Tag Archives: Grief

TWW: The Bitch of It

I breathe grief.
It reaches my soul
lays tender my heart
drives me to
weeping tantrum through
frustration from profound
irreplaceable loss.
No way can I ever
change where I am.
Finality of death
is
the ultimate
bitch of a situation.

© 2016 by Shari Lynne Smothers

3WW poem for Week 477. Yes, I’m still here. Another on grief around the prompted words. I guess I can make grief bards out of anything. Still, I will try to stop now. If another one comes up, I’ll try to balance it with a happy one, too.

Tantrum in the traditional vernacular, connotes acting out violently. I don’t break things. Thankfully, I am relegated only to outbursts of uninvited, unrelenting crying. And, thankfully, the spells don’t last long.

TWW: A Wreck

Joy is present from time to time.
Elation another matter;
it’s scarce I find.
Sadness and grief
yet another story.
At the opposite end
of my emotions spectrum
they keep me company,
unwelcome as it is
more frequently than anything.
So adamant are they
to see me not lonely
until I frustrate myself.
Rage comes in and oddly
seems the only thing
to adequately pacify my grief
and stanch my burning tears.

© 2016 by Shari Lynne Smothers

3WW Poem for Week 476 I know I should get off the grieving truths over the loss of my mother. But, really, it’s such fertile fodder for tilling my emotions to unearth the morose verse. I’ll let it keep me until it’s spent, and I hope I’ll know when that is.

Without

Feeling warm and fuzzy
isn’t so often or free
as it once was.
My joys are frayed these days
and tinged with stinging,
stark, honesty that I
am missing the person
I would love to share moments with
that I
have a heart broken for all time.
People young and old
in my situation
tell me it’s never going
to leave me completely.
Thankfully though I know,
intellectually at least,
I will find a place
to be complete
around this hole
forever a part of me.

© 2016 by Shari Lynne Smothers

Poem #6 for National Poetry Month. My dad died in 2007. My mom died January 2016. With her passing, I am alone in this world, at least without the last person who truly watched over me. It is sobering and sad on so many fronts in my life, until sometimes I can actually stagger under the weight of that truth. And, no, it does not matter that I have three brothers. I entertain myself with the crazy thought that I wanted to keep her longer, like until my dad came back. Nuts, right? I know. But there you have it. I’d be concerned if I believed it were possible. I’m alright with entertaining myself with crazy, fanciful thoughts; maybe I’ll write a novel. Whatever it takes to continue…

Yesterday

It was my parents’ anniversary.
Fifty-one years ago
they exchanged vows;
Two anniversaries now
without daddy here to count them.

I meant to ask my mom
what does the count
feel like without him.
But it sounds in my head
a little too morose even for me.
Even though, to help me understand,
she’d probably
try to
find the words to say her grief.
Hoping I’m sure that naming it
could somehow put her in control of it.

It’s the poet in me
that is willing
eager even, to sit with a pain
pulling it apart to know it.

Protecting myself
I get rational
logical, my dad would say
reflecting on all the times
when my breath catches
as though he was newly gone from me.

Counting occasions
as the blessings I had
each one signifies, in its turn
my dad’s not here anymore;

Mine are enough anniversaries
to wade through missing him.
For their wedding, I’ll leave it
to my imagination.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers
anniversary-photo2

Broke

A friend sent me
a poem by Alice Walker
in which she tells us
that grief is comparable to gold.

My wealth knows
no limits.
It’s boundless
and never
is fully spent.
For when it’s low
when I’m almost out
something
occurs
to replenish it.

I’ll never be
completely broke
in this life.
But one day
I will leave
all this wealth
behind me.
I’ll move
to another place
penniless
certainly
without my gold.

No purchasing power,
no list will I have
I will rejoice in my
broke-ness
and be fully
glad of it.

©2003 by Shari Lynne Smothers

From Pebbles in My Shoes © 2004 by Shari Lynne Smothers