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Little Man Gone
In the dust of my memory
are footprints
A small man with a booming voice
left them there
His favorite name for me
was “Idjit”
It fit
He never muttered or whispered
Did the Little Man
and You never heard him.
But I did
“Idjit”
Thundering in my skull
Deafening from the inside
I hear echoes now and then
I smile
One afternoon, some time ago
It was sunny and warm
The bird song was clear
The chatter of chipmunks
was more than audible
He was gone
My Little Man
In the dust of my memory
His shadow lingers in the footprints
I miss him
And hope he never returns.
=================
Thanks for reading!
ReadWritePoem82
Transparent Ground In the gloom, a shudder Cold as a witches kiss Forces me to kneel on The frozen turf I search the ground for you I probe in the ground through the ground Under the piece of other ground that marks your place. Frozen tracings of engraved Letters, words, numbers All and nothing Left of you I stare until all is gone A transparent view of what was what is what never will be --- Thanks for reading!
There was a time When there was a "Cling, Cling, Cling" sound from these relics. And a bustling from The departed bays and Boys on bikes hanging around, watching the day Go by at 76.9 cents a gallon. Those days, like many others have faded away, leaving rusted hulks to remain instead.
Cracked Lens
Contemplating you
Your visage I consider
To view you as you
Consider yourself
is my goal
This task, I cannot
Accomplish for where
I see glory and radiance
You, only tatters and
the bizarre.
A shame, that…
—————
For Cubs fans, I offer this haiku
Another collapse
Not so sweet for Cubs fans
Yearn (again) for next year
==========
My Now and Then
Blowing snow and frost
Covered windows keep
Me in the warmth by the
Fire sipping hot chocolate
Thoughts of summer or
Late spring fill me. A
Longing for the freedom
of warmer times, fresh sweet
Corn roasting on the grill
The sound of the bonfire
As the husks of what used
to be trees collapse into
a Flurry of rising sparks
Even as the fire dies down
I succumb and yearn
for the days of my long ago
Where barefoot days and
mud and Mosquito bites
were just part and parcel
of Summer life.
I turn from the dismal scene
and my silly dreams
of I can’t go back there, to
go and awaken my own
Here and Now. Maybe to
Play. In the snow.
For 3WW
Today’s Writing Prompt: Message in a Bottle
Write a message you’d like to put in a bottle, to be thrown in the ocean.
Via The One-Minute Writer
—–
Inside this bottle
You’ve found this message from me
This is all there is
“a small stone is a polished moment of paying proper attention.” – Fiona Robyn
A Handful of Stones is a literary blogzine that collects small stones. A new one is presented daily. Head over to A Handful of Stones for a look at my contribution today.
There are a bevy of beautiful small stones to read and enjoy. I cannot recommend this site highly enough.
I always told you
Mother
That I loved you
I should have told you
Mother
That I forgive you.
