Something About October
Sweet Phantom
Something about October
springs up a tear for you;
the sky brings back your eyes for me,
that intensity of blue.
Something about the autumn
touches my heart with grief;
the chilling air and brilliant crisp
of every dying leaf.
Something about departures
when winter’s coming on,
remind me that I still am here,
and you, my dearest - gone.
(C) 2002 Rosemary J. Gwaltney
Before the Mist Closed In
Tears In the Pool
My Very Own Little Boy Bleu for my loves
Bittersweet
crimson root of anguish,
intransigent plant still flaunting
itself through my heart, twisting,
digging deep into crevasses of
emotions that I cannot
remove.
It’s pure raw
pain to be around little
girls; with mine lost to me,
and they’re everywhere;
they’re everywhere.
~ ~ ~
I saw her last night in the smile of
another child, the sparkle in her eyes, the quick and
eager graceful fluid movements of her lithe little body, the
music of her giggles. I’ve felt my soul crumble in church, at
supermarkets, and driving past school playgrounds ... I saw
her once in a swimming pool, her dark hair and sunny
eyes squinting wet at me above the surface, the
rest of her submerged; I knew it wasn’t
Sheena, but there she was, come
back to me just long
enough to
break
my heart
again
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney
I’ll see your smiles as long as I live,
as I’ll always remember you;
the bliss that Christmas was able to give
my very own little boy bleu.
When you saw the brilliant tree lights lit,
your sparkling dark brown eyes
just didn’t know what to make of it,
and widened in pure surprise!
The outdoors had come inside for you -
you’d sniff it in keen delight!
This infant tree all fresh and new -
you enjoyed it day and night!
You couldn’t reach out with your little hands,
for so weak and frail you were;
but you explored enchanted lands
when your cheeks stroked the tree of fir!
So I’d push your chair ‘till you leaned right in,
chestnut curls on tinsel bright,
you’d laugh at the brush of it on your skin,
and giggle to see its light.
You’d try to lick a shining globe
that from a near branch hung;
trying with all the patience of Job
to touch one with your tongue.
Your favorite month, your favorite toy,
that Christmas tree each December;
I’ll never forget your purest joy;
Our five tender years, remember.
Sweet beautiful son, ever lingering on,
in my heart where you live so true;
oh, how I miss you, now that you’re gone,
my very own little boy bleu.
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney
Starkest Glare Of Dawn
