Poetry
Grief
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 03/12/2017 - 18:56“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this”
he thought as he crawled into his empty bed.
“We were supposed to grow old together.”
It had been like this every night
since his husband died a few months ago.
At first, he was incapacitated by grief
but slowly,
he managed to resume
some of the simple tasks of life.
Over the following weeks
he started relearning
how to live.
The death came
as unexpectedly
as their love;
an inter-racial
same-sex marriage
that broke just about
every taboo.
They had fallen in love
suddenly, impetuously
knowing that they could not live
without each other.
Their friends gathered
rejoicing
at the joining of two lives.
Then, just as suddenly
one half
of their shared life
came to an end
and the remaining half
painfully
readjusted.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this”
The Last Full Moon of Winter
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 03/12/2017 - 08:25We seem to have lost
our connection
with the seasons
and phases of the moon.
Sure,
we notice a blizzard
that hampers our commute
or a heat wave
that drives us to the shore,
but the equinox?
the solstice?
And maybe,
if it makes the headlines,
we’ll read about
a particular full moon,
but not the one that comes
every month.
This full moon
is the worm moon
because
as the ground thaws
the earthworms
re-emerge
except here in New England
when the ground is still covered
with snow.
Here, it is the sap moon
when cold nights
and warm days
draw the sugar filled sap
from the roots of maples
and some get tapped
and the sap is boiled
to become syrup.
The Celtic people call it
the moon of winds
and so it’s been
here
as the wind rattles
the windows
and winds around
the swaying trees.
The Choctaw called it
the moon of the big famine
as the supplies that sustained them
through the long winter months
dwindle
before the new crops arrive
but we can just run down
to the grocery store
as long as the wind
hasn’t taken down
too many trees.
Friday Night
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 03/11/2017 - 14:08(Another brief poem I struggled to write as part of my Lenten discipline)
It’s Friday night,
the end of a very long week
with much to write about
and little time
or energy
to write.
So you start a throw-away poem,
because it’s part of the process,
part of the discipline
and tomorrow will bring
a better chance
to write a better poem.
The City of Missed Connections
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Fri, 03/10/2017 - 17:36She sits alone
In the small cafe
and checks the time
on her phone.
Perhaps something happened
or it was a different cafe
yet even when they did meet
it was a missed connection.
(This was about as much of a poem as I could get written yesterday as part of my discipline of trying to write a poem a day for Lent.)
Crocuses
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 03/08/2017 - 21:52The crocuses came up
in the usual places
just like they had
since the first spring
after she planted them.
They had just bought
the house
and she thought
crocuses would be nice.
Every year
they were a wonderful surprise;
first to her husband,
and later,
to her kids and grandkids.
This year,
the crocuses
were a pleasant surprise
to the new owners
of the house
and a new patch
of crocuses
came up
beside her gravestone.