Category Archives: Poetry

Silent Healing

 

In this Sunday, Aug. 14, 2016 photo, Louisiana Army National Guard dump truck, loaded with rescued flood victims, makes it way back to dry land in Walker, La., after heavy rains inundating the region,(AP Photo/Max Becherer)
In this Sunday, Aug. 14, 2016 photo, Louisiana Army National Guard dump truck, loaded with rescued flood victims, makes it way back to dry land in Walker, La., after heavy rains inundating the region,(AP Photo/Max Becherer)

In the haggard silence, there can be no words

A  merciless anguish falls on the sodden bodies

But comforting too, the  bodies close

Pressed, crushed together

They are a single throbbing wound

That can only heal as one.


Of all the heartbreaking photos of the flooding disaster in Louisiana, last weekend (and there were so many),  this one cries to me the loudest.  The faces register shock, disbelief, loss, pain.   And yet there are no tears.   Old and young stand together, defiant,   facing ahead  in  a solid show of will.   Their common  suffering has become the bond that will unite them to survive

.

LOUISIANA

Bayou
Ben Pierce Photography

I come from tears, I come from joy
I come from pain, I come from ease
From time-infested lies and truth that will not die
I come from Louisiana

farm woman w truck

I come from scoundrels and from saints
From mothers old with toil and moneyed indolents
I come from Jesus and from Rex
I come from Louisiana

images-3I come from backwoods berry trails and morning jasmine dew
From summer firefly nights and crashing thunder-rain
From mist of bayous’s breath and windy forest sighs
I come from Louisiana

Oak tree and bridge

I come from running away and yearning for home
Once I was old, now I am young
Once I was there, now I am here
What I really want to say is—

I come from Louisiana

Louise Canfield

On Retirement….

Woman on beach1

 

ON RETIREMENT

Gone now
Meeting at 8
Deadline at noon
No time, no time
Faster, rush faster
They need what I do
They want what I do
They like what I do
I do what I do – well
I am well

But they are
Gone now
No meeting or
deadline at all
No need to rush
Time to think
(But I don’t want to)
They don’t want what I do
They don’t care what I do
I don’t do this well
I am not well

When there was no time
there was no muse
I did not want one
(Monsters there)
Concentrate, focus
That’s what it takes
And I’m good at it
Ennui, denial, and death
in my Muse
Call me. “Listen”
(But I’m not good at it)
I run, try to hide,
(And I’m good at it)
But my Muse is relentless
And she will be heard now
But I do not think
I will be good at it.

GRIEF

sad-girl-236769_640

GRIEF

My friend is grieving
She doesn’t know it
Says she’s tired, needs more sleep
Or exercise
Yes, exercise, that’s the key
Or maybe better food
And it’s been rainy
That will do it

 

But it’s Grief.
I know Her well.
I’ve spent enough time in Her dank lair
Bent, tied and struggling
Exhausted, defeated.

Grief bade me profess her name
Surrender
Enter her wretched realm
I spat at Her, refused

The price was torture, I knew
But madly endured
Until powerless, I fell

 And the tears came

And the rage

And the fear

    And Grief was gone.