Tag Archives: grief


Three years ago, I wrote a blog entitled “Plummeting.” Although it describes an event that occurred almost seventeen years ago, the subject is still a timely one, so I’m going to reblog it. It is linked to a blog entitled “Soaring” that completes the message.
Please join the Daily Addiction prompt site. It is easy and they post consistently. Today’s  prompt word, as you might have guessed, is plummet.

lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown


The weekend before, we had had our last moving sale and had nearly cleared out our very overladen house in California.  We’d sold as much of our accumulated lives as possible–a 125 years (sum of our two ages) combined total of collecting art as well as material and tools for making art.  We were shedding the detritus of our old lives to begin a new life in the house we had just purchased in Mexico.  Our van was fully packed with not one inch of spare space other than a place for our cat and two more suitcases we would add when we finally took off for our retirement in Mexico.  We had only one more appointment–to talk to our doctor about the results of Bob’s last physical examination, which had included an ultrasound.

We’d been on a high for months as we prepared to head out for our…

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The faint trace
of ashes and cardamom
sing in the air
you used to pass through.
They fit into my memory
 in their accustomed places,
your aroma lingering
years longer
than the touch of you.


The prompt today is faint.




All of us will be bereaved
unless we are first to be sheaved
by that great harvester of all
who severs life, bringing our fall.
Life was not meant to grieve away.
One’s own life is too much to pay
in mourning one who’s gone before.
Life should be lived with one great roar,
not whimpering for what’s been taken.
Life is our one chance to awaken.
Each day gives us new reason for
choosing to walk out our front door.
Though we may feel what’s past is best,
why not experience the rest?



The prompt today was relieved.

Craig’s List Confessional

Earlier today, I published a poem and at the end, left a pile of unused words that were free for the taking.  Christine Goodnough rifled through them and came up with this poem, then left a free-for-the-taking list of unused words of her own, leaving a link to my refuse pile as well.  I have dipped into each bunch of words again and used them all in the below poem, with the exception of the few left at the end that I pass on to any reader willing to make use of them in a poem.  You’ll find our combined leftovers at the end of my poem and a link to to Christine’s poem above

 Craig’s  List Confessional

I’d like a mirror so I can see
if I display felicity
when someone whispers in my ear
the name of one I once held dear.

I know not what my heart may feel,
what passions I might dare repeal
now that my head is ruling me
instead of love for somebody

so long departed––no longer here
for so many a long-lost year.
If I could paint a picture of
the countenance of long-lost love

in monotone or multi-tones,
in stereo or  monophones,
I hesitate to admit that
I fear the portrait might fall flat.

How often it has been  my ploy
to act withdrawn or bored or coy,
as though the long-lapsed love I bore
is what steers my grieving core.

But, in truth, duplicity
is what in all simplicity
guides my actions and my thought
and turns me into love’s robot.

With paint cans colored various hues,
why do I always choose the blues,
rebuffing each potential woo
and dropping out of courtship’s queue?

And so, if love is not a ruse––
a mere excuse for whom to choose,
I stand here gawking, open wide,
with no place left in which to hide.

Respectability’s passe,
and pride too dear a price to pay;
for staying safe in grief’s tight room
is burial before the tomb.

And so my dear, this poem you view?
Pretend that it’s addressed to you
and join me in complicity.
Perhaps shared words can set us free.

I’m not a girl.  You are no boy.
This poem is not a word-stuffed toy.
Should you respond with words that match,
it’s possible that we will catch

another chance to reach and choose
and maybe this time we won’t lose
the golden ring that does not bind.
This time we may find love is kind!

Okay, I dug deeply into Christine’s leftovers and rifled through mine as well.  This is what is left in the poetic grab bag.  Can anyone make use of the rest of our cast-offs?  Here is what is left to you: 

ooze booze cruise who’s whose choose lose  news pews poos cues sues twos  woos youse 
doozie floozie twozie boo  goo hue loo moo new poo   sue soo sioux too to you  What a spectacle! not respectable  


Empty Studio

  daily life color132

Empty Studio

My memories
are footsteps
leading me to you.

I smell your scent of wood,
your sweat with the bouquet of bronze,
remember the finger you sacrificed
to impetuosity and art.

Finally the world fed all of you to the blade––
our severance as final as one of your straight sure cuts––
making you into memory I follow one step at a time,
my passing visible through stone dust
and wood shavings on the floor.

This is how you and I
create patterns
even after you are gone
from memories as fragmented
as what you left behind
when you created art––

stone chips, sawdust, pebbled glass,
curls of metal and winged shards of paper––
my footprints
pushing them farther apart
each time I pass through.
Leaving more of me
and less of you.

daily life color133


From Grief to Life

From Grief to Life

Today’s prompt asks us to explain our blog’s title.  If you don’t already know how the name of my blog came to be Lifelessons while my blog address is Grieflessons, go HERE