the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

Archive for the tag “death”

unmasked

Garments rent. Nakedness. A
trivial strain; armour dissolves.
Swollen throat forces downward,
heartward; respawns loneliness’s
bitter winter ache; bleak,
stupefying, coercive; thrusting
bluntly back within. Anaesthesia
fades into strike of grief, face
wets with tears, eyes, blinking
salt, the last real drink running
into the corners of the mouth, at
once mocking and sustaining.
Here, we must linger, must hold
on, straining for comfort and
light, fearing, denying that when
this ends, nothing remains but
soul and self, glorious, pathetic.

.

seven ways to miss a friend

How does this work;
finding out, only now he’s gone,
that you loved a man?

Looking back, the clues are there,
out-of-season fruit hanging
in the still-existent past:

One; shared likes. Rocks and stuff.
Fishing (but he actually liked the fishing part,
maybe more, even, than the fresh air)

Two; the Professor thing. Sure, he was
teasing. But in a good way; a blokey
affirmation; a challenge.

Three; the other brainy stuff. We spent
enough time in each other’s company that
his wild ideas annoyed me sometimes.

Four; family. His wife’s a kissing friend;
I cuddle his infant son. Their daughter slept
a night in my house; he gave mine passionfruit.

Five; passion and integrity.
He lived  and said what he believed, and
mostly that scared the skin off me.

Six; the food. (Simple, but true).
Chilli and rice, tea and wine at the long table.
Kids weaving between conversations.

Seven; faith. We are chased by the
same God. Josh sees Him more clearly
now, but maybe he always did.

Last real revision: 11 November 2008

 

 

 

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