Broken Things

There used to be a repair shop

next to the bridge.

Out back lay piles of stuff,

rusted, bent, broken

but maybe useful - for parts.

It’s gone now.

In its place

is a lovely little café with

outdoor seating

and a view of the river.

And today we throw away

all our broken things.

For G-man's FF55. 

I grew up in a little town next to the little town of Cedarburg, Wisconsin where my grandparents lived. Several times a week we would go over the bridge and pass the little repair shop that was just behind the Texaco station (which is now a rather high-end jewelry shop).  Now, "Historic Cedarburg welcomes you!"  It has, "specialty stores, wineries, charming restaurants, gracious inns and a full calendar of festivals and events...."  But no repair shops. 

*Quotes from www.cedarburg.org

Second Sight

In the absence of color

my parched eyes drink darkness

through pupils

dilated and yearning.

It fills the vitreous chamber,

presses against optic nerve,

with the weight of the void

that is now inside me.

Upside down images of naught

reflected against my macula

dissipate and re-form

as I sit unaware

and stare

into nothing...

and everything.

For G-man's FF55.   

11th August

     Universal Studios Lot, Instagram by sessepien

At day’s end

 when shadows were long

we’d sit and dangle bare legs

over the edge

of the fire escape.

Looking down on the city

was sort-of magicy.

The smell of

bus-fumes-liver-and-onions-pot-curry

danced through the air

and the tiny people below

softened into vagueness

as the sun snuck off.

You and I would talk about

far away…

   long ago…

      yet to be…

There were forests 

full of green and grey,

swimming pools,

and yards big enough for puppies.

There were dragons and gargoyles 

to be dealth with;

criminals to be fought, 

awards to accept.

We could go anywhere,

do anything,

and nothing could stop us.

Except for mama

calling us to bed.

This is for The Mag creative writing site hosted by Tess Kincaid, and also linked to dVerse open link night.  Click on the links and check them out for some great writing.

Choir Loft

Tuesday is funeral day.

I sit above

and watch the pews fill

with sober, black overcoats.

They recite dry words

with mouths

already half-full of dirt.

Too many grey heads

nod and bob below,

though one less

than last Sunday.

The old rites

are blowing away

in the February chill

as we sing this soul home.

This is for G-man's FF55.  Late, so to speak.  Sorry for the dreary topic on Valentin's day, but I sing in a little country church choir and a funeral on Tuesday for a man I don't know at all got me thinking.  I'm still thinking, but here's the first bit.

I Dream of Flying

     The Blessing Bringer by Lisa Graham

I dream of flying.

And in my dream

all the familiar things

fall away

until I am perfectly alone.

There is nothing

but wind and sun and me.

I have no

wax-wings to melt,

or finger-feathers to molt.

I do not hold on

to Superman’s cape.

I simply

 follow the curve of the earth

towards tomorrow

like all the heroes do.

This is for all the lovely toads in The Garden.  Grace has introduced the paintings of Lisa Graham, which can be found here Lisa Graham Art.  Follow both links to check out all the lovely poetry and paintings!

Eternity

    Eternity by Mary Bach

Today

I cultivate the space

even though I do not yet know

what will

grow.

I spent the weekend at a retreat called Brush Wisdom.  We learned about a type of Japanese calligraphy called Sosho as a vehicle for contemplative calm and peace.  This is my stylized version of the eternity character.