His Ashes

Twiglets “A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write.”

In tiny brass urns,
a smidgen of him,
to be cherished after
the casting was done
was given to the widow
and each adult child.

She kept it on a bookshelf
that she left behind
when she moved out
even though I didn’t know
what to do with them.
She didn’t care, she said.

I kept them out of respect,
not for him, but as a sense
of duty to being human.
He had not been a good man
and I was tired of the reminder
of my disillusioned sister.

He rests (perhaps) at the bottom
of New River on a bed of detritus
safe in his brass container.
In the cool waters he’ll have
time to remember his sins
stuck like a tuna in a can.

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Dandelion Dreams

mindlovemiseriesmenagerie An old work from 2013

I’ve tethered my dreams
to insubstantial things
of whimsey and fluff
that fly without wings
wafted by winds, lifted
on capricious currents, shifting,
in updrafts and downdrafts, riding
on warm breezy paths
of possibility and chance
a free-form dance.
I purse my lips and blow
caution to the wind.

Revised – cause there’s always room for improvement.

I’ve tethered my dreams
to insubstantial things
of whimsey and fluff
that fly without wings.
Wafted on the winds
of capricious currents.
Lifting in updrafts
shifting in downdrafts,
riding on warm breezy paths
of possibility and chance.
A free-form dance.
I purse my lips and blow
caution to the wind.

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I Use to Live Here

Twiglets happy nod

Why was she surprised to see
how much it had changed? How
small what remained seemed?
She stopped and talked to people
about her old memories
of these updated places or the
ones torn down. 

She filled the town with a rosy
glow of who she’d known
and where they’d go
to get a fountain Coke and
listen to the jukebox cut a shine.
It was bitter-sweet to stroll back the
over 75 years of this was when…

but it was a happy nod she gave
at the end of the day as we drove
back to the present.

Took my Mom to her hometown recently. She’s 90 years old and enjoyed every minute of the trip and all the memories it brought back..

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I Asked the Night

Twiglet #322 You Wear Black

Are the stars, the moon, a blemish
on the darkness of your umbra?
Do you exult in your lightlessness?
Are you serious and somber,
an unrepentant judge of frivolous?

Are you nothing at all,
an emptiness where light has fled?
Or have you just withdrawn to rest
the rest of the dead until the
radiance rushes right back in?

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Twiglets #321 curling page

A lone piece of parchment
lay on the fire curling
upon itself slowly.
hopelessly fluttering
limply on drafts of heat.
Please save the date – she sighs.

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“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”

Shay’s Word Garden All of the words on this week’s List are taken from Zachary Schomburg’s book The Man Suit

The telephone doesn’t jangle anymore
and the lumberjacks keep axing questions
sound has not been disillusioned for
there are still cellists to saw a simple tune
though there is one sound that rings
like a revolver shot to the heart
the hollow thud of an empty mailbox
at the end of the deserted street.

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… 3, 2, 1

The Twiglet early light

When night is at its darkest
look toward the eastern sky
where soon a wispy ribbon
of strong-willed beige will try
to burst the dark wide-open.

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For We Were Young

Those were the days, my friend, We thought they’d never end, We’d sing and dance forever and a day…” “Those Were the Days” is a song credited to Gene Raskin

Shay’s Word Garden Friday, March 31, 2023

Like an insect flying blithely, toward a windshield,
that’s the way it feels now
but then, ah, then,
life was a brassy affair
a crazy fun house
a roller coaster ride
of daring and laughter.

That girl, That girl. No head all emotion.
Filled with ideals, moods, poses
overwhelmed with knotted longings of
all my perpetual tomorrows
tugging with Jupiter’s gravity
and quantum promises of yet to be

That girl. That girl
looking forward, not knowing,
how at the end of that black hole
I would be, achingly,
looking back.

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Progress is a sword
double-edged, wounding twofold.
wasting, amassing.

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twiglets #318 Bells Like Clear Vowels

Peals ring, bright and clear,
like lengthy southern vowels
drawling in the air.

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