~
In the mist of late night solitude,
                 from a mislaid plateau,
                 with a suitcase full of sparks

She observes constellations
        reflected as little needy eyes,
                        peering down at her

They could be midnight directives,
       postcards from distant nebula
                            suspended in gaffa

       "Ne t'enfuis pas..." She exhales

Still she wonders:

        will her children grow to love
          their perfect machines more
                                    than they love
                  their imperfect mother?
~

He was my papaw and he was my father's dad.
When he died in 1994, it was both tragic and sad.
If Papaw had survived, he would be celebrating his birthday.
If he hadn't died, he would've become 100 years old today.
He was born on July the 28th of 1923.
Today he would've lived for a century.
When Papaw took some medication, he became very sick.
He died six days after his birthday because he was allergic.
Dad was hurt by Papaw's death and so was I.
It's always painful to learn that a grandparent is going to die.

The fact remains
somebody had to go first
so that others may come back

saved
...........

it’s like,
I ride songs into sweet
remembers
of my daddy
of my friends
of my sister, and my twin

I float in a star-strewn nebula,
a compostella, each star
a different scene and cast,
each a member of my asterism of
memories
each and all beloved
clear as the ringing of a bell
flooding my eyes with tears
of sorrow and joy and laughter

I ride music like
a flying carpet lifts on the magical,
gently carrying my heart
into the beauty and sorrow and laughter
of Love lost and
Love found


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

Some people say fools is a Rush-Inn
I haven't got a clue,
in between  Sunday's river
and Monday's blue
the place called
A rose in the moon
or maybe., A moth in the mirror
perhaps a firefly in bloom.
Love ain't easy
though occasionally,
awkwardly acute.