For Grampa V.
Before I knew names,
Colors caught my eye.
The trees were bare
But you wore fall with charm--
Gold, brown, and plum
For her russet and deep green.
Camera heavy on your neck, with a small smile
And crinkled eyes, you shuffled down the aisle.
Though strangers, you sought us
To give comfort for loss,
Not judgement of grief,
On a day confused by wounds and joy.
Eleven months later in hospital light,
I heard the grievous news
That when our little one flew
Earth for heaven, you did, too.
Your wife and you together
Taught that small words have weight,
Comfort comes quietly in a corner,
And it takes just one meeting
To miss a great man.
And when I think of our baby, I see
Gold, brown, and plum
With russet and deep green.
3 comments :
Every time you share your heart in poetry on your blog, it brings to mind this quote I read and put in my commonplace notebook:
"A poet is an unhappy creature whose heart is tortured by deepest suffering but whose lips are so formed that when he sighs and cries stream out over them, their sound becomes like the sound of beautiful music and men flock about the poet saying 'sing for us soon again; that is to say, may new sufferings torture your soul, and may your lips continue to be formed as before." -Kierkegaard
The world has too many tortured poets already; it needs more goofy ones. ;) I've only read Kierkegaard's The Sickness Unto Death, but I can venture a guess that he thought tortured poets should turn from despair toward their Maker.
p.s. And thank you for encouraging these rapid-fire poem-clunks. I've told you before that I usually regret posting them, but not enough to delete them, so I'm glad that I'm not just writing them for my own self-indulgence. Mostly, though, I am, except in this case, when I was thinking of Grampa V., wanted to honor him, and didn't know how.
I love these poems. I'm glad you post them.
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