My Dad is here

     I walk along the empty beach

     kicking bits of jagged shells

     grand old man lying in musk of time

     setting sun ushering the darkness

My Dad is here

     I crawl bereft into bruised dusk

     salty tears mingle with Dad’s streams

     sea of solace stretches out her arms

     still, I scream mournfully at deaf sky

My Dad is here

     balmy winds breathe his kindness

     glazed stars of his wide smile

     palms up, he waves his sweet goodbye

     my grief blends with the soft rain

My Dad is here

     I see the back of his head

     slumbering in billowing clouds

     thirsty tides have waned

     he has floated into new ripples

My Dad is here

     the crested waves swell

     forming stiff meringue peaks

     broken shells washed out to sea

     waters unassuming and deep

My Dad is here

     the peaceful sleep of angels

     on calmness of ocean floor

     casting his beloved shadow

     upon my azure memories

My Dad is here

     carving a path in the sand

     through the ups and downs of life

     surging currents to remind me

     that he is not lost in my sea

My Dad is here

     a life buoy to hold on to

     smooth water fingers

     cushioning me from grief

     the soothing sound of silence

My Dad is always here

So muscular and handsome, my boy is.

His hair is so soft and smooth. His legs are

so white and beautiful. The shape of his

feet are identical to my father’s.

My son’s feet were always cold, for his warmth

was always concentrated in his soul.

But I cannot leave…not now, not ever…

The moment I leave I will no longer

have a son. Right here, right now, I have come

to claim his body…I am visiting

my son…I -am his mother. As long as

I hold his flesh beneath my hands, he is

still here, with me, in the room, spending time

together. I love you, son…And even

though I, was your mother, You, were my best

friend. It almost killed me to bring you to

life, and now it is killing me to let

you go. I didn’t leave you then, and I

can’t leave you now. Son, even though you are

lying here motionless and weak to the

eye, give me the strength to Live! I want to

crawl up this refrigerated metal

slab and lie with you. I’ll sing you songs, and

read you bedtime stories like I did when

you were just a boy. Even though you’d sleep,

they were unforgettable times between

both of our souls. But I refuse to leave…

I just won’t do it…not now, not ever.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Alan Salé

All Rights Reserved

contact: AASalehi@gmail.com

PoetryByAlan.com

Born amongst the winter months, when warmth is far forgotten

When life is but a rotten seed, or so I’ve thought so often

Grisly thoughts of memory past, which now so brightly loom

The wind brings mist from farther north, where I will be bound soon

What hath become of brighter days, with song and merry sight?

For now I roam through darkest crypts along this endless night

Where shadows grasp with lustful sights, to quell such dire want

Their glasses brim with foulest drops that turns the stomach daunt

What vile deed I abruptly struck for sternest punishment so

In all the years I’ve faced the worst, I’m still my darkest foe

And when the stars come crashing down upon my shaken frame

The man who comes to take the retched, will surely call my name

The bones do ache and nerves stay clenched, such age without the years

I’d hung my eyes from others sight, the gallows made of fears

Always less than those I’d gaze, and less than those I don’t

So cruel those gods who’d curse me so, so pray to them I won’t

No desire to lead the hearts of men, nor follow the brightest light

I’ll wander now, till sorrow comes, and all I’ll see is white…

The house was falling apart. You know,

shutters hanging, closet door off its tracks,

some wide blinking

brown eyes through the jagged hole

in the middle. Someone kicked it.

Chipping paint shaping a new Pangaea

across the walls. I got lost

peeling it like I would dead

sunburnt skin on my shoulders.

Leaks from where the roof was flat,

a crack curving down the center

of the porcelain tub that we used to

fill with hot water and soak

together in overflowing bubbles

like nothing was

wrong. The end always

us fucking on the damp blue rug

beside us. Once I tried to blame

the hurricanes, but they never came,

only some heavy rain. In truth, the wind

had been calm for a long time. Some nights

were empty, not just the lot

of empty bottles around, beer, 

some rum. Part of an old poem was taped

to the fridge. It said

the art of losing isn’t hard to master

before you ripped it down. I learned

about the difference between love

and attachment from a book first

and then from you.

If I could hate, I could hate you

for kicking the closet door 

that time you tried to kick my dog, 

for that time you kicked my dog.

Then she started hiding in the closet

every time you raised your voice.

You even kicked 

the two baby lime trees

which I bought just before you moved in

and perched with sticks until they were strong

enough to hold themselves up. You never kicked me,

because as much as it might seem like I mentioned

the lime trees to serve as a metaphor for me, they’re not.

