Intersections

I like autumn

and winter

and spring

and summer

and up

and down

and sideways

and especially curves

on mountain roads

with fog it's hard to

see

the yellow line

at night

those little reflectors

help a lot

little eyes coming

up from the hardened tar

tar eyes

that's what they are

other eyes

live in the forest

whose pupils

shine like

lights

in the

dark

in autumn

in winter

in spring

in summer

september 29, 2009
judithpiper

****
One of my favorite activities at my job is communicating with artists. We mainly communicate via email, though sometimes via phone. Every so often face to face.

One artist who I enjoy going back and forth with is Ray. Ray is a collage artist, a musician, and a poet. He always causes me to chuckle, or think, or ponder. He has the most entertaining subject lines for his emails.

At work earlier this evening, I opened one of his emails entitled "M.T. Graves." M.T. Graves...hehe... I chuckled wondering what he'd be sending along. He usually always writes something about Artomat, and then throws in these side notes. This time it was about autumn, and the reality that stuff dies and decays in autumn. So I reminded him that the decay feeds the soil. It's all in good fun.

And out came the above ditty (a rendition) in response to Ray. He wrote back his own poetic verse; complex and dark with a hint of humor.

One of the visuals that came to mind was a memory of driving in thick fog at night in the North Carolina mountains some twenty-five plus years ago. The fog was so dense, I had to open my car door to look down at the middle line in order to drive; there were no reflectors on the lines.

All of a sudden the line disappeared. I applied the brake to come to a complete stop from my 5 miles per hour speed, if I was even going that fast. Panic momentarily struck my heart.

Then I realized I was in an intersection. I creeped slowly forward, and the line reappeared.

Seasons are kind of like intersections too.

Maybe that road has reflectors now, but probably not.

Ford Fairlane 500

Another anniversary

I always have trouble

In the months of nine and ten

Yet I fair better these days

Today I grieve

I grieve that which is lost

It's okay to grieve

Part of being human

I wish I could hold you

In my dreams I do

I wish I could hold

The little one too

At times I do

You may not understand that

And that's okay by me

But I think somewhere deep down

You do.  Understand.

And that's okay too.

I must go to work today

I hope not to cry too much

My job is special to me

Holding the works of others' hands

Hands.  You always had magic in yours.

Even the way you tied knots

I remember that

You strapping luggage on the top of that car

The old car parked in Circle Drive

In front of Emporia Hall

I think it was called Emporia Hall

And that's okay

It's okay that I recall

It's okay to miss it

It's okay to embrace it

You did a great job, by the way

Securing that luggage

Thank you for continuing to love me

jcarol
september 27, 2009

****
I may write some context later; and maybe not.

Dear John (The Real Thing)

~*~*~

You've tended my soul gently,
how can I repay
the goodness you infuse in me
the trust your heart conveys?

We've been through hell and back again
weathered tempestuous storms,
internal bruises, wrenching pains
through conflict courage forged.

You saw beyond my weaknesses
horizons I couldn't see
through buffets, trials, sicknesses,
endurance, forgiveness, mercy.

My heart forever devoted
with you I'll always stay,
love of my life, my soul
until our dying day.

And then throughout eternity
our lives continue to unfold,
with peace and perfect harmony
the stories yet untold.

may 17, 2007

I love you John.
With all my heart,
Carol
****

John, my dear John.  How my heart overflows with gratitude.  You have stood beside me through thick and thin. By the time May, 2007, came along we were continuing to help care for my mom, had survived and thrived through over a decade of helping care for my dad through his quadriplegia.  You had been by your dad's side when he drew his last breath fighting emphysema.  You stood by me through years of battling to breathe and function, physically and emotionally.  Been there when both our children were birthed.  Gone to work day in and day out; a hero for our family.  You even learned to cook a little bit.

By May, 2007, we had both recently made major changes in our belief systems and had survived an online and phone affair with both of us looking elsewhere to meet our marital needs.  Our deepest pains had been exposed; our marriage had been on the verge of divorce just a year earlier.  By 2007 we were welded so intricately at our hearts, like that of a Celtic knot which holds mysteries and bonds that almost nothing can separate.

I do hope there is an eternity in which we will learn more of each other, and continue to weave stories of hope, of life, of victory.

Happy Anniversary to both of us, 25 years ago on September 15, as we exchanged vows, tasted the salt, and sipped from the cup....

~*~*~