Of Sorrow
INDEX:
Honeysuckle Summer
Tears in Rain
Echoes
Winter in Gray
From a Dream I Woke
Back Alley
Vision
Quarrantined
That Perilous Lip
Without You
* * *
Stephanie
* * *
What Shall We Do With Her Room, Sweetheart?
Bronzed Baby Shoes
Joe-Joe
Blown Out
Warden
Aghast
Their Eyes
* * *
Honeysuckle Summer
Fragrant the
Honeysuckle vines
Behind the back porch
Where we spent the summer
Swinging snugly in the gleaming
Moonlight. Barn owls calling urgently
Back and forth. We were lost in each other's
Smiles; hypnotized by each other's hands
Clasped together, in promises of spring.
Entwined in scented dreams sweeter
Than richest masses of blossoms
Twisting yellow through
The railing.
~ ~ ~
Who could have seen it coming?
The sentence of sorrow
Descending.
~ ~ ~
When the first frost arrived
Lightly dusting pumpkins and squashes,
I lay alone between rows of dried cornstalks
In the field beyond the chicken-house,
Face down in the icy mud
Weeping.
(C) 1998 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Tears in Rain
What it is about tears
In rain
Those gray shadows casting
Dampened spirits
Across a lamplit street
Forging fingerprints
On oil-slick puddles
~ ~ ~
What is it about rain
In tears
Stretching ghostly hands
Through a city park
From skeleton trees
Your voice echoing
In the wind
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Echoes
Standing here peering through a rainforest of tears
With these tired eyes fogging the vision before me
Searching for you through the valley’s misty air
Calling through the early morning haze
Of Roslyn’s curling woodsmoke
~ ~ ~
I’ll hear you hiking back for me through the underbrush
As soon as you pull free from the rusty jaws
Of the poacher’s trap
~ ~ ~
My own voice echoes back to me from those faraway
Majestic snowy Colorado cliffs where we stood hand in hand
Refining our tender love, one heartbeat at a time
Planning our future each breath singing in rhyme;
A lonely echo but not lost,
It echoes knowing full well of your return.
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Winter in Gray
I am winter
Gray and warped is my weathered spirit
Like old boards Lying in the rain,
By too many cold seasons in the flat wet countryside.
My hopes echo in a secret lonely cavern, camouflaged
By public smiles of shimmeringly hopeful mirage.
I find myself in a hollowed land scooped deep
Into the dark earth like a moldy damp root cellar
In Northern British Columbia.
Haunted by decades of memories -
Leaning tender yearnings, bending like old, cold
Willow branches to the ground, shrouded with emptiness.
~ ~ ~
Painting bright laughter, painstakingly
Disguising wet lids with curving lips;
Masquerading over oils of sorrow on the canvas of life.
I'm lost in my own wilderness.
Imprisoned in the penitentiary of the lifetimes of our past.
(C) 1998 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
From a Dream I Woke
Clasping your bathrobe like your body, I woke.
Coughing grief choked me in spilling tears,
Emerging from a dream - encircled by your arms,
Your lips urgent on mine,
Our tender passions mounting,
And you were here.
~ ~ ~
Three a.m. this empty bed nightmare time
Of hideous wakefulness haunts me,
Echoing in a vacuum of emptiness.
Your breath, your warmth, your spicy scent,
Lingers within the cavern of my spirit,
Where our love lives ever fragrantly fresh.
~ ~ ~
Come home. . .
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Back Alley
Anguish is twisting my heart like a stoplight
In a hurricane. The wind drags me tripping down
This cobblestoned city slum street of my spirit -
Littered with color photographs of you -
Echoing with your music I can no longer find -
With your hearty laughter now lost to me.
I see your ghostly fingerprints forged on oil-slick puddles.
My yearning soul aches for your voice.
~ ~ ~
Memories of your tender arms reach out for me
As lovers hidden in dark yawning back alleys.
Down slippery moss-covered stone steps,
Your smile shines through the negatives
In the underground darkroom of your absence.
~ ~ ~
Dying of thirst for you;
I drink in your face painted on the clouds.
