John-Chris Ward Jun 2017
Intimate kisses.
Breathless moments
That left me speechless.
Kisses on the wind,
Before I could even close my eyes and purse my lips...
I had missed it.
If only our moment was longer.
If only I knew what I know now, then...
I would've tried harder to kiss the wind.
I shed a tear, I shed a few;
With all my know it all I was still a fool.
Countless kisses on my cheek,
But the last kiss I wished I hadn't missed.
I shed a tear, I shed a few,
But my share of tears are through.
I choose not to be upset about the time that I didn't get,
the time I did get was a gift.
On June 8th my Great Grandmother passed away. I wasn't prepared then to speak on it, and in a conversational sense I still don't think I am, but through poetry I found the words my mouth wasn't yet capable of speaking. This is the beginning of my copping with her passing. Her impact in my life and family is immeasurably and her presence will forever be felt. The queen has arrived. Rest in Peace Lilly Mae
Be sure to give your flowers on this side of the grave,  because every moment is truly precious.
The Agèd Hands of Time have reached yet another
Toll of the bell.

12 years have passed since I’ve last seen her in this life. Distance and sickness in our being had robbed us both of Streams of time which passed like a long cold winter into
Her death. These lost memories often create overexposed
And superimposed photo negatives of imaginary frames
Of time I desperately imprint to hold tightly in my heart
And mind.

But I still hold tightly in memory to her soft voice on the
Phone and pictures of split second frames of physical time     My sister would send me. Many people don’t even have

In this life she loved to mother her three grown children
And flower garden as near as she could to the end. It was
In her nature to nurture her resilient perennial children
And help make the move easier for her annual foster  
Children from a confined existence to a deep soft warm
Bed of comfort.

Stamped on my mind is not the faded and worn
Bruised and torn image of her outward shell in the
Trauma Center at age 88
But the indelible inner and outward image at age 38 --
A lovely young mama who tucked her little boy in bed
Every night with a song and a prayer --
The little boy that is still alive in this man.

The Agèd Hands of Time have reached yet another
Toll of the bell.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker
My poem, The Agèd Hands of Time, posted two days ago, works in concert with this poem which I wrote one year ago today.
  Jun 2017 John-Chris Ward
Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.
  May 2017 John-Chris Ward
Jana Andrea
You were not a mistake,
Even though my heart still aches.
Even though you and I are separated
By an infinite number of stars.
Even though we no longer get to touch,
And everything I feel hurts too much.

You were a choice I made,
You are not a mistake.
May all of you Mothers , be Blessed.
May you all feel Love and Appreciated.
May your hearts be filled with Joy today.
May your week to come be filled the same.
I truly appreciated you all on here  always.
For each of you are truly Special people.
Whom has truly blessed my life here.
You each have touch my heart deeply.
So I just want the mothers to feel blessed.
Their families to be blessed today as well.
May the men here feel blessed as well.
Thank you all, you are all truly Special.
John-Chris Ward May 2017
                                             ­    cccc.....c-c-can't
I, I c-can't..
                   ...I can't...
    Death is in the tongue,
                       And "I can't" is a curse that I refuse to put on myself.
I AM.                      I WILL.                I CAN.    
Every now and then, the world takes a steel toe boot and kicks you right in the rib cage. Lately, I've taken a lot of those kicks one after the other, we've all been there. Those kicks can bruise you, knock the breath out of you, and at worst kill you, if you allow them to. Living isn't easy, but it damn sure isn't impossible. When life gets hard; you get tough. The higher the mountain the lovelier the field. Keep up hope, because a (wo)man with no hope is already dead, and a dead (wo)man can't sow what he reaps.

Hello, Hello Poetry, long time no see.
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