Single red tulip
nods its lonely head
in a light Spring breeze,
satin petals flaring open
in a last show of beauty.


Eileen Auger

5/6/14

I sit on my back stoop,
alone in the moonless dark
lit only by a window glowing
in my neighbor's new spa room.
Spikey tropical plants.
backlit by warm yellow light
are all I can see
from my vantage point
only yards away.
But my imagination runs
to visions of two lovers
delighting in their newest acquisition,
bathing in clouds
of fragrant steam,
a couple still together.
They have each other,
while I sit alone,
me minus you.

Eileen Auger
4/4/2010

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

The Self That Used to Be

It is entirely possible
that no one will ever know
no one will ever see
the self I used to be
a long time ago,
the self that is still me
but hidden for now.
That flirty eye-twinkle
and teasing laugh
lie tucked away
like a piece of fine jewelry
in its velvet lined box
waiting silently
to shine on the next
suitable occasion
which may never come.

Eileen Auger
9/13/09

The years of memories
pile up like cord-wood
stacked randomly,
a Jenga game of blocks
balanced  precariously,
verging on toppling
when a piece near the bottom
is removed too carelessly.


Memories must dwell in the past,
forever in the life of the mind.
They cannot be pulled out,
touched and held,
nor lived over and over again,
except perhaps in dreams.

Eileen Auger
3/22/14

My dear Candy Crush
You are such a shameless tease
Stringing me along.

Eileen Auger
4/28/14

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

Unwanted items
turn into yard sale treasures
for somebody else.

The thrill of the hunt
Faded away long ago.
For me, less is more.

There's nothing I need.
Just one thing I really want--
but can never have.


E. Auger

5/12/14

Candy Crush, you *****!
Why do I play your dumb game?
It's a love/hate thing.

Eileen Auger
2014

Piteous cries long ago ceased
Achieving anything save
Turned-away heads, selectively
Hearing-impaired,
Exasperated with repetitious litany
Tuneless and tiresome
Irate when counsel is spurned,
Casually abandoning a lost cause.

Eileen Auger
2/19/2010

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

The bones of my resolve

crumble porously,

muscles slackened

by stealthy Spirit-Flu

creeping into my psyche

when my guard is down,

leaving behind only

a molten mass

feverish and limp,

juicy veins squeezed

dry of life-force..

Sleep's finger-crook

beckons temptingly

offering blessed escape

temporary at best

from sickness of the soul.



Eileen Auger

March 21, 2008

Inside Out

If I could turn myself
inside out
this gut-full of fire
would engulf my world
in flaming destruction.

Frigid blood in my veins
inexplicably sustaining life,
would flood the landscape,
ushering in a new Ice Age.

This brain-heart-soul,
a jumble of emotions,
would be opened wide,
releasing an explosion of chaos.

Eileen Auger
2006

SHRINKING WOMAN

I shrink daily,
folding into
a package
too compact
to contain anything.
I'm becoming
smaller
and emptier
with the passage of time.
Soon, I'll be
invisible
even to myself.

Eileen Auger

Fingernails bleed,
worn ragged
with gripping
the lip of the abyss.

Clawing its crumbling edge
struggling to see light above,
she won't look down
at the blackness below.

Arms and fingers burn
with the strain of holding on,
the spark of light flickers
ominously.

And she wonders,
will she sink like a stone
or float like a feather
to the bottom?

E Auger

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

When I wake to a new day
after a long sleep filled with pleasant dreams...

When I feel the sun's yellow warmth
bathing my face in the morning quietness ....

When a light Spring breeze
ruffles gently through my hair...

When a Cardinal flits into its nearby nest
or an iridescent dragonfly alights nearby....

When I read an evocative poem
that speaks to my heart...

When a brief glance at a photograph
vividly brings back the past...

When I wait for sleep to come
and a memory brings a smile...

When this or that or anything occurs
from dawn until night falls,
I hear my mind speaking silently to him
saying "Hello, I love you" .

Eileen Auger
April 19, 2014

"Find your passion,"
they say,
"and go for it!"
(As if it were that simple).
Who are these
congenital optimists
dispensing advice
as if from God's lips
to our ears?
Why do they not understand
that for those who think
too much for their own good,
who wonder "what's it all about?",
"passion" is a word spoken
in some foreign language?
In the end, their advice
leaves some of us
feeling hopelessly deficient.

