My Mother’s Ghost Sits Next to Me at the Hotel Bar Blue-tinted and red-mouthed, you light a cigarette that glows green between your lips and smells …
My Mother’s Ghost Sits Next to Me at the Hotel Bar (with recording)
The wind whispers to me
Someday, soon it will be spring We will celebrate the colour green
And the rains, oh yes the rains
I promise. The geese will return
The squirrels will unpack from the pines
The sun will rise again with a sultry wave
And the brook will sing, oh yes the brooks
Fret not at the severity of these days
For they were invited to lull the world to rest
Burrowed deep, I know you love spring best
And in slow breaths please wait, oh yes please wait.
These are the words the wind whispers to me.🙏
via O Shining. Vcl©️
I am wrapping myself up
In the ends of the year
Quietly, with slow movements
The kind that shapes
The way we think
Letting go so gently
For all has been spoken
I walk the galleries
The galaxies of memories
Where poet’s words come from
Quietly, my old year, that shrivelled old senior
Falls asleep amidst the fireworks
That riotously run their course
Among the shooting stars
O shining.
*Burst of celestial fireworks NASA
I’ve been quietly basking
Quietly basking in the spirit
In the spirit of Twixmas peace
You know of what I speak
I speak of that deep silence
That deep silence that awaits
A glimpse of final sunrises and sunsets
The sunsets that hold all the secrets
All the secrets of the year to come
I long to clutch these year end days
Year end days that have no words
No words yet except to wait
Is that a promise?
A promise that can be kept?
Be kept snuggled to my heart?
I’ve been quietly basking.
It’s been awhile….
The Time Passage
I live in a time of quiet places
I reach for words
Look for moments
In which your words do penance
Or disappear into the deep
Silent abyss of memories
The ghost of loss reaches out
Wiping silver tears from my eyes
Wrapping me in an invisible cloak
My urgent questions slip away
Down, deep down, spiraling
Into the time passage.
Image: Roger Groom
From long ago, her story is both gripping and miraculous. Is she a mom? It’s not known but in my imagination, I assume she is. As her story spills out from the pages of an ancient book we see her desperation in a life filled with stain, pain, and shame. In spite of hardships her faith never wavered. Although her life may not mirror mine or yours, her story reminds me to keep living in faith while my journey of grief continues.
Her story paints a picture of a woman without an identity, but I will give her one and call her Isabella. She built a life with her husband (I’ll call him Samuel) and their three beautiful sons who she was forced to watch grow up from afar. Why afar? Because her bleeding never stopped after the birth of her third child. Strangely, her womb failed to heal completely…
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Why am I telling you this O Holy One?
We drag our feet towards eternity
Where We understand We will be free
We cannot hide who makes us happy
How divine is forgiving? We fear rejection
We suffocate in our imperfections
We beg to be released from the tortuous weight
Of our own burnt guilt
We mourn our fate
But sadness, well…..that lies in state
Disguised as freezing tenderness We wait
But the autumnal leaves fall so We celebrate
In a world gone mad…We pause…yes hold the hate
We take the time to make thanksgiving great
As We bow our heads and say a prayer
For We hope that you will join us here
We’ve grown accustomed to this place
Forgive us Father….We trust heaven can wait.
