Tag Archives: Epitaph

Epitaph on a Hilly Gravesite

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Epitaph on a Hilly Gravesite

Claim custody of the mourning that has led you to this place
and cease your arduous journey so that you may face
that foggy veil of sadness and the fiery coals that burn
deep in that place within you as you sink into the fern.

The sentence of your heartbreak becomes a paragraph—
that surety you’ll never love again, or smile, or laugh.
But nature is a circle that spins us on its wheel,
balancing the joy and pain of what we feel.

What we have been given will be taken in the end,
for all of nature’s riches are only here to lend.
Give thanks for what you’re given and accept what must be rendered,
for every happiness is preordained to be surrendered.

Prompt words today are fern, paragraph, mourning, arduous, fog and custody.

Rosehips

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Prairie Rose

Prairie Rose, sister of mine,
here at a distance,
I imagine you in full bloom
before your long winter.

I gather the best parts of you close in memory,
taking care with your acicula, as I have my whole life,
wondering why you seemed to need those parts
that kept us from clutching you too closely.

I thank you for seeding the future of our line.
Your grandchildren, the harvest of your life,
playful as otters even in their twenties,
award your existence by theirs.

We bring you with love back to where you came from,
 scatter your fallen petals
on the prairie loam,
and shovel it over that you may join it.

In case you didn’t know it, as I didn’t, “acicula” are needlelike parts: thorns, spines, bristles, or needlelike crystals. The singular form is  “aciculum.”

The rose hips are where the rose seeds are contained. Not doing any deadheading of the old rose blooms will allow the rose hips to form, which can then be harvested either to use the seeds inside to grow a new rose bush. Rosehips may be eaten, taking care to avoid the hairs that line the inside of the fruit and often times cover the seeds. They are literally itching powder and uncomfortable enough when they come into contact with your skin, let alone ingesting them!

Word prompts today are otter, shovel, harvest, acicula and mine.

Obituary of a Jerk: Wordle 521, Oct 3, 2021

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The Obituary of a Jerk

We are loath to depict his despicable face,
for when it came to living, he just used up space.
He first saw to his own comfort all of his life,
never thinking of kids or parents or wife.
No slur to his family was ever avenged.
He had little time as he gorged and he binged.

One never knew if he could or he couldn’t.
Maybe he would or maybe he wouldn’t
get places on time, even given a ticket—
advance plans “a bit of the old sticky wicket.”
A fact all his family found a bit lame,
for he wasn’t British—in lineage or name.

And no matter how crammed the sofa might get,
he’d never stand when he found he could sit.
He’d say “Pull up a chair,” and when you had done it,
he’d use it himself–just plop his buns on it!
And although you may think that’s as bad as it gets,
don’t make any wagers. Don’t take any bets.

I’ve got so many stories depicting his greed
that you’d have to stay here for hours to read
the tales of his excesses, selfishness, binging.
They’re unbelievable–really unhinging.
He frittered away his kids’ college savings
on fishing trips, camping and personal cravings.

Their summer earnings bought his new car,
then he spent all the rest for rounds at the bar.
So  when it comes to expressing our grief,
you’ll find all his eulogies startlingly brief.
He was born and he prospered, then sickened and perished
unmourned and ungrieved-for, unloved and uncherished.

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 521 the prompt words were avenge, lame, sit, ticket, cram, here, gets, pulls, maybe, used, space, comfort

Bearcat: dVerse Poets Open Link Night, May 4, 2018

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daily life color163Bearcat, Bentley and Patti, 1987. The only way you could tell them apart was by their tails. Their mother’s tail bent to the left, Patti’s bent to the right, Bentley’s was zigzag and Bearcat’s was just straightly expressive.  Sweet babies. Bearcat is the one to your left.

Presently, I live with five cats. If you follow my blog, you’ve been seeing them off and on over the past year. The kittens unceremoniously dropped off by my garage door are now about a year old. They mainly reside outside in a sheltered garage in a cushy bed big enough to hold them all or a little cathouse I bought which once held them all but now mainly holds them one-by-one in an equally cushy bed.  

My oldest cat is Annie, now 16 years old and a bit cranky as she rules the roost as an inside cat.  She will allow the other cats inside only if they maintain their distance. About 6 times a day, she yowls her insistence at being served a small meal.  I comply.  She always gets a chin and ear rub first, then she returns to her cushy bed in the large bath/ shower of the bathroom of my bedroom.  Her litter tray and dishes are also there. I’ve pretty much been relegated to the guest bathroom.  

This poem, however, is for Bearcat–upon his death, the only surviving sibling of 4 Blue Burmese kittens that I was foster mother to from the time of their birth. Their mother, a wild cat, moved in with us long enough to give birth and stuck around until the kittens were well beyond weaning before she vanished again into the Redwood Forests of the San Lorenzo Valley near Santa Cruz, CA.  

Only Bearcat was still alive when I moved to Mexico in 2001. Sadly, he drowned in my pool a few months later.  I was devastated.  This was his epitaph, written as a string of kennings for a NaPoWriMo prompt in 2014.

Bearcat
1987-2002
R.I.P.

back lofter
tail wafter
gray bearer
drape tearer
ball loser
lap chooser
bunny slayer
shoelace player
sofa climber
sleep mimer
shadow springer
dragonfly bringer
lizard de-tailer
spider nailer
basement searcher
window ledge percher
tree dweller
mouse smeller
dog chaser
bug caser
door crack peeper
sunbeam sleeper
woods walker
squirrel stalker
rail balancer
prey glancer
shadow catcher
love hatcher
body spinner
heart winner

 

For the dVerse Poets open prompt.