I left the day you threw a glass jar of coconut oil

at my face, which was only a day after you started

all the kicking. I can’t say I didn’t 

cry a lot, or that it wasn’t excruciating 

to walk away and so fast.

I did, and it was. 

But the way memory works 

is not so easy.

I still remember how you'd

hold me in your metal arms

like a magnet.

at first I constantly awoke

underwater.

I, who cannot swim.

reliving

the horror of your passing

flickering in my mind

endless replay

                  mourning,

                  coping

                  and letting go

                  are a messy affair no one is ever prepared for.

                  much like

                  every

                  monumental upheaval

                  in our short lives,

                  one receives no guidance.

good and horrific memories are entwined

                 pain is a daily companion, a loathsome one,

                 but also an unexpected friend. I've learned

                 to allow it in. It has become

                 part of me like sinew and blood.

there are good days, and on those days,

I feel you in the rumble of your sibling's footfalls,

I hear you sigh and rustle through the leaves,

I see you in each face that smiles

kindly, vaguely, in my direction.

                                      watch over me.

                                      I never thought myself a strong person,

                                      but I was stronger when you were here with me.

                                                                   and now?

                                                                          I am adrift.

                                      you wouldn't want me alone and frightened.

                                      you would want me to go on.

I am not angry that you left me behind, but maybe I am more than a little angry that I let you go so easily.

seeing people

who didn't yet know you were gone,

but who loved you very much, is so very hard

seeing people

who don't know you,

and those who knew you well,

but who are indifferent at best, is harder still--

      it fills me with spite and rage.

                                        you wouldn't want me bitter and filled with hate.

                                        you would want me to live on.

                                                                many things had gone unsaid,

                                                                   undone,

                                                                but give me a solitary chance to utter

                                                                just one more long breath

                                                                before you are one

                                                                with the stars saying good night:

                                            I loved you the brightest.

                                            I loved you completely.

something in my bones aches just at the thought of you

of your arms, those skinny arms that always held those hospital bracelets

(how could you possibly bear that weight?

I know I can't)

and you are radiant, you are more than human, you are angelic

but now replacing every "are" with "were" seems like a chore

so I'll sit here staring at the words I wrote in love with you

and relish them in the pain of your absence

the most beautiful part of you was your joy

your bravery, how you could laugh in the worst of situations

how you could look right past my prying eyes into the great beyond, 

you knew you were going to die but maybe you were okay with that

you died as you lived, the cancer was never yours

it was my love that fell upon you as a burden

I am the rainstorm and you are the blizzard, couldn't we work out?

no, we could never have worked out

I speak of you only in honor

and in the fact that I didn't deserve you

it seems to me you never existed

you're there, in a corner of my mind, radiating the same life they put into you

in tubes, trying to fill you up

when you were already so whole

and maybe your almost-fourteen years were enough for you

so I should stop crying, as if they were my loss

—Are we not the open wound?

Sharing in an endless celestial vein

Sensation that cannot be feigned.

Ache! do you not feel the same?

In this streaming empty solitude of day

A single collective conversation-dream,

In abstentia partaken, ever to convene,

Towards mutual silence of self-esteem:

I hold you where you’ve always been

In the center of my imagination,

Where I mentalize your name.

I feel your loss, yet know how

Much we gain.

Wrapped in continuous monologue,

Diverting obstacles with dialogue.

Till we are indeed quite at home

Having already spent this Alone,

Together.

It is how I will expend now forever,

Within thoughts outside my stealth.

Love is what we’ll find for Our Self

In the presence of some one else,

Near death.

I am taking you away with me.

It’s Us, neither big nor small;

We divide, and multiply, and

Always Earth carries us over

Safe inside.

I’ve no illusions of seeing a face,

In some other time or place;

When we come together,

There will simply be

Unempty Space.

Same, as we really are; Synapses in the Mind’s Eye,

Which recreates and re-creates a seamless base for all.

With infinite generosity can any of us this Life decry?

Be comforted in thus Being…We mustn’t grieve…

Truly, seeing how it is that we only Receive!

In solitude I roamed a mist shrouded path

where thick icy fog swallowed every faint sound,

a victim of loss, and it seems, heaven’s wrath.

In my heart a sharp pain I had carefully bound;

numb feet took me deeper into the damp gray

as if some enlightenment, there could be found.

I stopped near a spectral tree, kneeling to pray.

in answer there came to me only deep gloom;

in anger, I’d cast my faith blindly away.

My wife and child, lost before new life could bloom.

Alone now, consumed by this unending pain,

the fog encased silence reflected my doom.

No solace would my shattered heart now obtain,

as slowly I choked on this black, evil grief.

Ah! Trapped in this lonely hell, I would remain!

The pain in my core had dissolved my belief;

now, without my family, I’d nothing to lose.

If God was in heaven, then he was a thief!

From all of mankind, why would my loves he choose?

All hope has been lost in death’s poisonous bath,

the future holds naught but bleak days and gray hues--

with no way to vent all the pain my soul hath,

in solitude, I roamed a mist shrouded path.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** This form, the terza rima, is one that was made popular by the Italian poet

Dante Alighieri, with his classic poem The Divine Comedy. I have found it a great way to tell narrative stories to the rhythmic cadence that is metered poetry.

I am standing at the edge of a cliff-face,

my feet planted firmly in the ground.

My hands tightly gripping at nothing,

as if nothing was, somehow, going to help me stand firm.

Wind is gusting behind me, pushing me,

pushing me, pushing with such intensity.

I remember the weight of you as you pinned me to the floor and how I felt less of a person at the loss of my person. You stole from a child and you were a man. How could I stop you?

The ground beneath me is crumbling,

as I peer over the cliff edge beneath me.

The waves begin to form.

I remember London - 'the big smoke' I remember the call. "Everything is okay" Of course it is, I thought, then I caught the first coach home.

My best friend resting his head softly on a white pillow as the stench of day-old blood directed my eyes to the wound in his head that exposed his brain and my pain as I lost mine.

The waves grow but I stand firm,

un-phased and smiling still.

My false face, unchanged, hasn’t noticed,

that I am now closer to that edge. I hold on.

I remember the five years of solitude. The rusty little key that unlocks the book of my heart so I can pour out its contents is kept only by myself.

The cliff is leaving me now but I have not fallen.

Instead, I have constructed an arc.

A bubble surrounding myself,

it’s delicate walls seem so easily broken.

Inside there is a breeze-less calm.

Serenity.

I float high above an ocean in turmoil. 

Towering waves typhoon, twisting and crashing,

a torrent of emotions sway my tormented mind.

But... I am safe. This bubble has kept me safe.

I float peacefully away from foaming giants beneath me.

I feel... untouchable.

I remember lighting the wick. Burning the candle at both ends. Trudging down a path I never should have taken. Searing a new route is no easy task when dragging the burden of times that just weren't right. Losing a passion.

That last shift. 

Sailing home I could feel the winds of freedom,

escorting me there; when in front of us,

suddenly, in the middle of the road,

a car is turned over a women screaming.

The ambulances, the fire-fighters,

the unrelenting tiredness,

that engulfed my bones and my brain.

When I finally got home I deserved that bottle. 

I slept like a log.

Until the next morning; my first day off.

I remember thinking "who rings this early?"

I took the call.

My mother shrieked.

My body crashed into the bed.

My brother is dead.

and I am floating now but the waves are so strong.

So violent that I bring myself higher and higher.

I am imprisoned in a bubble I could pop with my pinkie.

Only, bursting it would mean braving those waters.

Feeling those things I have so detached myself from.

Fear holds me in this bubble. I had not noticed,

that all the good in me has been draining out slowly.

Mixing into those waves I fear so much.

I am calm but I am detached, I am losing myself,

and the only way out is to let myself fall.

As I write this I am locked in internal debate,

and the words I use must be forced out,

because they have emotion.

I must not feel emotion.

And if I fall into that ocean.

I could easily go under.

I could easily lose.

As I lost so much before.

I should feel sad.

I feel so little now,

but I still remember. 

Once you have left me alone

when our days have grown old;

once you have whispered one last

goodbye and I peer into the depths

of a shadow you have left;

will I see your staring eyes glinting

back at me with the light of a

love that I can kiss and caress,

or will I find a darkness emptied 

and vacant of all but the

feelings of sorrow and grief?

If I stare long enough will I find

something more to hold and to touch

or will I find only the bitter taste

of a broken heart and loneliness?

Once the grass has grown over you

and you are covered up by the snow

and the rain has washed away all that 

you were, and once the ocean sweeps

over me and there is nowhere

to go and no one around -

What will await?

What will be found?

___________________________

*This was an old and unfinished poem that I posted on here a while ago and have since deleted, so if you are experiencing a mild case of déjà vu, that’s likely why. It has been tweaked a little and extended by a few lines for the Prose Challenge #67.