Widower’s Song #4: This Urn
It held her ashes,
waiting until daffodils
came for them in spring.
Then it held one last bouquet
of her favorite flowers.
Carpe Diem #1805 Introducing our new Theme … Love month
The lightly edited screenshot ending this post links to a performance by the Norwegian Chamber Orchestra. They love this music, and it shows. Near the end of the last movement, they even dance. When was the last time U saw classical musicians dance while performing?
No Trolls Here
Free from penguin suits
and long gowns that wipe the floor,
love and skill combine.
They rescue Grieg’s Holberg Suite
from bland transits thru the notes.
© Betty Shelton | 123RF Stock Photo
© Dan Hahn
Sunset on the Next Day
The clouds burn yellow,
smolder red, and fade to gray.
The love keeps burning.
Rockets lit the sky last night;
more fireworks in bed tonight.
Words ~ Pic and a Word Challenge
As Susie left home to start a new life with Dale, her mother watched and wondered. Would the mixed marriage work?
Aware that sharing her worries would be unwelcome and unheeded, Mama let her words of warning remain unspoken and unheard.
Wisely, Mama kept silent despite having words to say. Unwisely, some people run afoul of Wittgenstein’s Laws by breaking silence despite not having any sensible words to say.
… were her favorite flowers, so cheery and dependable in early spring.
I scattered her ashes among daffodils.
Carpe Diem #1402 Daffodils (one-bun)
My haiku in response to Ghosts ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #92 is third in a trilogy that began with 2 in the original version of a previous post.
Widower’s Song #3
Ghosts do not haunt me.
Remembered joys can often
overcome regrets.
This post’s haiku began as part of my comment on Sieglinglungenlied’s beautiful and creative post Partners, Flying through Clouds. I realized later that the haiku could live outside the comment with an appropriate title. (I like titles for haiku anyway.) Thank U, Sieglinglungenlied. Thanks are also owed to photographer Dan Hahn, with details at the end of this post.
Lovers Watching a Sunset
The clouds burn yellow,
smolder red, and fade to gray.
The love keeps burning.
It would have been nice to illustrate the poetry with a series of 3 images that show the same clouds at successive stages of a sunset: yellow; red; gray. Even if I shoot such a series in the future, I would never be able to get a series that includes the lovers. So I did an image search, found many fine images of sunsets being watched by lovers, and found an outstanding one by Dan Hahn that showed all 3 color stages, in different clouds at the same moment. Bingo.
The image as used in this post has been cropped to emphasize the clouds; U can see the original in full glory by clicking on the link in item #1 below. Haiku lovers will also enjoy item #2, and there are other treasures on Dan Hahn’s website. Prints can be bought.
I took my favorite photo of my late wife Edith in 1981, long before she showed symptoms of the disease that would dominate our lives in the current century. Alzheimer’s. I cared for her in our own home as long as possible; I visited often during her final years in a nursing home. This post is about one aspect of the endgame that may be helpful to others in a similar situation.
In Edith’s childhood home city, the Ohio River emerges from the confluence of smaller rivers. Three streams flow together at the end of this post. Please bear with me.
“Are you ready to bring Edith home now?” The funeral director’s question at the end of the calling hours brought me a sense of relief. She could come home at last, in our own car. While she waited for reunion with her favorite flowers in the spring of 2015, I began what eventually became a trilogy of haiku.
Widower’s Song #1
No haiku can say
how strange this is: her journey
ended before mine.
Widower’s Song #2
Warm earth welcomed her,
ashes among daffodils
she planted and loved.
Widower’s Song #3
Ghosts do not haunt me.
Remembered joys can often
overcome regrets.
In response to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge:
I scattered
her ashes
among daffodils.
Poet Rummager has written a splendid tribute to fallen soldiers, with a simplicity and directness reminiscent of Hemingway’s 6-word short story.Am I the only one who was initially bewildered, having read “while” literally at first? The leave-taking and the funeral need not have been simultaneous. Time passed slowly while there was still hope that the soldier could return home on the scheduled date, relatively unhurt and relatively unhaunted. Then, suddenly, it felt as if he had left moments ago.
His wife was crying
He held her hand while his son
Saluted his tomb
(Photo from Definitivamente)
