regret

Raw & Real

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “R”

First and foremost, Happy International Day of Poetry! Also, happy 96th birthday to my Minga! She is my paternal grandmother. I couldn’t say “Grandma” when I was little; it came out “Minga”. My kids and I still call her that to this day. She is a remarkable woman.

While there is much to celebrate, it is bittersweet. Today is also the anniversary of my maternal grandfather’s passing. He was younger than my mother is now when he left this world. It was a life-changing event for many.

Days like today are exactly why I write. I’m jubilant. I want to celebrate. Not everyone my age still has a living grandmother. I have two, both of whom celebrate birthdays this month. They bring great happiness into this world. I am so fortunate. At the same time, I’m melancholy and filled with regret. While I have my grandmas, I don’t have my grandpas. I wasn’t as close to my maternal grandfather as I should have been. There are all sorts of reasons why, none of which are important to me now. I should have known him better. I should have visited more. Conversely, I was very close to my paternal grandfather. He was a character larger than life. He too would also have celebrated a birthday this month. My eyes well with tears as I type. I miss them both. Words, be they stories or poetry or simple ramblings, are therapeutic. It’s an incredible mechanism for dealing with such extreme conflicts of emotion.

On the day my grandfather passed 25 years ago, the words that helped me cope came in the form of poetry:
Dear Grandpa,
Just where do I start?
There are so many
Things in my heart.

I loved you so much,
I now miss you the same.
You had a special touch.
When I needed it, you came.

Why did I wait ‘til now –
Until it was too late,
To tell you how I feel,
To say “Grandpa, you’re great!”?

I am so sorry!
It just isn’t fair.
There was no warning
No time to tell you “I care”.

Everyone tells me,
“Be strong for your Mom”,
But who’s being strong for me
Now that you’re gone?

I loved you too.
I know I wasn’t the greatest,
But the words I say are true.

Grandpa, I miss you,
And I will always, always love you.

I know, it’s not exactly a masterpiece painted of words. However, it’s raw. It’s real. It’s a 15 year old kid figuring out how to deal with death for the first time. It’s something I last read years ago. It stirs up some powerful stuff even after all of this time. Mom, I’m sorry. I know this post will be tough for you.

On an unrelated note, but while I’m being real, there is one more quick thing… Yesterday I blogged my 50th post. It was a thrilling milestone. I don’t know if it was my excitement, if I rushed, if I was careless or lazy or what, but after my post had been published for several hours, I found a typo. I was mortified. Immediately I scrambled to correct it, but could only think of those who had already seen it. It gets better. Several more hours passed before another typo was brought to my attention – complete, total, utter humiliation (combined with extreme gratitude for the friend who pointed it out so I could fix it). I realize that everybody who read yesterday’s post, my 50th no less, saw my errors. I couldn’t just let that go. I had to say something. My readers, I apologize. I am sincerely sorry.

“You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.” ~Jodi Picoult

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Ornamental

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ Letter “O” ~ A poem titled “Ornamental” in oddquain form.

The
chosen one,
another bauble
to adorn His Majesty’s
arm.

A
dream come true
once upon a time,
before forgotten was her
name.

Now
an item,
a collectible,
merely a trinket of the
King.

Yes
she’s become
but ornamental,
a simple hollow piece of
art.

The
florid mask
in her reflection
obscures the void within her
soul.

Photo courtesy of Stilfoto on DeviantArt.com

The Succubus

Destructively beautiful
She need only insist.
He knows she is deadly
But cannot resist.

Temptress of the Night
Snakes her tongue past his lips,
“Lilith”, he moans
As he clutches her hips.

He gives in to her,
This insatiable whore,
She remains unsatisfied
And wanting still more.

Foolishly penetrates her
In the heat of desire,
Deceived to believe
He’d melt ice with his fire.

“We two become one”,
She says with a hiss,
Stealing breath from his lungs
With her ravenous kiss.

Realization too late.
He has no control.
She quenches her thirst
Then devours his soul.

Breadcrumbs

The glint in your eye.
The dimple on your cheek.
The way your skin
Would frame your lips
With parentheses
When you’d smile.
Like a drug,
I craved that
Look of amusement
Upon your face.
I’d do anything.
I’d become anyone.
Such a small sacrifice
For such a beautiful reply.
My willingness
Made you happy.
You led and I followed.
The path down which
You have taken me
Has now narrowed
With the overgrowth
Of weeds and vines.
You have long since
Ventured ahead,
Happily pioneering,
Continuing to cut through
Obstacles and make your way
Down the uncharted
Paths of life,
Leaving your passenger behind.
I’m still here.
Now lost.
Trapped in a world
Not of my design.
I’ve become someone else,
Someone unrecognizable.
To continue behind you
Would be to stray further
From myself.
So I must turn back.
I will find my way
Using the pieces of me
That I dropped like breadcrumbs
As I followed you into darkness,
Until I have collected them all
Making me whole
And leading me home.