Eileen Auger
3/3/11

This little dance
we all perform each day,
sometimes light-footed
and joyful
other times stumbling,
(unfamiliar with
that particular rhythm or beat),
This dance, it seems to me,
is not really a dance at all.

If we are honest,
these shuffling steps
or kicking up of heels,
(even shaking our *****
from time to time
if the mood is right)--
This dance of Life
is metaphor for
darkness and light,
yin and yang,
The constant struggle to ignore
Peggy Lee's old refrain,
"Is that all there is?"

Eileen Auger
2/28/2014

Down again.
AGAIN.
A nibbling around the edges down-ness,
not a full-blown sorrowing
with a reason to be.

It is my spoiled-brat "down"
come home again to roost.
But really more like a blanket
trying to suffocate me oh so quietly.

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

Open and Shut

There are those of us
in the human community
walking around enclosed
in self-constructed shells,
shielding themselves
from random stones flung
or darts purposely aimed to hurt.

Taking no chances,
even their soft underbellies
wear secure armor
against any possible onslaught.
Nothing comes in,
nothing goes out.

Others walking among us
are tender as children
still full of innocent trust
like delicate blossoms fully opened,
redolent with sweet nectar
destined for honey,
and seedpods freely given up
on gentle Spring breezes
carrying away bits of future beauty
to distant fields of wildflowers,
blissfully ignorant
of  tomorrow's killing frost.
Everything comes in,
everything goes out.

Eileen Auger
2007 or thereabouts

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

No one ever knows
What lies behind secret smiles
Masking inner pain.

E. Auger
9/8/14

Dreams never create themselves
out of thin air.
A chance meeting-
A flicker of memory-
A worry beneath our consciousness-
Anything at all in waking hours
can trigger a dream-scape
which (more often than not)
becomes a weird collage of images,
a bizarre story line
seemingly making perfect sense
when lost in the odd land of dreams.

Only in dreams, one might say
"Everything happens for a reason".
In the unconsciousness of sleep,
the brain retrieves bits and bytes
from its vast databank
of memory and experience,
past and present,
mixing it up into a strangely logical soup.

In the wakefulness
of "real life"
Nothing really happens
"for a reason".
The Universe is
yawningly indifferent
to our personal affairs,
leaving us to our own devices.


We are masters of our fates
only to a certain extent,
until random events change our course.
We call it sweet serendipity
when things go as planned.
But when things go awry
(as they often will)
we  comfort ourselves
with that old saw
"Everything happens for a reason",
in vain attempts to explain
the inexplicable,
to create meaning where none exists.
I am not buying that sentiment.

Eileen Auger
5/6/14

There is too much
hardness in this life
too many knife-straight
utilitarian edges
offering  too little
pleasure for the eye
and no comfort for the soul

Here and there
a bit of curviness
helps with balance
--***** of chair back
pleat of drapery
a table that won't
bruise your hip
as you stumble
around in the dark.
Not much but
better than nothing.

The poet, the painter
and makers of music
have a better handle
on soft creations
that wrap themselves
around you like
wooly comforters
or crack your heart
wide open with beauty
like being impaled by
shards of broken glass.

Eileen Auger
12/30/06

We may be all specks
In this big old Universe
But we all matter.


Eileen Auger

6/8/14

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

Buttery sun pours down
generous early Spring warmth
A consolation prize
for enduring last Winter's blast.

Behind closed eyes
my ears attune to
distant hiss and rumble of traffic
and small birds exchanging tweets.

Soft breeze pats my face gently
with its kitten paws
carrying scents of mulch
and hints of scattered blossoms.

I see.
I hear.
I feel.
Life is good.


Eileen Auger

4/28/14

Honored Guest

Things are winding down
at this gathering
of family and dear friends.
New Age music softens,
subtle hints telegraph
in hushed tones to stragglers
that it's long past 8 o'clock,
time to think about dispersing.
There's always tomorrow,
after all.

My mother and I rise to leave,
turning to say our goodbyes,
and in a flash she's disappeared
into the maze of rooms
that seem to lead somewhere new
but leave you surprised
to find yourself
right back where you started.

I wander about for a bit,
peeking around doorways,
checking the main entrance
to see if she's waiting outdoors,
when I bump into a daughter
of the Honored Guest
who sees me glancing about
with a puzzled look.

By way of explanation
(unmindful of my choice of words
until they've escaped my lips)
I blurt: "I've lost my mother!"
Instantly I wish
I could stuff them back inside my head
where they belong,
under the circumstances.

For of course, sadly
The Guest of Honor
lies in surreal repose
only a few steps away,
surrounded by opulent bouquets
whose beauty and mingled scents
cannot mask the brutal fact
that another Mother
is forever lost to her children.

Eileen Auger
10/10/08

GOOD FRIDAY

Decades ago
I lost something on Good Friday,
Although "lost" seems an odd word
for something I gave away willingly.

Something that opened up
a world of new experiences,
new emotions never before felt
and an ocean of pleasure
my innocent self didn't know existed.

My partner in that gift exchange
has been long relegated to my distant past,
a past I have no wish to revisit.

Yet the part of my self-ness  that awakened
on that Good Friday long ago
remains a beautiful thing,
Nurtured here and there by others,
especially the one most precious to my heart,
who made my body sing like no other!
He left this world too soon
but will always remain a dear memory,
the one to whom I wish
I had imparted that first gift.

Eileen Auger
4/19/14

Do you ever look around
at the world you inhabit today,
as if waking from a dream world,
wondering how you arrived
at this particular place and time?

Have you ever gazed at
the person sleeping beside you,
so familiar and loved,
suddenly seeing a stranger
you don't really know?

Have you ever tried
to see deep inside the shell
of skin and bones
that is your physical self,
and wondered  Who am I?

Eileen Auger
5/28/14

Stepping outside
my dark cave of thought
I enter the "real world",
senses jolted
like walking out of
the imaginary world
of a darkened theater
into  blinding sunlight.

The sun's enveloping heat,
Woodpecker's rat-a-tat
search for insects
on a nearby tree,
twittering songbirds
flitting  across clear skies,
purple Iris' lacy edges
beginning to turn brown,
newly budded tree branches
waving in the wind,
grass clippings
giving off their sweet scent,

And in the near distance,
sounds of other humans
going about their
daily business of living,
overlaying Nature's sounds.

A little bit of guilt
stirs beneath the surface,
chiding me gently
for the waste of a day
which others call Reality.

And I wonder,
Is my private little cave
of creativity
any less real?

Eileen Auger
5/12/14

Here is my advice
to the young,
who are (understandably)
blissfully unaware
of anything beyond
the present and the near future
in their own little world
which revolves around them.

Do whatever makes you happy
as long as you don't bring harm
to anyone else or yourself.
Question authority and everyone
who tries to tell you
how you should live.

Learn to think for yourself,
closely observing
the world around you
and the way it works,
then make up your own mind
about "how things should be."

Pay attention to your elders
who may have some wisdom to impart
from their own youthful experience.
Read and listen carefully
to what others tell you is "right".
Then ask yourself
"what is their motivation?
Where did their beliefs originate?
Would I want every person in the world
to follow that advice"?

Take in all the information
and knowledge of the world
which flows into your eyes and ears,
contrasting and comparing
differing viewpoints and belief systems.
Then throw into the mix of ideas
whatever your gut tells you
is good and true for the person
you hope to become.

Treasure the things
that you now take for granted.
For only as you grow older
will you understand
how precious are your gifts
as a human being.
You can run marathons, jump hurdles,
dance all night, stay up until dawn
cramming for exams
and barely miss a beat the next day.

If you are lucky enough to be healthy
Your body does what you expect of it,
without your even noticing
how well and easily it performs.
Appreciate that blessing.
One day that easy movement of your body
will have weakened and changed,
along with your smooth, peachy skin
and firm  muscles,
which your young self has no doubt will always
obey your unconscious commands
swiftly and strongly.

The elderly take delight
in your youthful exuberance,
you know,
smiling as you go about
your everyday pursuits,
as they watch you taking great gulps
out of life with joyful abandon!

There is no envy, only perhaps
a little bittersweet twinge now and then,
feeling young again themselves
for a little while, remembering how it was.
Forgetting for a few moments
the wrinkles in their faces
and the body that can't do certain things
without some degree of pain.
And then the jolt of reality--
How can that be ME in the mirror,
I still feel like twenty-something!

Remember the beauty of your mind
which can do such amazing things,
carrying you through memories
to other times and places
even when your body can't go there anymore.
Your imagination is a glorious thing,
so use it!

And last, but most important:
Love, love, love!
Love and appreciate your life
and those  dearest to your heart.
Be kind to those around you,
spreading your love
wherever you go.

That is all.


E. Auger
2014

The ritual of scattering
my inevitable ashes
In places long cherished
seems at first glance
an indulgence of whimsy,
wishful thinking that something remains
after lungs draw  breath no more,
blood no longer carries life
ceaselessly throughout this body
no longer  enclosing
the self that once was Me.

What is the point of
such sentimentality?
The spreading of my ashen molecules
seems a foolish enterprise,
mere hopefulness for comfort
in the face of my utter absence.

But then again,  why should I not wish
to blend with the ebb and flow of the sea
or calm waters of a peaceful lake  glittering under sunny skies?
Why would I resist mingling
with rich, dark soil in a garden of glorious flowers?
Why? Why not?
After all, when what is left of me
is nothing more than a bit of ash and bone,
that can become my last gift
to the places of my heart,
a little nourishment in the cycle of Life.

Eileen Auger
4/25/14

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

Poems write themselves
Seemingly out of nowhere
Whenever they choose.

E. Auger 4/28/14

When I need to write
All else becomes background noise
Til my poem's birth.

Today I grant myself
permission
to eat and drink
what I enjoy,
ignoring all the nay-sayers.

I will do nothing all day
if I choose,
Take an afternoon nap
read a book until dawn,
get up at noon if I so desire.

My house can stay messy
for all I care
while I let my mind wander,
amusing itself
in random pursuits.

After all, I'm retired,
I can do what I like,
someone said.
Yes, I can and I will--
No apologies forthcoming.

Eileen Auger
4/29/14

A ring encircles the moon tonight
one day past its fullness.
I don't recall its meaning
in scientific terms.
It only matters
that it is beautiful.

FRIENDS

My longtime friendships
Have sadly dwindled,
disappearing into the ether of memory,
almost as if I fooled myself
that they ever existed,
like characters in a book
who seem real with the turning of the pages
but only in my imagination.

Some friendships  have been severed
unwillingly, gone
into some Great Beyond,
nothing I can do about that.
Others have left me wondering
What have I done,
that they no longer need me in their lives?

Perhaps it was  simply Life happening,
tugging us in different directions,
separated permanently
by time or distance,
whether geographical or emotional.
Whatever the case may be,
I miss them.

Eileen Auger
4/21/2014

It's only midnight

but feels like the wee hours

of a long, draggy, lonely night

with nobody to talk to.

Sometimes solitude

is just being alone.

Sometimes it is

plain lonely.


E. Auger

I'd like to be a fly on the wall
at my own funeral,
listening to what people say about me.
But I'd rather hear them tell me
now, to my face.

In a perverse sort of serendipity
our friendship shaped itself
around our one common bond
when not even our closest allies
wanted to acknowledge
the elephant in the room.

When everyone else
in our little worlds
went on about their business again
you and I granted each other
the right to our indulgences,
a place to put the pain for a time.

Even in our mutual weakness
we mustered the strength
to pull each other
out of the murky depths
to that little pocket of oxygen
which would save us from drowning
at least for this one day.

We understood every nuance
of each others' private torture,
having walked  too many miles
in those same shoes.
No emotion was too intense
no thought too bizarre to be voiced.

And then our friendship
seemed to wane by degrees,
as if it had served its purpose
as if we never had much in common
except that one awful truth
informing our lives for a while.

I see us drifting apart, my friend
now as our grief has softened
and we've begun to open our doors
to the world outside that all-consuming pain
which once brought us together
but can no longer be enough.

Eileen Auger
9/27/09

Hello, my darling!
Even if you can't hear me,
I need to say it.

Eileen Auger
5/16/14