William raked the leaves and dry pine needles in silence, a reverence that, to him, seemed simple and appropriate in the cemetery. Mother was close by arranging silk flowers to place on his grandparents' graves, a festive red splash of color in celebration of the Christmas season despite the unseasonal warmth and humidity in the air.
"Can you believe the weather," he calls out to his mother. "Grandma and Papa would have loved this."
"Yes, they would have," she replied. "I'm ready if you are. We still have some errands to run before it gets too much later."
William bent down and scooped the loose pile of nature's molt off the graves and placed it in an old plastic shopping bag. "I'll go throw this in the trash while you set up the flowers, that way we can get moving with the day."
Mother set to work on the bronze vase as William walked away to the trash can ten yards distant. He was grateful for her presence, not just for the help in maintaining the graves, but also because it reinforced to him that she was the best mom he could have ever asked for. The graves were not those of her parents, but belonged to his father's parents. William thought it was a great show of respect for her to help him. Father had passed a year before either of his parents. Not that it much mattered; William's father had seemingly forgotten both William and his own parents somewhere along the way. Father had given all his attention to his new wife for the last few years of his life.
"All done! Just let me pull these last few weeds before we go," Mother said. William nodded acknowledgement and absent-mindedly wandered the surrounding grave plots. Unknown faces of unfamiliar names blanketed the grounds nearby. He found himself suddenly wondering if he had even visited his father's grave. Feeling ashamed, he began searching in earnest for the site of his father's final resting place. He thought it was close at hand, perhaps in the vicinity of the small copse of trees a few dozen yards east of his grandparents.
After a ten minute search, William realized he could not find it on his own. Mom will know, I will ask her, he thought. "Hey Mom, I know this sounds weird, but I can't find Dad's grave...where is it?"
Mother cocked her head slightly, and after a brief pause says, "Will, your father was cremated, and your stepmother told us that she spread the ashes at sea, but we can't be sure that she really did."
"Oh. I forgot."
let me know what ya'll think...i am not sure if i want to keep this the way it is, or convert it to a poem...suggestions, comments, constructive vitriol --as always-- are welcome.
lately, flash fiction has caught my eye...i guess because it retains that "get to the point" element of poetry with the added ability to expand on the thought and include dialogue.
However, that doesn't mean I am any good at it. So, please tell me if I should stick to what I know...
The clouds are rolling in;
And it covers up the skies;
Let's me breath and fill my soul;
As it calms what's inside;
There is nothing it compares to;
Where is this new mirage?
You'll find few feelings like this;
Like the strumming of guitars:
You'll escape from all anxiety;
Take vanity in aim;
And hold on to a memory;
That won't happen again.
Its creeping at my minds edge;
The shallows are reeling in;
Talons pull and tear my sanity;
As my heart beat is wearing thin;
Its as constant as my breathing;
Whispering in the back of my mind;
That I would be calmer;
If a blade is what I'd find;
The anxiety is crippling;
As it rises in my throat;
I try my best to push it down;
But it pushes till I can't cope;
I don't know why I'm nervous;
Cannot even meet the eye;
As the eyes are the windows to the soul;
And I don't want him seeing mine;
Its like snapping of my rib cage;
Why are my hands shaking?
Why is the world turning dark?
Why is it I'm not breathing?
All I need is the sound of breathing;
There's no judging in the night;
Listen to your heart like thunder;
And we live in darkness under light…
The light from your cigarette
Illuminated the path
I knew it would burn out
But I wanted it to last
Walking with you made everything better
You made my feet feel like a bus
Each step was a stop; getting lighter
You made my body feel a rush
You told me that
The present is too dreamy
Unlike the past
Because it is linked with no memory
And I told you that
Although my shell is straight
My shadow is crumbling
And I am held down by its weight
And so we walked on
While you shared your wisdom
And I felt free
Unleashed from my prison
Your thoughts were surreal
I wanted to plant seeds in your skull
Because your mind was so bright
That the flowers would grow
Our steps became synchronized
Together as we walked
And our minds were open
Our secrets unlocked
Then the light from your cigarette
Burned out at last
But the luminosity of your mind
Illuminated the path
in fires of its breath
gardens with misty wings
be left upon the stars
which ashen mornings bring
a sight of heavens rich
the golden rain of old
from corner of the eye
through sieve of drowning souls
as wet of earthen stories
she drinks away the hours
broken but gentle still
volleys the passing showers
and wistfulness of past
the summer's broken dream
as pressed love in pages
may haunt a roses' sleep
to lip a life's desire
destined to bleed the night
which husky secrets share
do spying ears of time
i lean upon the frame
of tender springs unseen
behope the oozing light
through rosy tinted screen
as leaves of life fall one by one
until a spring dawns upon
one of many more
the month of rain came
Winter melted away
i was quite happy to see the drops of may
i grabbed my blue jacket
and biked in the rain
singing songs in my head.
A girl named Gen started liking me
she would take me to a park
and she would kiss me,
that was all, she left.
i thought of my good friend Becca
i havent seen her in a while
i missed her
I had a band
we played in a forest
we thought people would hear us
I did spoken word that month
called myself "groovy poet Bob"
peoeple enjoyed my poems
i liked reciting them
i walked in the rain with a girl named Kirsten
she had a tough past
i said to her "you have bravery written on your bones"
she smiled and said"i like the sound of that"
and stared at the cloudy sky
raining...the sound of it i love
i love listening to music a lot on these days
May love, what advenures will you bring me this time
Loss the moon
while counting stars
Laughter doesn't last very
Turning the corner
Shades of sadness brush
against my face
My emotions lay flat
as passions escape
Room grows darker as the
frozen sun disappears
Leaving shadows along the sides
of my walls of fear
My two faces collide inside
the memories of vacant
Tears drop along the shallow walls
Leaving stains of blood
Through my childhood
As I stumble to be free
from all the memories that
By Weeping willow
Leaning forward, body parallel to the skis
arms neatly by the side
hands pressed in tight; flat
down the slope he goes into the unknown
for a few moments
landing as far as he can
then arms aloft in triumph.
How do you begin such a journey?
Armchair bound we are
never to speed down the icy slope
eyes and goggles peering down and down
ready to fly, see the sky.
Yet in a moment we can be there
down the slope in our minds
unburdened from reality
no years of practice or skis to heft
no chance of failure.
We can fly on the ski slope of the mind
an adventure of the imagination
synapses firing neurons glowing
and so let it be with death and life
down the slope jumping, arms aloft
into tomorrow, into the unknown
alone, down the slope, jumping.
Malcolm F. Davidson October 11th 2013