Comments on: PD30 Day 12: The Poetry Journal, From Notebooks to Blackberries

By: Akhristin

Akhristin — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 21:32:48 +0000

i wonder i always wondered
where life is after death
my brother i bother to wonder
is he safe in heaven
what are his interest
who are his freinds there
i wonder i always wondered
if he is ok with God
if so if he could send a sign
i wonder i always wondered
how to make peace with him above
to say i am sory he is not with me
i wonder i always wondered
if i could trust his ambitions to leave
that he trusted God his soul
aloft in a better place
and will he wait for me
i wondered always wondered, wondered, wondered

By: John Hewitt

John Hewitt — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 01:07:15 +0000

@ Key

How did you do with your bus journal?

@ JoniB & Sheer

I’ve lost quite a few people over the past couple years. Nostalgia is definitely setting in.

@ Maryellen

Nice poem Maryellen. No matter what htey tell me, I know it’s the moon that gets bigger, not my perspective.

By: Maryellen Grady

Maryellen Grady — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 19:54:18 +0000

Shine On

The TV astronomer belittles my harvest moon,
My huge, brilliant, orange, haunting moon.
“Bend over and look at it through your legs.
It won’t look quite so big then” he boasts.

The newscaster has a harvest moon tip too.
“To prove that it doesn’t get larger as it rises
Just hold a dime up next to it.”
Why not just use the wrong end of binoculars?

Once a year it comes reeling up slowly
Its only design to spill awe and joy
And these little men in the black box want to tell me how
I can diminish its power and hide from its beauty.

Maryellen Gradys last blog post..LORD, THERE’S JUST ONE SET OF FOOTPRINTS THANKS TO SARAH PALIN

By: Sheer

Sheer — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 09:24:10 +0000

Clutter

Sorting through memorabilia
Of the clutter over the years
I was surprised
By the frequent fond smiles
Appearing on my face

Looking through all the letters
The cards
The writings
I was surprised at the footsteps
And sound bites of all
Who has passed my life

Cruising through my stuff
Of you
And you
And you
So many yous
So many ties
So many
Through the years

People you once knew
People you thought you knew
And people you forget you did
All the you-s
All the us-s
All the me-s

I was surprised
At how many
Left
But more so
By how many remained
Changed yet the same

Others will say
How blessed I am.
I normally say
how cursed

But today
Just for once
At this very moment
I agree
with the others

I am.

By: JoniB

JoniB — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 23:49:31 +0000

Good poem, John. It really put me in that sad contemplative state thinking about my siblings and how we have grown (& moved) apart. While they aren’t really “lost” as your brother is, they are almost strangers to me. It is sad because we once sat out under the Minnesota night sky laughing under the shooting stars.

Gulp and sigh.

Thank you for putting it into words.

By: Key

Key — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 23:27:52 +0000

Just finished my poem for today’s prompt. I like taking a notebook to describe people on the bus, so I wrote this as if I was texting notes on what I was seeing. It was amazing how many people I could remember from real bus trips–I hardly had to invent anything! The character limit is a good idea–it really forced me to focus on the key ideas of my stanza.

By: Key

Key — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 14:20:59 +0000

I know the feeling of losing an idea. I always get them just as I’m falling asleep, and they are usually long gone by the next morning. I’m still old-fashioned: I keep a notebook and pencil in my purse just in case. It’s also a good way to pass the time when waiting for something or other.

By: John Hewitt

John Hewitt — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 14:02:02 +0000

Wandering

Today I thought about my brother
I wondered where he had wandered off to
This time
Colorado or Oklahoma
The primary suspects
Subjects of his travels

The farther he roams
The closer we find ourselves to reconciliation
Absence makes each other tolerable
Though still not quite missed
Or given value

Our parents are different by eighteen years
His young and inexperienced
Mine older
More experienced
If not smarter at least
More prepared
To raise me

He is lost in his thoughts
They dominate him
He lacks the control to focus
Or the skills to reign them in
They surround him
Mock him
Con him
Punish him

It is hard to put away the anger
I collected when I was younger
And had no space for empathy
Just panic and resentment
Of the constant threat of him

I can see the years wearing on him
The interruption has lasted thirty years now
Pulling him from youth and potential
To the first steps of old age

There will be no miraculous comeback
He is running out of moments
Wandering the fringes of a life
Without ever really finding
A place
Or a person
To be

I am not angry anymore
But there is no friendship
Or brotherhood
He is a stranger
With a bond
That keeps him on the edge of
But never a part of
My life