Decades worth of journals
(once my daily confidante)
lie under the bed
untouched,
gathering dust.
The record of my past
does not entice ,
has not for what seems
like forever.
As for the here and now,
the pages of my last birthday gift
are empty, unless you count
maudlin entries typed and printed
out of pure laziness.
My past can never be retrieved,
never relived except as
sometimes vivid memories.
My present is of little interest these days,
future hopes only a mirage
(for what seems like forever).
I have no wish to relive today,
spilling my guts on blank pages
for posterity,
even while despairing for
a better tomorrow.
Eileen Auger
10/01/2014
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
No one ever knows
What lies behind secret smiles
Masking inner pain.
E. Auger
9/8/14
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
She tells him "I love you",
long after his physical presence
is nothing but ashes feeding flowers,
knowing her declarations
go nowhere but into
the vast, empty universe.
She glances at his photo,
flat, one-dimensional,
and yearns to hold him
once more in real time--
not only in her memories--
despite knowing
that is an impossible fantasy.
Eileen Auger
7/30/14
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
When people asked
my dear friend,
early in her widowhood,
"How are you doing?"
she would wryly reply
"Waiting to die... and you?"
After all these years alone,
I am not asked that question
anymore, in the same way--
The assumption being
that my grief is a thing of the past.
Most people, I have noticed
Just want to talk about themselves, anyway.
But if asked, I might just say
(with relish at their astonished look),
"Waiting to die... and you?"
Eileen Auger
7/28/14
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
FRIENDS OR NOT?
At the banquet table of Life.
Some friends will share with you
a sumptuous feast,
everything from soup to nuts.
Others will offer to split an entree,
an appetizer or two,
maybe even dessert
if they are so inclined,
Then there are
the so-called friends
who give away all their treats to others,
leaving you with nothing but leftovers.
This is when you realize
it's all about them,
(which they never "get")
And you walk away.
E. Auger
7/14/14
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Why am I here?
Why, why, why?
What is the point?
Who cares, anyway?
People say I matter,
but really, I don't,
in the grand scheme of things.
Eileen Auger
6/26/14
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Honeybunny has left the building.
Not dead like Elvis,
more like a walking zombie
dying by inches.
Is she angry at Fate's cruelty?
Does bitterness draw her
into a pit of lonely despair?
Will she ever recover
her ability to laugh
trust, hope, believe in life?
Her sparkle has dimmed,
eyes gone flat and gray,
blinded by loss and pain,
wondering why she fails to see
beauty that others take for granted.
Honeybunny (as he knew her)
has vanished into the void.
Eileen A
2007
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
We may be all specks
In this big old Universe
But we all matter.
Eileen Auger
6/8/14
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
I thought
that with the end
of a long, cold winter
my spirits would lift.
I thought
that the sun's brilliant warmth
and the colors of Spring
would sooth my soul.
I thought
that my summer friends
would come out of hiding
and share themselves with me.
I thought
that I was turning a corner,
that I could get on with
whatever it is I am supposed to do.
Apparently,
I thought wrong.
Eileen Auger
6/2/14
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
Lying on the beach
Surrounded by murmurs
Of conversation
Children laughing at play
And the soft rustle above
Of heart-shaped leaves
Dancing in a brisk breeze.
All once familiar
Yet now foreign,
It occurs to me ,
That I no longer fit,
Have ceased belonging
In that comfortable way
Of former times
When you loved me
I no longer fit
In the world of couples
Though they kindly try
To include me
If only occasionally
It just isn't the same
Any longer
Feeling fragmented
I dole out bits of myself
Almost stingily
Guarding carefully
My inmost thoughts
Smiling as if all is
As it should be
But it isn't
And maybe never was
When you were here
I felt safe and whole
For the first time ever
Secure, wanted, needed
Now I am a puzzle piece
Of an odd shape
That no longer fits
In the larger scheme
Of humanity
Perhaps I have lived
All these years
In a mindset
Of childish fantasies
Now suddenly dashed
Like letting go unwillingly
Of Santa and the Easter Bunny
Maybe this is Life
Seen without benefit
Of rose-colored glasses
Maybe, maybe not
Eileen Auger
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC