Arlington

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I walk the rows of the garden
Whispering voices the only sound
Passing by the stark white blooms
Rising from the hallowed ground

And I gaze upon all the blossoms
Row upon row to infinity unknown
Fingers lightly touch this newest bloom
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Each bloom marking lives young and old
Lives that eventually have stilled
Some blooms have seen many an age
Some are as fresh this grave just tilled

A flag waves softly in the wind
Today at half-mast flown
Standing for the one who no longer can
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Scattered about these many blooms
Are others who are here like me
Honoring their own seeds fallen
Into these blooms for eternity

Hand slanted to brow, we are all together
Hand held over heart, yet each all alone
In laughter and tears and memories
Here in the garden, garden of stone

For they are children far too short
To appreciate their own youth
Their spirits grow old far too fast
To live and die with that cold truth

Thus mourning comes, as sure as dawn
In the 21 guns of honor shone
For we who are left behind still grieve
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Arlington Memorial Day

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 69

30/30 – 30 | BOO!

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My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

30/30 – 29 | Ask

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I was in Brussels when I received the news Nana Jean (my paternal grandmother) was gone.  My mother is very much alive and a part of my life, but if you ask anyone who raised me, including my own mother, everyone will say Nana Jean.  She was that kind of woman.  Her condemnations as wounding as her compliment as wonderful, she was a piece of work. Yes, I was the near spitting image of my maternal grandmother Nana Kayla, however my spirit was pure Nana Jean.  Though we had known for quite a while that the cancer was in its final stages and it was only a matter of time, the news of her passing still came as a shock.

I called my fiance, Justin, not even five seconds after I hung-up with Mama, but of course he already knew, by the time I reached him.  As always, he had all the right words to say to give me comfort. Still, there I was on the other side of the world negotiating a multimillion dollar deal for my company.  I was barely able to  concentrate on the deal, but I knew all eyes were on me and could not mess this up.  Luckily, I had a fantastic staff with me who immediately picked-up my slack and we got through the deal. I was on the first thing smoking back to the States before the ink was dry.

I had wanted nothing more than to get home as soon as possible, cry on Justin’s shoulders and then be the strong one for the rest of my family.  The only problem was, even once I made it back to the States, I needed to be with my family on the east coast and Justin was on the west coast where we lived. Yes, I have other family and friends who would be there for me, but they would not be Just and that was what I needed.

“How you holding up baby? Still have your curl?” Justin called around breakfast time, not even two hours after my arrival to my parents’ home.

I had spent the entire ride from the airport and the past couple of hours listening to my father and Aunt Tina argue over every little detail of Nan Jean’s arrangements.  I was not in my childhood home ten minutes and I already felt as though my head was going to explode.  Justin’s call was the perfect diversion and medicine for what ails.

“Yes, I still have it.” I couldn’t help but smile.  He knows me all too well, gently calling me out as the liar he knew I was, while I guiltily released the curl at my left temple that somehow always winds up twisted around my index finger whenever I was really upset or really bored. He jokes that if I kept doing so, I was going to twist it off one day. So every now and then he asks if it’s still there as way of teasing me and getting me to stop the bad habit.

“What was it about weddings and funerals that bring out the absolute worst in people anyway?” I finished my litany of family woes and whines. “You just don’t know, I feel like crap and a half right now.”

“Well, what would make you feel better right now, this instant?” He asks.

“You, just you.  You giving me a good hug and a kiss.” I said without hesitation, but with a little tinge of sadness knowing he’s on the opposite coast and that hug is not likely to happen for a few days.

“Ask and it shall be given,” He says ominously.  “All you have to do is open a door.”

Before I can say what the… the doorbell rings.

No…! I mentally gasp, running to the door, flinging it open.

Yes! Justin stands there smiling, arms wide open.

I flew into them basking in the strength of him pouring into me, and yes, I felt better.

30/30 – 28 | Beach

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I am leaning against the balcony railing enjoying the warm sun, sipping mimosa.   I am on vacation with the family and there is absolutely no reason for me to be up so early.  Everyone else is sound asleep, but as I watch the rising sun slowly inch across sand and seas, I am so I had a chance to enjoy this.  Combined with the perfect cool breeze, it already tells me it is going to be a beautiful day.

In the distance, I spy two lovers walking along the shore heading in my direction.  As I am watching and smiling as they laugh, clearly enjoying each other’s company, stopping every now and then to embrace, lovers really is the only word to describe them. A part of me is just the tiniest bit envious as I see him take her in his arm and kiss her passionately.

They both feel this kiss deeply as hands travel bodies. They stop suddenly, remembering where they are and laugh.

After a moment, the woman suddenly takes off running.  As they get closer, I realize they remind me of a couple I know and I rack my brains trying to remember which of my peers behave like that lovingly toward each other.

The glass of mimosa nearly slips from my hand when the answer comes to me about five seconds before they see me on the balcony and wave.

My husband appears behind me, kissing me on my neck. I turn and give him a good, deep kiss in greeting.

“Well good morning to you!  Where’d that come from?” He grins, happily taking me in his arms to return the kiss.

I point to the couple on the beach, now within clear sight and wave back.

“My parents.”

30/30 – 26 | Argue

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Darcy watches as Eric and Margo struggle to get their respective points across to the other.  His frustration is evident as Margo not so calmly takes each of his points and shoots them down as she  states her case again.  This goes on for another minute or so before Harry and Barbra struggle to add their two cents to the conversation.  It becomes more of a melee as Harry Jr., Denise and Sam jump into the fray. Darcy feels as though she is in a tennis match as her head swings to and fro between the speakers.  This is a first in her class and she is not quite sure yet how she wants to handle it.

She knows she should at minimum break up the debate as it disrupts the rest of her class who are also watching similar silent fascination.  Still, she cannot help but wonder how long can it go on before anyone in the discussion will realize exactly what is happening now.  One of the other student’s looks at Darcy trying hard to suppress a giggle as Sam, the comedian of the group, lets a good zinger loose among them.

Darcy looks at the clock and sees nearly fifteen minutes has passed.  Okay enough is enough now, she has to end it and does so the most effective way she knows.

“All of you just shut up!” She whispers just loud enough to make her point.

The entire room comes to a stand still in surprise.  Her voice is the first sound heard in the class in over an hour.

Eric, Margo and Sam immediately look contrite as they rub their respective fists in a clockwise circle in the center of their chests to Darcy. Eric adds using his thumb to tap the side of his chin while looking at his mother Margo.  Margo smiles and signs the letters O and K to Eric.  It takes another moment for them to realize what has happened and all burst into polite laughter. Just as with Darcy’s whisper, the sound is unusually loud in the room.

Margo and younger son Eric, Margo’s husband Harry, their oldest son Harry Jr., Harry Jr.’s wife Barbra and their son /Harry’s grandson, Sam have taken ASL  for almost a  year, along with a few other members of their family throughout the courses.  In today’s class no vocals were allowed.  So when Eric signed an off-the-cuff remake to Sam, Margo  saw it and chastised him in sign not wanting to embarrass him by speaking it aloud. The only problem was they were in a room full of people who can sign. Most had seen the exchange anyway and the silent argument between mother and son ensued.

“Have we argued all this time in ASL?” Eric signs.

Harry Jr. was the reason they were all there.  Diagnosed with throat cancer, this supportive family, as a unit, decided to learn ASL. This way they would all be able to communicate with him once he complexly lost his voice.

“Well so much for worrying about us not being able to communicate when the time comes.” Harry Jr. signs self deprecatingly. It was a valid worry in the rocky beginning of their taking classes,.

That was why she had let them argue. Now they know for sure that they can communicate.

“If we did not already know you were family. We do now” Is Darcy’s smiling response.

30/30 – 25 | Thursday

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Thursday

Gerri is unusually content for a Thursday. Normally Thursdays are her drudgery days. Her oh thank heaven tomorrow is Friday, I don’t think I can take it anymore day. She was about to stand in her usual spot  on the train, when she spots it; spots the anomaly.

The train is reasonably crowded, a couple standers, and ninety-five percent of the seats filled.

Ninety-five percent.

Yet , way off on the end she sees a whole row of three-seaters with only one person sitting in any of them.  He did not look homeless. There was no smell, no puddles. No, it can’t be, an empty seat?

Really?

Really!

A high-schooler takes one of the seats and she quickly takes the other. There is no jockeying for space. Everyone is comfortable, Wow! It even smells, well, clean.  It was not some chemical cleaner to the hilt, not someone drowning in a perfume, just a pleasant neutral clean scent.

The water sparkles beyond the trusses and lanes of the bridge.  The views of this side of downtown, as the train ascends from one tunnel, then the river and then the side of downtown before descending into the next tunnel are unusually breathtaking. The streets shine in the morning sun, drying from the recent rain. The river sparkles, sunlight dancing in myriad prisms on the waves.  She couldn’t remember the last time everything looked so lovely. Then again, Gerri couldn’t remember the last time she looked through the window to really notice.

The next station had a ton of people waiting on the platform for the train. Oddly enough, they were all waiting for the local train and she was on the express, where only a few people get on.

A young couple, disgustingly in love, sat across from her.  Were Gerri encased in flames while pirouetting, they would not have noticed.  All they had eyes for were each other and for once of their lip-locking did not want to make her roll her eyes. However, the old man standing by the door with his arm up to his elbow picking his nose did make her happy her station was next.

As she’s leaving Gerri notices a young cutie entering the train.  He’s so busy staring at her, his foot hit the small gap between the train and the platform causing him to stumble into the train. It takes everything she has not to look back as those on the train respond to him.

If you have to be temporarily encased in a steel coffin several days it’s nice to walk away smiling from it for once she thinks, grinning as she walks away.

Cycle

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Gleam in His eye

A Memory
Ashes to Ashes
Longevity?

With blessings well aged
With blessings well saged

A many decade writer
Hopefully equal giver and receiver
Always a friend
And of course a Diva

At the beginning of my world-travels
Patient when a holiday light unravels

A Home Owner
An Amorous Wife
Luckily better at inciting passion
Sometimes the cause of strife

Professional at Work
Part-time Jerk

Occasional Fighter
Mother of another
Mother
Poetess

A Daughter
Alive
Me

Gleam in His eye

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Self-Portrait

30/30 – 24 | Shay

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Shay slowly looked over to the empty side of the bed and arose softly. His spirit was still there, even if his body would no longer be. Very gingerly she pulled the pillow from his side of the bed towards her, as is trying not to disturb the person whose head still lay upon it.

She wrapped her arms around it tight, inhaled the lingering scent of his body still trapped in it and began to slowly rock. She still could not cry.

That worried her.

She knew it was coming. She felt it building up within her. It felt like being trapped on a shore watching the tsunami of all tsunamis come towards her. There was nothing to protect her from the oncoming devastation of it. Above all she knew when it hit, it would be ugly and there wasn’t a damn she could do about it even if she wanted to.

This was how Reese found her an hour later. Slowly rocking on the bed, holding on to the pillow with her husband’s scent for dear life. Reese closed the door gently behind her and watched her. What the hell is wrong with me!? She thought to herself, suddenly overcome with envy. My best friend is in PAIN, and I’m feeling envious? But she knew why.

Twenty-seven years.

Twenty-seven years Shay and Carl had been together. They had met in college. They were joined in spirit long before they were joined as a couple. Older, wiser people saw it, predicted it. Shay, Carl, Reese and all the rest of the younger generation who hadn’t lived long enough to know, were bemused by the elders prediction of longevity. Still, even their friends could see there was something in the way they related to each other that was special. Ten years into it, watching all their friends drop in and out of relationships, Shay and Carl started to believe. In their fifteenth year, they finally believed enough to get married themselves. Twenty-seven years, eight months and sixteen days, Shay told her yesterday.

Reese knew why she was envious. Deep down she wished that someone had loved her enough to be in the pain Shay is now. This level of sorrow could only have come from reciprocal level of love. Having been her best friend for the past thirty-three years, Reese was among very few people who knew just how deep the well of love between Shay and Carl. For Reese, losing Carl was only like losing your favorite brother. Shay lost so much more. Reese’s heart went out to her.

Shay held out her hand, but didn’t look at Reese or stop rocking. Reese sat beside her best friend, holding the offered hand. Reese knew Shay knew it was she. Very few people would dare just come into her bedroom. Turning to face her best friend, Shay couldn’t help but smile at the look of concern on Reese’s face.

Shay squeezed Reese’s hand, “It’s coming, but I’ll be all right.”

For a morning that started out dreary, the afternoon sun was more than apologizing for it. Ben watched her as she stood at the patio doors watching the autumn rays bounce off the water in the pool. Condolences are the last things she wanted right now, and she’s being gracious to everyone who comes to her, but she’s not there. The music from the party going on was physically only ten or so feet behind her.

Emotionally, it was worlds away from that room.

She honored Carl’s wishes with the party as she had with the service. It may not have been as short as he’d have preferred, but it was fun! Who else but Shay or Carl could turn a memorial into a roast!

Ben stood next to Shay at the patio doors and started humming the melody of the highly inappropriate song that was Carl and Shay’s wedding march . She nearly choked, as much from laughing at the sudden memory, as from Ben’s acute timing to her thoughts. The only thing funnier than the memorial had to be their wedding. That alone brought a faint, but fond smile to her face. It was nice to see an honest smile on her face again. It had been a while.

Shay half smiled, taking some comfort in his being near. They’ve been good friends for about twelve years now. Somehow, he made it to be one of the few people she called her “2am friends”. The type of friend you could call at 2am for anything without a second thought. At first Ben thought she was just being polite to him as Carl’s new friend. As time passed, it was Shay who received the first phone call in the middle of the night when his own mother passed three years ago and the true meaning of the phrase hit home. He hadn’t even called his girlfriend at the time until two days later. Not surprisingly she was soon his ex.

Ben lifted Shay’s chin up, the honest smile from a moment ago already fleeting into the plastic smile she had been using for the past few days. Damn, gone already! Shay shrugged, her heart gone from the room again. The only clue he had that she was still aware of his presence was her hand on his arm. They both stared out into the backyard, their separate thoughts anywhere but there.

A sharp pain in his arm brought him back to the moment. Shay was thanking a woman he didn’t know, but the pressure of her fingers in his arm increased. It dawned on him that the pressure had been increasing for the past few minutes. It was only now to the point of causing pain that he noticed it. He called her name gently as the woman walked away. The expression on her face as she turned to him that got his full attention. It was the complete lack of expression in her eyes to be exact as the pain in his arm increased more.

Someone else came up to her and she was responding. Shay was reacting completely by route. It was amazing to watch. Ben was probably the only person in the room that knew the extent of Shay’s emotional state at that moment and realized the only thing keeping her going was the death grip on his arm. He could feel his arm starting to go numb where she gripped. Shay was literally drawing strength from him and he knew the moment she stopped, he would lose her.

It was finally the stiffness in Shay’s own fingers that brought her attention to grip she had on Ben’s arm. She wasn’t even aware she had touched him, let alone held on long enough to cramp her own fingers. It had to be hurting him, but he wasn’t saying anything. Shay opened her mouth wanting to speak, to apologize, but nothing was coming from her. Ben, who had been speaking with someone on the other side of him, turned to her quickly when she released his arm.

Ben quickly grabbed her hand trying to get her to grip his arm again. It was too late.
Shay was suddenly aware of all the music, all the people, all the – everything, around her and the room spun. The last thing she heard was Ben calling her name, catching her before she could hit the floor.

30/30 – 23 | Flowers

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Lisa looked around at the other children in her class.

Each hunched over a sheet of construction paper, little fingers tightly gripping crayons, their young brows furrowed in concentration as they drew. The others had proceeded to draw the moment their teacher handed them the materials and instructed them to draw flowers. From what she could see, the other children slowly drew yellow petal flowers on straight green stems.

She had quickly drawn pretty flowers of orange colored petals, on purple stems. Flowers do not look like that, she was told. Her drawing was taken away and she was given a new sheet of paper. Lisa then drew a rainbow of multi-hued petals on swirls of green vines. Again, the drawing was taken away. She was told, to only yellow petal flowers on straight green stems.

Lisa’s paper remained blank. She complained she did not want to draw yellow flowers on green stems, that there were other colors. It did not matter. They only wanted yellow petal flowers on straight green stems. She had to draw to yellow petal flowers on straight green stems. The other children started to tease; the teacher was clearly losing patience. When it finally became too much, Lisa drew yellow petal flowers on straight green stems.

A few couple of years later, her family moved and Lisa was now in a new school. Her new teacher instructed the class to draw flowers. Lisa wanted to know what kind? Whatever kind Lisa wanted to draw was the response.

Any kind of flower?
Any color flower?

Any way she wanted it to look, the teacher smiled kindly.

Lisa her selected crayons and drew…

…yellow petal flowers on straight green stems.

Psyche’s Lament

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While yet I find you waiting in my dreams
It’s though we’re not meant for the light of day
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems

I have no idea just what all this means
This haunt my subconscious has wont to play
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams

Your face so near yet blinded by moonbeams
Your face so gone when lords of light hold sway
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems

A hapless pawn I am in these grand schemes
You hide at the first hint of sun’s display
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams

Or do you have a hand in these extremes
These rules I have no choice but to obey
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems

You’re here at Nox’s whims but yet it deems
That Eos equally keeps you at bay
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Form for All: Physics and the Art of the Villanelle