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sunshine Jan 19
every year i spend the week leading up until today thinking 
thinking about this day 
it finally comes
each year it starts to feel a bit easier
until i hear laughter and warmth of innocent people singing happy birthday
restaurants are bait for birthday parties 
while everyone else smiles, i hold back tears
i can’t hold it against them 
i know you would want me to smile too
but still it’s hard 

i miss you every day of every week of every month of every year
that never changes 
the emptiness never changes 

but every year, i know you are wishing me the best from above
 every year i know you are proud of me and how far i’ve come
every year i get a little stronger 

every year on march 1st i mourn a best friend 
every year i mourn a beautiful person
every year i mourn my sunshine 
but every year gets a little brighter 

breathe easy
year i miss you more
every year i realize that things may not be the same but things are okay

Amanda Hawk Nov 2020
May 2013
Memorial day weekend
It was warm with promises of sun
Beautiful blue skies
And no cloud in sight
Seattle prepared for crowds
People swarming the Center
For folk music, food
Laughter and smiles shining bright

My leg, a bright red
I woke up
Burning hot with red seeping up my leg
Pain swarmed my back
Tears gathering
In corners of my eyes
As I was admitted
To the emergency room
Greeted with morphine, leaving me in a haze

*** induced haze
Lingering around the fountain
Families occupied the edge
Children running in and out
Collecting droplets of water
Along with sunburns
While groups of friends
Gathering in drum circles
Slow rhythmic thumping could be heard for miles

My son’s heartbeat
Thumped in my ears
I watched the fear
As he focused on the antibiotic drips
Invading my body
The days in clipped moments
Passing in and out
With each wave of fever
And the doctors
Tattooed my leg with sharpie

Artwork was only one thing
Found in the vendor alley
People flooded the booths
Snatching up
Brightly colored creations
As they headed to find
Dance troupes, bollywood
Inspired activities
With stomping feet, swaying arms

They placed the central line
Into my right arm
My body had clogged each IV
the doctors warned me
If the redness started
To show patterns of serrating
Then they would have to take my leg
Diazepam had me slurring out
I am fine, I am fine

Memorial Day
A time of remembrance
Services to be held
Events to commemorate
All the fallen
From a concert at Museum of Flight
To baseball game with Seattle Mariners
To appreciate, appreciate

It took ten days
For me to be released
May 2013, Memorial Day weekend
I would always remember
As the beginning
Of my growing struggle
With gradual loss of mobility

I am fine, I am fine
Kenneth Gray Oct 2020
I know you always wanted to be a fairy. To sprout wings and fly away. Makes sense, because you were always beautiful and lovely.

I miss you and think about you every day. I wish that you weren't gone. I wish that you were here to stay.

Blessed with a heart of gold. So soft, caring. The extent of your unending love was untold. The world lost a wondrous soul. Without you the world has grown cold.

At long last you've gotten your wish.
You've gained your wings and are now free. No more pain, fear or heartache.
At long last you have no more anxiety.

Now in Gods kingdom, with your new found flight you can fly free. With joy in your heart you can finally enjoy the person you were meant to be. Even in sorrow, that idea causes me to be full of glee. Maybe in my sorrow that idea is the idea that I really need. To be at piece. Knowing you are free.

With sprouted wings.
I wrote this because my sister requested I write something in memory of our mom that passed away. She knows I write alot and I hadn't written anything about her yet.  I guess she wanted to see what I would come up. I really think she wanted to write one, but she doesn't think she can write good. So she asked me to instead. I think it hit the mark because she cried when she read it. Our mom passed away in May 2020. God rest her soul.
Randy Johnson Oct 2020
Saint Agnes is what my mother should be called.
When she died, I was both saddened and appalled.
I admire women homemakers more than women who work because Mom was a homemaker.
I was devastated on March the 6th of 2013 because my poor mother needed an undertaker.

Mom wasn't actually a saint but she was as close as a person could get.
You would've been very happy and fortunate if you and Mom had met.
She was a wonderful mother and that's something I'm proud to confess.
She was one in a million and she should be called Saint Agnes.
Michael R Burch Oct 2020
Dearly Beloved
by Michael R. Burch

for Suzan Blacksmith

She was

Dearly Beloved by her children, who gather
to pay their respects; they remember her
as they clung together through frightful weather,
always learning that Love can persevere ...

She was

Dearly Beloved by family and friends
who saw her great worth, even as she grew frail;
for they saw with Love’s eyes how Love’s vision transcends,
how her heart never faltered, through cyclones and hail ...

She is

Dearly Beloved, well-loved, sadly missed ...
and, while we mourn the lost days of a life too-soon ended,
we also rejoice that her suffering is past ...
she now lives in the Light, by kind Angels befriended.

And if

others were greater in fortune and fame,
and if some had iron wills when life’s pathways grew dark ...
still, since Love’s the great goal, we now reaffirm her claim
to the highest of honors: a mother’s Heart.

Keywords/Tags: Suzan Blacksmith, elegy, eulogy, epitaph, memorial, tribute, remembrance, farewell, goodbye, last respects
monique ezeh Sep 2020
thinking about how cops are beating protestors senseless not even 20 minutes from where i live.
thinking about how they block off the streets and stand unmasked, batons in hand, other hand resting pointedly on their gun.
thinking about how it could be me next— another unspecified black face and black body and black existence snuffed out— a hashtag, a mural.
          (and those are the lucky ones.)
thinking about how a memorial is the best case scenario for a black life.
thinking about the bodies in the street.
thinking about blood splattering the ground, mixing with paint and obscuring the “black lives matter” lettering on the road.
thinking about the chalk art and loud music in a neighborhood soon-to-be-gentrified.
thinking about how we’ve grown used to the stench of rotting flesh outside our doors.
thinking about the taste of blood in my mouth from my nearly-severed tongue i didn’t realize i was biting.
thinking about the tension in my neck and jaw.
thinking about the way my eyes never seem to close.
thinking about the eyes that will never again open.
thinking thinking thinking.
A house made of screams and fear .
Hedge in by the high brick walls.
A place whose all loved one disappeared
And darkness masked fear crawl.

Here every room has a story
In which each is a character.
But time and world has taken his glory
And called it a sinister.

This ghost house is similar to many of us
Engulfed by our own darkness.
Stiff but eaten by the rust .
All these make feel starkness

As of this house , THE GHOST HOUSE
To the lost ones who are not yet lost
Betty Aug 2020
Is a carved headstone
A marker meant for the dead
Or for the living?
Still feeling sad.
Randy Johnson May 2020
Today is May the 25th and it's Memorial Day.
We're paying tribute to those who fought and died for the USA.
Many brave soldiers gave their lives.
We're paying tribute to the ones who didn't survive.
Many brave soldiers have fought and died.
They were heroes and that can't be denied.
Dedicated to the soldiers who fought and died for the USA.
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