Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.
What’s important is reflecting on this experience and what it meant for you — how it felt, why it happened, and what changed because of it.
Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.
Since it is National Poetry Month, I will focus on poems about loss, and quote poems I have found helpful for me that ring true, as well as one or two I’ve written myself.
Between the fall of 2013 and last June 2014, I had some pretty awful losses, and wrote poems about them. I will feature them in this post and then some of the poems by famous poets that I find help the mourning. The other two posts in the series can focus on something more uplifting, maybe still on the subject of loss, but not death…
Kasa where are you
You ain’t in your grave.
You’re not part of the sun.
I got no religion,
I got nothing.
Not even your voice on a phone…
One year almost:
You don’t even show up in my dreams
My soul is burning, kicked, beat up
From missing you
Tears that get no bandaid.
Sort of a poem:
Things were beautiful every day;
we were happy, we played.
No one knew of the sorrow to come.
We were on the monkey bars in rain or sun.
We painted lily pads together.
You shared your love of soft furry animals.
Then one day from nowhere,
we found out you were gone.
You became a brief moment of sunshine,
a physical girl so real, who jumped and played,
a piece of rainbows
such as every 6 year old is mostly made of,
a tall girl in a cupcake shirt
with a big smile and particular eyes
with flecks of this color and that,
eyes that refused to be checked off
in a box marked “blue” or “green” or “hazel”
because they were all of these and none.
How could you be so much here among us,
shining and bright,
a smile to melt the coldest heart,
and suddenly cold yourself,
no longer alive.
Your beautiful soul is gone.
They say you are a star in the sky.
But that won’t do.
We can’t play with you
when you are so far away.
Really you are gone forever,
maybe in the place
where the ones who haven’t even existed yet are,
maybe in another place,
the ground, the earth, gone forever.
What good is it for you to be in our hearts
when we want you back?
what good is it?
It is not good. It will never be so.
A short one:
You left me alone
When you were supposed to stay
I will scream and cry about you anyway.
This one was written about someone else:
The needle beckons.
Once you’ve succumbed,
Are you immortal
Or part of the walking dead?
The sad crowd of beautiful minds
Lost and wandering the earth.
Nothing can pin you down
Sleeping through your own glory
Will the needle take you away forever?
Will you wake up a final time
And join us out of your stupor?
We are lost without you
And losing you to your pain killer.
The sleeping beauties down here
Don’t always wake up.
Last one I wrote a while back:
I can’t comprehend
You are gone.
That you existed so much,
An abundance of existence
The lions and tigers, the giraffes
Most of all the cats
Were all your animals
on a Wednesday.
There is no forever in life
But infinitely forever you
Chose to disappear.
You are nowhere anymore
But I look for you everywhere.
Sand falls through my hands
Like memories of you that
Exist no more except in my head.
One day I will be dead too.
But I will never ever see you again.
As much as you were here,
You are completely gone
And I will never know
My hands sift the sand.
Here are a few written by poets I admire.
There is the famous one called Funeral Blues, that I’ve quoted on other posts, so I won’t quote the whole thing. It starts with “Stop all the clocks” and ends with “For nothing now can come to any good.” I first heard it in the movie, Four Weddings and Funeral.
Here is a more uplifting one by Mary Oliver:
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world
Ending with Rumi:
At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky;
Then it landed on earth to look at me.
Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey;
That moon stole me and rushed back into the sky.
I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore;
For in that moon, my body turned as fine as soul.
The nine spheres disappeared in that moon;
The ship of my existence drowned in that sea