POEMS ON GRIEF: BY ROBIN, ERIC, LEE SAN, AND BJORN

Today we are featuring four from-the-heart poems written by Robin Kimber, our beloved Old Egg, who blogs at Robin's Nest, Eric of erbiage, Lee San, known to us as dsnake, who blogs at Urban Poems, and the inimitable Bjorn Rudberg, of Bjorn Rudberg's Writings. Each of these poems travels straight from the poet's heart to ours. I gathered them together so we can reflect on all that life comprises: love and joy, loss and pain. Because I know we wouldn’t trade our greatest joys and deepest heartaches for anything.

SINGING THIS SAD SONG

Late evening slowly darkens
I love our walks in summer
The day's air now cool and clear
Skies darken, the stars come out

Twinkling lights take charge up there
Croaking frogs still like to shout
Your soft warm hands safe in mine
Fireflies flash as we pass them by

Moon peeps from behind a tree
For nightlife and us to see
Now lighting up your beauty
You let me taste your soft lips

But I wake up having dreamed
Singing this sad song of you
Pretending you were still here
As you always used to be


Sherry: So beautiful the dream, and so sad the awakening! Beautifully done, Robin. 

Robin: My wife and I were great explorers of the countryside and forest in search of birds, as she was an enthusiastic birdwatcher. She was always hoping to add one more Australian bird to her life list. This found us is in some odd places, such as dark forests with the trees whispering to us but not letting on where the birds were, and clambering over rocks on beaches which others shunned, looking for migrating shore birds. And even wandering around rubbish dumps and tips, where other birds, not having a rotting odour problem, searched for food as we ticked them off our lists holding our noses. 

The forests, however, were our favorite with the unseen call of birds requiring our total silence, sitting still to see if they might approach, and the delight when they did. This was especially so if we moved not a muscle and came up really close.

So I have many happy memories doing all these things, with the forest the most beautiful and romantic of them all.

Sherry: So lovely, Robin. I can see the two of you sitting there, waiting for the birds to visit. Such lovely memories you have! How you must miss your beautiful wife.

Eric speaks of a grief I am familiar with: the grief we tap down, especially as children, when we are not assisted in our grieving. You will see why I resonate so strongly with this fine poem.

A garden of grief

She'll look in my eyes, bless her so
For my loss and my pain to show
But those corners are not dark enow
For my tears to flow

By the time grandma died
I'd learnt to shut that off
Shut down my heart
And silently laugh it off

But deep within me there was
A black fist, holding, squeezing.
Stashing it all in there.  The loss
Remorse, unworthiness.

So sweetheart if you want to know
Where my tears go
Watch me dig my garden
In my sweat my tears do show

the spade cuts into earth, mother
Sweat glistens in the dark heat
Ill turn the earth to inter my grief
This is why these tomatoes are so sweet

Eric: I grew up across the street from a zoo.  The lions would wake me in the summertime with their roaring.  Not common in New Jersey.  It didn't happen that often, for the noble beasts were quite lethargic. I think that this is what happens to grief.  We take the wild thing and lock it up in a cage.  We hide, deny, ignore.  By we I mean I, I'm just hiding behind that.  

Well I went all Casks of Amontillado on my grief, so when my grandma died I didn't feel a thing.  Which only compounded my grief, and that black fist got a little stronger.  What finally broke me was my cat.  She was around for my formative years, in the cellar or outside mostly, as mom was allergic.  The cat and I were sometimes in the same place, but mostly it was more like an orbit.  

So when she passed, we put her in a cardboard box, and I dug a hole in the back yard.  I put the box in, everything was fine.  But the first shovelful of dirt caved in the cardboard box, and I just crumbled.  Tears streaming, arms trembling with each shovelful...  It's a wordless thing, felt in the body.  So I'm afraid I can't say much more about grief, except a footnote:  I forgot about that incident with my cat for many many years.  And I'm weeping again now.

Sherry: I absolutely know that feeling, Eric. As a child, my coping mechanism was to numb my feelings. As a single mom, I had to stay strong through many losses. In 2011, my wolf-dog died, and I cried for seven years - all the tears of my life.

Thank you for sharing such a long-held grief, in such a beautiful way. Sigh.  And I can't believe you lived close enough to hear lions roaring! How amazing!

The following poem by Lee San, about the loss and grief of losing someone  beloved, really speaks to our hearts. When love is that deep, the grief lasts long. Let's tiptoe in to take a look, for this poem is very tender.

TEDDY BEAR

another year already?
your teddy bear sits
alone
on the dressing table
among the combs and cologne.

today i was at the temple
offering incense to you.
silent
i have not heard your voice
for the past two decades.

the man staring back
from the dark glass
has aged.
you may not know him
as the one you had loved.

a mynah lands on the
aircon unit outside.
looks at me
perhaps to ride the rain
perhaps to see me weep.

image from pixabay

Lee San: It is my honour to have my poem ‘Teddy Bear’ featured.

This poem is about grief, and perhaps how to cope with the memories of a loss. I wrote this in the memory of my late spouse. She was a brave and lovely soul, and to have lost her after only some short years together is something quite hard to take at first. The teddy bear in the poem is one of her possessions.

I wrote this poem a couple of years back, and it stays put in the Blogger drafts until recently when I took it out to check for grammar and punctuation for posting. Anyway, I was too busy to post anything last year.

This poem is what may be called confessional poetry. I think most of the poems in my blog are of this type. This poem is quite short too, which is how I usually like the length of my poems. And yes, there is a certain form in the structure of this poem.

Sherry: It is very beautiful, Lee San. How very sad to have lost your young wife so soon. A deep grief for certain. The lines in the poem that say, were she to see you now, she wouldn’t know you really struck me. Yet, looking through the eyes of love, I am certain that she would. 

Thank you for sharing this beauty of a poem with us, Lee San. 

When I read it, I recognized that Bjorn’s poem “Spoon-Feeding Mother” would be the perfect poem to feature alongside it, since there are so many ways to lose a loved one, and Bjorn is living one of the hardest. Let’s read:

Spoon-Feeding Mother

when parting came slowly
as words you forgot
or when you were lost

we thought we had time
to listen to music
to read or to dine

we never could tell
   you
      goodbye

now when you’re silent
and we still cannot tell
but we wait
we spoon-feed you soup
and wonder
if you’ve already left.

Sherry: This is such a heartbreaking way to lose your mother, Bjorn. I am so sorry.

Bjorn: The background to this poem comes from the experience with my mother who is the victim of dementia. A couple of years ago she was still living at home and we thought that she managed, though sometimes she was a bit confused, as she lives in another town I didn’t get to visit very often.

Things got worse and we were happy that she got place at a good nursing home. At first she improved and we could visit and go for walks with her, but after a period of illness she ceased to talk and cannot walk any longer. She is bound to wheelchair and has to be fed.

Sherry: Dementia is such a long goodbye.  Our hearts go out to you, my friend.

Thank you, gentlemen, for your stirring and beautiful poems and the sharing of your experiences. And for continuing to keep coming back to Poets United. We so appreciate you! 

I am sure we can all relate to these poems on memory, love, loss and grief. We hope you take away something in your hearts from the sharing. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!