he wore roach-stompin' cowboy boots
black and patched in skins,
out of fashion more than in,
neither
his concern,
but sometimes…
mine.
skin sandpaper
in shadows after five,
and
grizzly-sized hugs
still felt
in empty places.
he loved mirrors, and until twilight,
they loved him back.
his voice was gravel and boss
and "I'm sorry" was rare
but "I love you" was often
which is better, anyway,
i think.
haunted by
the unspoken,
weighted and broken
but stubborn
or weary
or proud…
the way of many
but not mine.
i hope.
i pray.
sharing
blood
and legacy
sometimes
i miss him more than others.
today.
Beautiful.
I want to take guesses. But I won’t. Doesn’t feel right. That is a braided string of words cascading down the page. It rolled and swayed like notes on a musical score. I learn so much from reading you. I am so seriously – grateful for you.
This will ring in my ears all day – what did you call it – an ear worm – i forget sometimes all the words I learn from you – This is poetry I can only dream of writing:
haunted by
the unspoken,
weighted and broken
but stubborn
or weary
or proud…
Thank you Robin – I know I keep saying that – but thank you.
and I’m still smiling from the Eeyore eyes haiku this morning.
I love the imagery and the powerful love carrying your words.
I love this . . . it’s really beautiful
wow… this is so, so beautiful. that deep longing, that deep missing in your heart speaks of an incredible love…
Jeni,
Thank you :).
Craig,
Sometimes it's just best to let it simmer, huh? 🙂
Jane Anne,
I think I enjoy writing poetry 'cause it's the ONLY time I'm brief! So, yes ma'am, the words are few but they're potent.
Tonya,
Thank you :). It's one of those times I just had to get it out, ya know?
Alece!!!
You get this…you absolutely understand! That makes me happy :).