“…my mother died. I was with her. She is with me”

My mother died when I was 15. The impact lingers to this day.

So this piece by Masaru Goto struck me deeply:

…my mother died. I was with her. She is with me

I love the intersection of poetry and photography. I want to explore that myself.

A powerfully moving project.

 

West of invective

At times I weary

All this invective burning

I’m charred and hollow

Writing’s Mystery

Amusing

How I put pen to paper

Expecting certain words

To flow gracefully

I’m always surprised

At what lands upon

The page

The definition of “Athletic”

As a youth
Athletic meant “jock”
Of which I did not align
Now things change
And I find myself
Within that fold
Strange changes
Of life

Today’s Daily Prompt: Popular

This dream of my youth
Needing to be loved widely
This thing: “Popular

The Freshman Suicide

A freshman committed
Suicide 
Died last night,
I hear the wail
Of robbed potential,
The silent home
A room, empty,
Where homework 
Should be studied,
Driving lessons 
Rehashed,
Proms planned, 
Eventually weddings, childbirth 
Joyful transition 
Parent
To grandparent,
Planning OUR funerals,
Not of a child. 
Funerals for children 
Brutal
Life is fragile. 

On  Writing 

I entertained other paths

Other work
But this remains strong 

I guess I cannot
Escape
Thus I should
Surrender
Into,
Then through,
My fear

Only I shall remain 

A Mediation On The Eclipse

The sun blocks the moon
Or is Sauron searching hard
For his ring again?

Finding Beauty 

In these days

<

p style=”font-family:"”>Where ugliness is glorified

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p style=”font-family:"”>There are moments of beauty 

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p style=”font-family:"”>Which make my soul sing