"irreversibility" poems
At what point can I call myself a poet?
If I could fully articulate what and how I felt
at the moment when I watched my mother
slowly slip away from me and this world
If I could completely convey the oppressive sense of loss
the helplessness, the hopelessness, the loneliness
the shocking realization of irreversibility, the finality
If my words could make you feel the draining of my soul
the relinquishment of having even an instant in the future
when it seems that all is perfect in my world
If I could construct a phrase that could relate the emptiness
behind the grief that comes with knowing that no longer would
birthdays and holidays be wrapped in her joy and infectious spirit
If my poem could shout out to you the overwhelming regret
that accompanies the inability to hold her, to kiss her, to say I'm sorry
or to tell her just how very much I love her ever again
If I were truly able to do these things
maybe then I could call myself a poet
Happy Mother's Day, Mom
I miss you & I love you!
xxx's & ooo's
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
Oh if I knew then
All That I claim as sin
How would I do a second time?
Would this try be fine?
Nay life is not a mere line
Of irreversibility
Yea life is but a river
Of a fluid givers love
That Steadily flows under
the songs of a Merry dove
As whitecaps wash and passive waves whither
So must all beings tither
to the coming peak
Of life's mysterious creek
And nearing the drop of life
With whitecaps, wind, and sanctity
I'll tell you now all that I know:
Though I know now
that knowing then
Was nearly preposterous, death screams dearly of life's relativity
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
One moment
cancels out another
signifying a loss
something that's past
could never return
the next kiss or embrace
is not the same
each a form
an inscription
a touch-on
like none other
once having emerged
disappears into nowhere
irreversibility is the unchanging theme
of time--
each tide carries
the water forward
leaving the rest behind
a gust of wind
sweeps across
insubstantial, lost
irrecoverable
in empty space
leaving no trace
nothing does
itself repeat
replication
and recurrence
would never be wrought--
ah, my dearest and most-loved
it's the moment now
to which we are together bound
as a word
is said
as our eyes
exchange
a message
as our heart
is locked
in secure passage
we'll not be left in doubt-
as the moanful nocturne
reaches out
and its last notes fade
and sink* away
in the night's whereabout
we will know
for sure
the telling is over
the curtain has fallen
a new chapter
must follow--
if this brittle transiency
you understand
as you hold my hand
it would be bliss enough
as in silence we remain
unfazed, unmoved, unruffled
mindless of what's to come
in the sureness of our faith
that would withstand and defy
any awaiting future outcome--
courage would be ours then
to reign in and reap for keeps
whereupon our long-cherished dream
would have crystallised and bloomed
a bright light would be beckoning from afar
amidst the gloom of the shivering night
we, though weary, would have arrived safely
after the long-tested travail and trial
Via Dolorosa would its farewell have bidden
all that our heart has longed and searched for
would at last have found its unmistakable haven.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
Perhaps the best of me is behind beyond
that point of irreversibility a beacon
of inevitability and it serves as such
I am no longer shiny or shocking or new
a brown paper bag crumpled and creased
milk that sours and curdles a homesick orphan
a lamb on its back and I will always be a child
I will always be a child I will always be a child
Love contorts me I curve and twist
and grow larger and wider
I am a flesh ball a blush balloon
punctured by a mere prick I am sensitive
tuned too tight like my Grandmother’s piano
but it was the first I ever played so no other sounds right
and I tell my first love the same thing
I am entropy the blaze of a sun a deity of delusion
a fickle fig (pick, peel, devour)
I am a tear in your jeans a loose thread a love-sick sack
a daughter (and some days, a mother)
I am tin teeth a blade in your belly a hive in your head
a feeble fawn (a black bull)
I am an amalgamation of deficiency and divinity
coarse and common as coal I am the sun the nether
the shade under the rock I am nothing nothing at all
May 10, 2024
May 10, 2024 at 7:18 PM UTC
Boltzmann's constant rains
To reverse the great brain drain
Inversion must feign
With many atoms
Irreversibility
Hello entropy
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 5:12 AM UTC