Another Day

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White roses symbolize those who have passed

Five hundred stems prepared and wait amassed

Each mourner enters and receives a bloom

The ache within the air is more than vast

Her rose caressed as if it were her groom

and she the bride, perchance life to resume

Her eyes blink wide, awakened by a thorn

Returning to her lot in this sad room

Unwanted children, burning tears are born

She chides herself and shakes her head with scorn

Another year, another rose to press

Another day, another day to mourn.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Rubaiyat

Balloons

 *This one is in honor of all the kids at Camp Phoenix, the hospice camp where I volunteered this week. They've all had someone close to them recently die.

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Balloons aloft are lifted to the sky

Up to the clouds above they rise to meet

those who've passed from this life on to die

and left us here bereft and incomplete

The wind will get them where they need to go

with messages and wishes we have sent

to those we'll always love with hope they'll know

just how much they're missed and what they meant

From sun, from sadness tears are in our eyes

We watch as our balloons sail higher still

Vanishing, we whisper our goodbyes

Like bright hued birds they fly away; yet still

Our gazes linger after they have gone

knowing we will soon have to move on.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Elegies

Sonnet For Living

For the last Friday Poetically, Brian has asked us to write a poem about an organization or cause that has meaning to us. This poem is about hospice, where I volunteer. It's a wonderful organization that assists individuals and families who are dealing with an incurable illness or injury. Hospice believes that people have the right to die pain-free and with dignity and ensures that families will receive the necessary support to allow patients to do so. They also provide bereavement services to grieving individuals and families. Go volunteer!

 

We need not fear to speak Death's name

She pays no heed to our affairs

For speaking of Death holds no blame

And doing so may ease our cares

We come together in our pain

With grief that one alone can't bear

And pray to feel some hope again

Our burdens lift when we can share

Remind us there is life to live

Although Death follows close behind

We each give all we have to give

To make this Hell a bit more kind

On journeys we can't understand

Sometimes it helps to hold a hand

submitted for Friday Poetically at One Stop Poetry

The Children's Hour *

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It's the Children's Hour again and the ghosts come out to play

Some must be coaxed from hiding spots

Some are loud and boisterous tots

We welcome them into our room

We don't shoo them away

At the Children's Hour

We build them altars out of clay

We paint their portraits with our crayons

With feathers, glitter, and glue

We construct our own memento mori

And decorate them with colorful beads

     to wear around our necks

At the Children's Hour

We are not afraid of ghosts here

We have seen them all

Even the monsters that live

in your dreams

And make you think of terrible things

That make you mad or make you scream

They're welcome here too

At the Children's Hour

Every ghost has a story to tell

Perhaps about heaven or maybe about hell

Even a silent ghost

Has a lot to say

At the Children's Hour

This poem was inspired by my work with a children's bereavement group through Hospice.

submitted for Poets United, Thursday Think Tank #39 - Ghosts