soft grumbles

shards of broken glass
lie in the dust pan
ready to be thrown away,

books read ferociously
rot on shelves,
gather worms unnoticeably
after being soaked
in a recent flood,

a partly burned photograph
sits on the floor
amid shattered frame
fallen from the wall.

these are all gone
but they wouldn't care.

What was left are
unused wheel chair
resting beside empty bed
now kept clean to store
perhaps to keep one’s memories

It is the living who mourn
for the dead,
it is they who suffer the loss
while those who have departed
would not dare to care

I never knew how to write a love poem. Silly, one might think, right? Maybe one would wonder how a learning poet would not know how to write a love poem. It seems like everyone who dabbled in poetry started with love poems. Not me! I started to learn how to write late in life. I discovered writing late in life. I have told this tale before in my other blog. You'll just have to dig in a little. I myself am too lazy to do that now. Anyway, my first attempt to write a love poem was in a class in writersvillage, an online virtual university for writers based in the States. We were under the tutelage of a poet and my assignment was a catastrophe. "This is not a poem!" How many budding poets have heard that before, huh? That made me wary of making love poems. How do I make a love poem that does not sound sappy? Anyway, after too many years of evading it, I tried doing one anyway. Here is the piece.

What I Fear Most

I do not fear the coming of a moonless night
though I shall see nothing in the dark.
Like a blind man groping his way, I shall bump on walls,
stumble over the brown davenport across the hall,
or trip on the books that lie cluttered on the floor.

I may miss the smell of grass damped with morning dew,
the redolence of vapor rising from dry asphalt
the rain the monsoon brings after a long drought,
or the whiff of new mown hay.
What is the essence of a scentless air
when I cannot smell even the foulest of the foul?
But I do not fear the day when all those scents have gone.

I may not be able to enjoy
the zing of caffeine in my morning coffee,
the sweetness of a cup cake or an ice cream
that is so decadent it can kill me.
I do not fear waking up tasteless.

I may not feel the waves on my feet as they try to reach me,
bait me to sea to swim and swallow me in its depths.
I may no longer feel the softness of a dog's coat,
or feel the tenderness of a gentle breeze as that kisses my cheeks.
But I do not fear the loss of my sense of touch

I may be deprived of sound who wonders
what's going on around when every abled- body
is busy with useless banter.
I may not hear the notes the guitar man plays
or a swan singing her song.
But I do not fear not hearing a single sound.

No. I do not fear these things.
What I fear most in the dark black night
is that when the lights return, you shall no longer be there.

That is what I fear most for I shall

no longer smell the fragrance of cinnamon on your apple pie
or your newly shampooed hair
and your body bathed in perfume.

no longer taste your chicken a la mode,
your painful lips as they brush into mine
or the salt in your tears.

no longer touch the body of an immortal goddess
or hear your cherubic voice as you sing me a lullaby.

rolly

Not contended with it, I sent it out for comments in my egroup and still I know it was wanting of something. Until my good friend, Gloria Laven, who I have been working with since 1999 and one time poetry editor of an ezine, tried to do some magic and rearranged it. I think she did wonders to the poem as it is more coherent now. I just don't know if I can call it entirely my own. Here is what she did:


What I fear most


Is not the absence of the moon
Although I may not see in the darkness
It provokes.

It is not being able to smell the grass
Or the redolence of vapor from dry asphalt
that brings about my fear.

The day may come
when I won’t be able to enjoy
the zing of caffeine in my morning coffee
the sweetness of a cup cake
the coolness of ice cream
but I do not fear losing my taste buds.

I may find myself deprived of hearing
and will probably wonder
what is going on around me
I will miss the guitar notes in quiet evenings
yet, I do not fear to lose my hearing.

No! I do not fear losing my senses

What I fear most in a dark moonless night
is that when morning comes,
you may not be there!

What I fear most
is not sharing a piece of apple pie
made with your tender hands
the fragrance of your newly shampooed hair
when you cuddle your head upon my chest
I dread to think, I shall no longer feel
your soft skin, scented with delicate perfume

My fear causes my heart’s rate to rise
just thinking of not having your lips
pressed against mine before falling asleep

Truly, what I fear most my love
is that moonless night when you’ll be gone
and I won’t be able to dry your tears with my kiss
caress the body that has kept me warm for so many years.
To lose the woman whom I have shared a lifetime of love
nd whose melodious voice fills our home
with happy songs and tender lullabies.

That’s what I fear the most.