Writing

I’ve been gone awhile.

Didn’t notice, did you?

I’ve been fielding issues belonging to friends, family (mother), and finances.

It’s ironic that I can’t write when I ought. The words won’t come when I need to purge the poisons. I keep them. I cling to them and even though they want to come out I won’t let them. They are like a dark blanket that stays wrapped around me. I need to throw it off me because I’m smothering, on the other hand I find strange comfort in its weight.

I’m cleaning out a storage space of Prissy’s belongings. Just a few boxes at a time mind you, but a venture nonetheless.

I found her journals. Depressing bits of business they are. My mother wasn’t and isn’t a happy woman. I had to stop reading. I already had a blanket draped over me and didn’t think it prudent to lie under another one. I kept them though. Journals need to be kept if only to be unearthed in another time.

My mother liked to write.

Her mother still does.

So does Big’s mother.

…so does Big.

He blogs about and posts his work on his own pages. But, I’m showing them here on mine. I never had a bent for poetry. I admire this in him.

All poems were entered into the local language arts fair. His theme was the Trojan War.

Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you Big Britches.

Tanka
Trimmed trees in the air
Metal flashing, sunlight glints
Country against state
Ships form a most dire plot
Love, truly is left to blame.

Haiku
Autumn red leaves soar
Clashing against bending grass
The winds of war blow

Cinquain
Burning
Walls tumble down
Fields raped-empty and bare
Fires low, embers bright as morn
Rubble

Haiku
The widow’s last prize
Raining red upon the ground
Most valiant fall.

At the end of his post he says, “And so I leave you, but with an echo in the lofts”.

Isn’t he the coolest?