Dear Yesterday,
You begged to talk with me
but I am too busy with Today —
maybe we can catch up later —
if Tomorrow doesn’t treat me well
I will call to cry on your shoulder.
crying
Vale of tears
“Life is a vale of tears in which there are moments you just can’t
—Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com
The chaos-harmony of life
I swing like a kid
and fall like an adult;
cry tears of gratitude
and pray in smiles;
hug and love, and later
hide under the covers—
wildly and humbly living
from dawn to the stars,
and ever back again
Ravish
it is raining!
no, not water
from clouds
but dead leaves
from july trees
scorched by
a brutal heat
too sunburnt
to evergreen
falling, fallen
brittle brown
leafy teardrops
raining down
the dry warm
forlorn face of
mother earth
War paint
We paint our lives with passion and peace, with love and laughter — to cover the pain and scars, the bitterness and tears.
Seasonal emotions
Shedding late-summer tears for the end of cherry season. Patiently and hopefully waiting for pumpkin pie season.
Water cycle
to cry is beautiful —
the beauty of one’s pain
leaving the heart
blackout poetry created from Maud Casey, The Man Who Walked Away, 2014
Veggie soup
peeling this sweet potato
i can smell the earth
i close my eyes and smile
then cry —
when did i get so removed
from the soil, the land
from simplicity —
the family garden
in grade school
my bare feet on warm dirt
i was so happy
there were carrots
and worms
and life
was carefree —
i finish making soup
do the chores
the day was busy
i am tired —
the nights
when there is time
enough leftover
to snuggle into bed
a little early & read
and i can keep
my eyes open
long enough for it —
this is heaven
simple, free, happy
heaven
Stone-faced
Wailing, bearing flowers
and collapsing to her knees,
her hot tears fall upon me—
But I remain unmoved,
stone-faced, above it all—
her face etched with grief
and mine with the years,
weathered with past life—
Gently she touches my face
and presents me the flowers—
I’ve seen her cry many times
but it is in my nature to be
rough and cold, grounded
in reality I know nothing else—
Still she keeps coming back to me
and though I cannot give her love
I will always guard hers.
Cry it out
When you allow the tears to flow out, you’re allowing relief and hope and faith and all sorts of good things to come in.
Ten thousand fathoms deep
“You peer into my life to find a lingering past, but I tell you it was sunk ten thousand fathoms deep and weighted down with my dead self. You look into my breast to find that old, old open wound, but I tell you I seared it with my hot tears and only the cicatrix is there.”
—Muriel Strode (1875–1964), My Little Book of Prayer, 1904
When you were a child
When you were a child, on a summer afternoon,
Did you lie in tall grass, listening to the crickets
Foreshadowing autumn, listening to the small
Infinite sounds of earth? Did you press your cheek
And your short brown body furiously down
Into the grass, so loving the narrow roots,
So loving the hard wild flanks of hills, and summer,
That when your slight strength broke at last, you cried…
Then rising in the slow wind, cried no more
But stood and gazed with grave young eyes upon
The brief, unburdened hours lived and gone,
Yourself, the child, abandoned in the grass,
Yourself, the man, earth’s lover, who would follow
The strong years deathward, aching and possessed?
—Frances Frost, “Year of Earth,” These Acres, 1932
Smoky
Grief is love expressed in tears.