month, I have several friends who are in Hospice, waiting to transition.  I asked the poets to join me with poems about Life and Death...and Life, again, their thoughts on Spirit or spirituality or, as usual, they could surprise me with one of their favorites or something new that they were working on. 

 

Passing

 

She told me the wind

Was a passing of souls

 

In winter

those souls

Of whom Dickens spoke

Abroad on Christmas Eve

Wearing the chains they

Forged in life 

Incoherent sounds

Of lamentation and regret

Filling the air around them

 

In summer

her soul

And maybe the soul

Of her middle child

Float ethereally

In warm air 

Gently nudging the

Tubes of the windchimes

A greeting 

for me

Her eldest child

          Lynn Oatman

 

 

Travel on Sister

 

Patient as a flower,

open as a leaf,

summer fills its cup

with rivers slowly flowing,

mountains stripped to the sun.

You’ve chosen this time

to leave the earth

on the high note

you always relished.

I remember our days 

in the back country,

your bold appetite

and love for the moment.

Travel on sister,

you lead once more

over the furthest hill,

nearly out of sight.

          Don Hynes

For a signed copy of his book,

    Write to donhynes.com

 

 

In the Tucson Mountains

 

In front of me the Big Cat rises.

Soft wind fills with voices of ancient ones.

Their presence echoes in rocks above

and joins sounds of other species:

   flying over,

         digging in,

               running by.

They are here, living and dead, breathing.

          Laura Martinez

The All and Everything

Would that we could see you as friend,

helpmate at our inevitable end

when you come to welcome us back,

back to the All and Everything.

Why do we forever fight and fear you,

while living oh so near you,

the All and Everything waiting

behind sunset’s opaque screen?

Only our breath lies between

birth and death’s dream,

me, I’m waiting on the old grey,

and a woman with eyes so faraway.

When the moon is ripe I hear their song,

flute and howl, just beyond,

in the All and Everything that shall

someday claim me again.

Oh, guardian of our ending and beginning,

blending of the All and Everything,

come when you must,

and kiss me, kiss me sweetly gone.

          Lorraine Hart

 

 

What If People Dropped Like Leaves?

 

What if people dropped like leaves

our last months and days
a dazzling display
brilliant reds, yellows, oranges flaming
bodies, a glorious glow 
that draws others from miles around
to gaze in amazement eyes wide in wonder—
remembering how we began so plain
young, green, ordinary, unremarkable
and near our end—blazing beauty
stunning shimmering shadows in the sun’s
low arc across autumn skies

This should be how one dies—
a grand metamorphosis
waving brilliant
until with one simple move
we let go of everything
that binds us
and leaf-thin float free
in silent descent, graceful and spent
released from achievements 
and attachments, family trees
and branches
until we come to rest at last
in the loam of the gloaming

       —Cathy Warner

Originally published in Home by Another Road

 

 

The Gut Burns with Something

 

The gut burnswith something

we fall short to name.

Trauma, violence, and mass shootings

fail to identify

the root cause and pain

of suffering.

 

Empathy and compassion

will never make the tears of the dead

at the gravesite go away.

How complete and sharp is the 

hollow point of grief?

 

Blood leaks and stains the cement

Dries in places we won’t whisper about.

 

As we live, we all pass by,

holding the living in the one way

that feels both empty and sacred.

At the wailing wall,

we stare with cantilever eyes.

          Mokasiya

mokalightpoetry@gmail.com

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