Life With Horace

poetry & essays

BH in the field


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elegy

and with his end
all lifeline letters stopped
akin to clocks
hushed at a death
leaving smothered laughter
or kind words
confetti-chopped
to ricochet at will

those daily orts
grown into thoughts
inked heiroglyphs sardined
with scattered
pencil nonpareils
bright chrome yellow sheets
they will come no more

he lived for wordy news
recounted histories
rich mirrors of our minds
but people hanging
on a vapid phone
not tolerated much
beyond a minute any day

in all of this
we saw and felt
the gifts his writing brought
quiet kindness
in our grasp connection
palatable family glue
admonishments
or clapping hands

he never did hold back
bursts of excited rant
against extinction
of a simpler life
or older barn
sunblot politic dizziness
or inept modernity

today we hold those pages
fiercely knowing he is gone
and reread again
to briefly feel his warmth
born of quiet brilliance
a rich legacy
of love disguised

__________________________
Day 3. the prompt was to write an elegy, and a particular facet of the person or thing mourned.


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clear sailing

there is no more fog
and I am soaring
through these brilliant stars
above a clean swept sea,
memory reclaimed at last.
even as I leave you,
going on alone for now,
winglike glowing tendrils
wrap me in their light and warmth,
strands of our shared time
that can never break.

there will always be
a part of me alive,
held in your hearts
or seen among the trees,
joy fanned by wagging dogs,
an artist’s brush,
the feel of things well built,
soil deep tilled,
good stories told,
the pop of corks,
sure handed trimming
of a wind filled sail,
upright honor, honesty,
deep rooted, long felt love.

even as the world around me
faded for a time,
and I seemed lost,
a quiet spark lived in my soul
fanned by the breath of love,
my anchor in this final storm,
and in its light I knew you all.

___________________________________
for William Eastman Janes, a cherished friend who set sail and left us this morning. crabtown won’t be the same without you Bill. vaya con dios.


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the child within

she calls me now
where once she hid,
so silent, frozen,
fearful of the
conjured menace,
dark paned windows,
staring blankly in.

I first returned
to grasp at shards
of understanding
dimmed by fear
and found instead
a small hand
needing mine,
and so we stood
together, unafraid.

there was a shift
from deep within,
the hard and inky dark
shape-changing
with the strength
of love’s reagent
into brightness,
the bond of trust
rewarding us
with grace.

_________________________________
connecting with one’s inner child can be life changing. It was for me.