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Heartspur Sunrise
“You can only appreciate the miracle, the gift of a
sunrise after you have lived in the darkness.”
--Anonymous.
Aging
is a blessed curse,
having its own yin and yang.
It becomes a room
with thousands of doors,
and every day, one or more
will not open for you.
It’s
about being starlorn
at high noon
in a city that’s covered
in a starless night sky.
It’s
about chronic amentalio
because parents and friends
have passed before you
and neither snapshot
nor portrait is enough.
It’s
also the warm lisolia
of polishing the wooden stock
on your grandfather’s .30-.06,
where dozens of family shoulders
have worn a loving niche in it.
It’s
the tugging heartmoor
of driving through the city
you grew up in,
and getting lost
while searching for
one of the houses you lived in.
It’s
the torrent of heartspur
tears that well up
as you watch
THE WIZARD OF OZ,
because you and your mother
used to watch it annually.
It’s
the harrowing aphasia
that haunts you daily
as Confederate flags
and Nazi SS pins
are flaunted openly
and Civil War seems to loom.
It’s
the irritating etherness
that you experience at family gatherings,
while watching your happy grandchildren,
as you wonder how in hell
will they adjust to a planet in revolt?
Who will succumb to drugs,
who will have a bad marriage,
and who will die young?
And it’s
the barbed kenopsia
that lurks in the air
when you walk down Main Street
and more than half
of the Mom & Pop businesses
are boarded up.
Is it the new Mall
or Covid that is
responsible?
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub
17 comments:
A heartfelt collection if verse, all ringing so true, reflection that runs deep.....
Glenn- this is amazing and so utterly poignant.
This is so evocative! I especially resonate with; "It's the tugging heartmoor of driving through the city you grew up in."💝💝
I relate to every gorgeous stanza! An amazing poem.
Glenn you nailed this prompt. It resonates deeply. The thousand doors and finding a steady number of them not being able to open anymore. The body is a faithful servant but it gets tired. I think of my brothers that have inherited the rifles and shotguns from earlier times and I wonder who will inherit from them. It makes me sad to think of the tomorrows that might not be blessed for the grandkids.
I'm not a gun person at all, but I am from a hunting state and the mention of the 30-06 took me back and I could smell the oil, see the shine of the stock, and remember mornings in upper Michigan with relatives long ago.
I can relate! You said it pretty much how it is when one is getting older. I think every generation goes through this in some shape or form.
Powerful stuff brother, and you covered the gamut of the world’s not so obscure sorrows. This ripped at the heart of of thd turmoil! Excellent write. I went to a turmoil deep within.
A ringing indictment of our times, Glenn. I love this description:
'It becomes a room
with thousands of doors,
and every day, one or more
will not open for you.'
Wryly humorous. I also echo your concern for the youngest generation who are growing up in this shitstorm, my own children included.
"and every day, one or more
will not open for you."
Perfect imagery... and I also really loved your words about looming war (not the reality of it... just your description of it, Glenn)
Much love,
David [ben Alexander]
The first two stanzas explain the rest and the second is the knockout - perfect. Obscure emotions fill the rest and though they are pitch-perfect too, the words for them create unnecessary work for the reader. (For that reason, I think the challenge fails through no fault of your own). Each of those stanzas another door that may or may not open. Yin and yang: there's a fate to that which makes this lousy business of getting old a comfort. Thanks.
Perfect Glenn, one of your best, I go from verse to verse and feel how each one of them just add to the completeness.. those closing doors I have already seen.
This is so moving, Glenn. You succinctly describe the blessing and curse of ageing with such poignant examples. Very moving.
These stanzas really stood out for me:
"It’s
about being starlorn
at high noon
in a city that’s covered
in a starless night sky."
"It’s
the tugging heartmoor
of driving through the city
you grew up in,
and getting lost
while searching for
one of the houses you lived in."
It's why I always listen to the stories elderly people have to tell. They are filled with stories they are bursting to share and sometimes those closest to them don't care to listen.
Anyway, great poem :-)
Sunra
You blew my mind (what I have left) with this one, Glenn!
Everyday sorrows, not obscure at all...a recognition as you encountered each word.
Couldn't be said any better, Glenn, down to the last detail, which made it so easy to relate. Eloquently crafted.
Pax,
Dora
Luv every verse.
Much💟love
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