~ when love precipitates, selfishness evaporates ~




© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

She was teacups made of China
and sunny spring afternoons.

She was soup
on the stove
when it was raining and grey
outside.

She was the gentle touch
of a birds feather
landing on my nose.

She was comfort in its essence,
and I hope to never lose her.

I am sorry for leaving,
your gentle touch was
hurting me, and your
gaze ate at my heart

Aflutter
by Michael R. Burch

"This rainbow is the token of the covenant, which I have established between me and all flesh."—Yahweh

You are gentle now, and in your failing hour
how like the child you were, you seem again,
and smile as sadly as the girl
                                                    (age ten?)
who held the sparrow with the mangled wing
close to her heart.
                               It marveled at your power
but would not mend.
                                      And so the world renews
old vows it seemed to make: false promises
spring whispers, as if nothing perishes
that does not resurrect to wilder hues
like rainbows’ eerie pacts we apprehend
but cannot fail to keep.
                                         Now in your eyes
I see the end of life that only dies
and does not care for bright, translucent lies.
Are tears so precious? These few, let us spend
together, as before, then lay to rest
these sparrows’ hearts aflutter at each breast.

Published by The Lyric, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse

NOTE: This is a poem about a couple committing suicide together. The “eerie pact” refers to a bible verse about the rainbow being a “covenant,” when the only covenant human beings can depend on is the original one that condemned us to suffer and die. That covenant is always kept perfectly. Keywords/Tags: Gentle, heart, flutter, aflutter, death, dying, suicide, euthanasia, pact, tears, hospice, hemlock, arsenic, rest in peace

I always wished
that my hands could be as gentle
as the ones I watched around me.

Elegant and musical,
the hands of those I spent time with
seemed to glide over whatever
they touched.
They were never aggressive
never snatching.

They wanted nothing,
only plucked flowers gracefully
and lifted glasses of lemonade.

They never had to hold fast
to anything
never worried about
the precious things
being taken from them.

My hands have always been
rough and calloused
prepared to lash out
to preserve me and my life.
They are fighting hands,
grabbing hands,
loving hands.

They are made to last
to persevere.

My hands have been exactly what
I needed them to be
my wistful wishes of gentleness
were just that:
wishes of someone who wanted
something different for herself.

But my hands have aided me
like none other,
and I would not exchange them
or change them for anything.