I'm perishing with longing for your touch;
Shriveling, withering from years of isolation.
~ ~ ~
I've been fading without you.
My colors have washed to gray.
Your shine in my life worn away.
Threadbare, this worn fabric of my living,
With your rich tapestry ripped from me.
~ ~ ~
I stumble blindly along this back alley of my mind.
Lonely haunting chimes echo down the darkness
As I mark an hour moved closer to death.
~ ~ ~
Denied entrance to the realm
We once lived in; the arena we loved in.
Forbidden, I stand at the cob-webbed, ancient windows,
Gazing past the dead butterflies and
Torn lace curtains of lost dreams,
To find a glimpse of you;
Straining to see through the dusty gloom
Of that dirt-crusted, echoing empty room.
And then, in the distance, a telephone rings . . .
(C) 1997 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Vision
Brilliant
the shine of the moon
laying shadows carefully behind
your lantern, your hat, your philodendron climbing
the wall; placing them precisely where a heart would crack watching;
where my soul would shatter remembering; the shadows of our lives intermingling;
~ ~ ~
brittle
the glow of the stars
casting glares that only I could see
beneath the memories of lost fragrances we shared;
mingled fires we tended with such care; soaring pasts we tasted blending
with spices rare; gentle love we laid upon our plates, and ate of without restraint
~ ~ ~
bristling
with pain, I lie naked against the floor;
bare as a newborn against this grief; feeling every
fiber of the rug cut into my skin, like the
losses of losing you have been ...
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
(C) 1997 Rosemary J. Gwaltney
* * *
Quarantined
Outlined against that scarlet sky
Canadian geese sweep by in V-formation
Honking their wild free croaks of communication.
Mating freely for life; no vultures hover
Searching for ways to tear them apart.
~ ~ ~
Flat against the chill green moss beside the pond
My soul is scraped bare and dry by longing;
And crawling away from the campfire's warmth,
Alone in my starless cave I shrivel;
Quarantined from that moonlit night,
Kept apart from the fireflies' light,
Pressed against the cool gray dust of the ground.
~ ~ ~
Missing you.
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
That Perilous Lip
Behind the rolling purple clouds
Gleams sunlight’s brilliant glow;
Beneath the bitter snow
The crocus bulbs unfold and grow;
And through these dark gray skies behold
A bending neon bow.
~ ~ ~
Despite the shout of thunderclaps
Oh may this weight of living’s grief
Rest lightly on my brow;
Oh may I now
Think long of him - the one I miss -
Come gently to the precipice
But yet not fall.
I wish to feel it all,
Still never tip
Beyond that perilous lip.
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Without You
Without you
I become a two month fetus in a bleeding womb;
A hundred year old gasping her last breath;
An animal tied to the tracks when the trains come.
Without you
I become a newborn child with no breath of life;
A caterpillar being devoured by a crow;
A spilled glass of water on a sheet of ice.
~ ~ ~
How can I embroider my silver threads
Into the fragile, delicately woven fabric
Of your spirit so that you comprehend
How deeply I love you?
I will always love you, always.
Without you, I fill with terror;
Without you, I fade into night;
Without you, loneliness eats me alive bite by bite.
(C) 1998 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * * * * *
Stephanie
Like a jewel box
cradling in velvet lining a
pearl, and gently lowering into the
dark shell of earth; her tiny white coffin was
swallowed into the shadows like her
tender fire that burned for nine
months of hope, and then
nine weeks of
paradise.
(In loving memory of my little niece, Stephanie Gwaltney)
* * *
What Shall We Do With Her Room, Sweetheart?
Her small wheelchair sits empty there;
pink upholstery shining bright.
What are we going to do with it?
It haunts me day and night.
~ ~ ~
The Little Mermaid quilt is soft
upon her unused bed;
and the pillow where for precious years,
she laid her pretty head.
~ ~ ~
Her ruffled dresses hang in a row;
her dolls sit upon her shelves.
What shall we do with our love, my dear;
what shall we do with ourselves?
~ ~ ~
Her voice so sweet sounds through my soul,
each time I pass her door.
What shall we do with her room, sweetheart?
What shall we use it for?
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Bronzed Baby Shoes
Bronzed baby shoes
giving me the blues,
bring with a tear my yesteryear;
her dear emphatic twos.
Who knew how much we’d lose?
~ ~ ~
Tones of gold in browns, and shaded,
sing to me how life’s been jaded;
coming undone; reflections run;
epoch sweet by loss invaded.
Our realm now compressed and faded.
~ ~ ~
Daughter of mine;
love so rich and fine
still haunting me from memory,
time after lonely time.
Chanting in somber rhyme.
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Joe-Joe
Oh Joseph Isaac
son of my heart, you are
dear in your helplessness. I am
enmeshed in you. Night and day your
needs call me. When you scream out fear in
the night because you have slipped sideways in bed
you need me; when you laugh during the day because you find
me funny, you need me; when you whimper in feverish illness and I
stroke your forehead, you need me. When your whiskers grow and bother
you, you need me to shave them; when your diaper grows soggy and
bothers you, you need me to change it; when it is mealtime, and I
must feed you through your tube, you need me. Never has
anyone needed me quite like you do; my infant, my
son, now seventeen, we have grown together
like a grafted tree. I am your willing
slave, though sometimes weary.
You give me your sweet
baby smiles, your
innocence,
your
warm loving
eyes; you reach
for my hair with gentle
crooked hands, your quiet
speechlessness helps me remember
to treasure small things; your peacefulness
teaches me to live softly, go slow. You keep those
tender mother feelings fresh and young, and yes,
I need you too; you reaffirm my life’s worth.
It’s all right, for while other loves have
died, and my other babies have
grown up and don’t need
me any more, you
do.
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
Joey at thirteen years old.
Sleepy on Christmas morning.
Joey's poem moved to the sorrow page
because at nearly eighteen, his medical condition changed
to such a fragile one, that he now must live in a
nursing home, which makes me very, very sad.
* * *
Blown Out
Bright echoes of laughter have been blown out
From the iced birthday cake of my life
Silence spirals like smoke rising
As the screen door slams
Behind the last
Guest.
Peering through
Festooned lace curtains
I’m watching them walk away
While dream balloons pop behind me
And loneliness settles around me like confetti.
(C) 1999 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Warden
Emerging in a
silent scream yet again from
that eternal dream where past is reality,
and present an illusion; yet draped in drowsy
downy muses, towed by a familiar, dreaded, invisible line,
I crept back within, clutching the key in white-knuckled fingers,
and trailed falteringly down that long tunnel to the
heavy oaken door where I keep my pain
locked up tight.
~ ~ ~
Reaching out a
trembling hand I opened it
yet again as I always do; reluctant prison
warden in the headquarters of grief. I am addicted to
those reminiscences, obsessed by the past, hopelessly seduced
by the blighted sweetness of my lost. The voiceless inmates wait for
me there, nostalgic, keen to engulf me with loneliness; and
passionately hungering to wrest the key from me
and seize command. The fatiguing timeworn
struggle ensues once again. Why do I
return? It seems I never learn.
(C) 1997 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Aghast
b
e
r
e
a
v
e
d
lost
lost
lost
Scream -
easing the pain;
drown it in this icy rain.
How can I ever be whole again?
Howl -
into the fire;
burn my lost from time’s desire,
daughter engulfed in memory’s pyre.
Wail -
against the past;
I’ve lost her sweet love at last;
shivering in cold chill, aghast.
lone
lone
lone
b
e
r
e
a
v
e
d
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
Their Eyes
My life’s become an egg shell frail;
Thunderous visions e’er unveil
The eyes of all my precious lost;
No way to ever count the cost.
~ ~ ~
All those dear eyes, brown, blue and green,
Ever gazing, though unseen.
With memories behind each pair;
Each way I turn, they’re always there.
~ ~ ~
My arms reach out but cannot touch.
I miss my loved ones, oh, so much.
This pain continues ever burning.
Beloved ones, I’m always yearning...
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All rights reserved.
* * *
mountainrecluse@yahoo.com
© 1997 - 2004 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All
rights reserved.
