soft grumbles

While cleaning my gmail, I stumbled over the very old poems I created while interacting with fellow learners in Writersvillage.  This is the same online university where I met my good friend Tom Spencer.  I will never forget him because when I first dared post a poem for the very first time, it was he who responded.... and with such warmth.  Later on, I will also befriend another best friend, Arlene Lawson, who organized a meeting of friends like Karli Shanklin and FilAmhusband, Alfredo,Molly Critchlow, Glennis and her hubby Harry Hobbs, and my very sweet friend Tom and his lovely wife Kathy, to have a poetry reading at Steveston in Vancouver.   

This poem was written in 2009, upon learning that Kathy had cancer and was dying.  Tom also passed away several months, it could have been years thereafter but his demise was very close to his wife's.   So did Arlene, who passed away in 2006.  These are very close friends whom I have learned to love. 

An Ode to my friend, Tom

I hold my guitar
not knowing what to play
but play I must. It's the least
I can do for you and your pain.
Mindlessly, I start with a C minor
progressing to Am then F to G
until a steady rhythm takes shape

Then I overlay it with a simple line
from a pentatonic mode
stretching the strings to bend the notes
Like a wailing ewe frantically calling its young
afraid it had been taken prey by its enemies.

Tune turns into shrieks and howls
with every fake harmonics rising it
an octave higher.
Distorted sounds come from my box,
amplified cries from deep within my heart.

A tear falls from my eyes
for a friend who needs a hand
to steady his gait while he watches
his loved one slowly disintegrate,
melting like a tiny candle,
its flickering light vulnerable
to the gentlest of breeze.

Lucky is that homeless, dirty child,
unmindful of the scorching heat,
his barefeet numbed to the flaming asphalt,
mouth frothing with sticky saliva,
begging for spare food.

He may be hungry
but at least he still has the gift of life
She will have to bid him goodbye soon
never to see her again until
they see each other in paradise.

I feel the pain of a friend 
whose warm embrace with soft taps on my shoulder
I had the pleasure to enjoy
one cold, spring day in Vancouver. 
He with failing eyes glowed as he welcomed me,
in his arms. She, her stately pose
seemed so sure of herself,
shared with him the joy of meeting
a friend from far away
for the first time.

My guitar now shamelessly weeps
as the melody rises in crescendo
I cry, "While she has morphine to calm her nerves
he can only cry to wash away the pain."

My lament over, I get the key to put
the guitar on its case thinking
I wish he had his own, set fond memories

kept inside his the chambers of his heart free! 

rolly