My grief over my father’s death has become my life’s work. Some days I drink from a bitter cup. Other days I choose to spread my bread with honey. And sometimes I lay myself down on the anvil of sorrows and let the hammer fall, shaping me as it will. Sheer stubbornness drives me to try to understand why a tear leans into the wind, hoping to dry itself; or why the dead enter our world saying nothing, giving neither comfort nor counsel, but simply watching and waiting. So far, I have failed in my quest, but I will not quit. Stubbornness, remember?
Walking through the woods
on an autumn afternoon—
this is song enough.
There’s wisdom in what’s dulcet,
And wisdom in what’s tart.
The old grow ripe with longing
For youth’s resilient heart.
Time proves our ground of being
To be both false and stale.
Come, my friend, let’s toast the dead
With green and bitter ale.
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #184
More Poetry Pantry #425 at Poets United
At the edge of the pond, Japanese Friendship Garden, Phoenix, Arizona
in their search for purity—
pine and pond and stone
~~ ~~ ~~
In the bitter way,
even glorious visions
make pilgrims stumble.
Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Our World Tuesday
More Carpe Diem: “Purity”
More Straight Out of the Camera Sunday
More Three Word Wednesday: “Bitter, Glorious, Stumble”
This bitter-cold night
women in blue rebozos
slip on cobblestones.
~~ ~~ ~~
their battered straw sombreros—
~~ ~~ ~~
a brown serape
pulled tight across his shoulders—
old man shivering
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Three Word Wednesday: “Bitter, Manipulate, Tight”