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    Parker Owens
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 18. Cinquains for Sadness

These were written around the time of my mother's death last summer.

Hospital

Fans whir,
IV bags drip,
alarms ring, unanswered;
bustle, chatter in the hallway
leaks in;
good cheer
mixed with medical urgency
observe vital signals;
and through it all,
she sleeps.


In the Night

Just dregs
remain in the
bottom of the bottle,
bitter maroon moments too hard
to drink;
we can't
filter them out or remove them
as time slowly decants
its wine in our
glasses.


At Daybreak

Hollow,
bereft within,
robbed of all emotion
which lubricates and cushions each
new shock;
long past
is the sharp stab, the ragged ache;
now, numbness seeps slowly,
infiltrating
all thought.

 

Reflections

I doubt
my own hurt is
more important than yours,
nor deeper, nor broader, nor more
profound;
it's not
magnitude or significance
that matters, but just mere
proximity
to pain.

 

Although
my hurt is mine,
I share experience
with a family of three billion
others;
who says
my melancholy exceeds theirs,
our burdens unequal?
For we were born
brothers.


Remembering

Echoes
reverberate
in memory's caverns,
scents of baking and raspberries
resound;
apples
picked in late September sunshine,
sparkle like mineshaft gems,
whispering in
the dark.

 

Questions
linger like mist,
unanswered dawn vapors
swirling, ascending, re-forming
as clouds;
broad day
neither evaporates nor clears
these grey conscience heartaches,
but gathers them
for rain.


I learned
to rhyme with thyme,
turn letters into words,
spell 'succinct' and 'Schenectady'
by heart;
I can
make my pronouns and verbs agree,
but cannot figure out
how I might say
goodbye.


Like grain,
disassembled
virtue and kind wisdom,
smiles and idiosyncrasies
undone;
sift these,
and particles of pain and strife
blow away on the breeze,
leaving laughter
and love.


Prayer

Faith in
God the Father
means one can rage against
the creator for almighty
errors;
I can't
call probability bad names,
nor wail at random chance,
and neither looks
like me.

Truly, these were not meant to invite you to pain, but to reflection, remembrance and love.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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There's so much here that resonates with me.  "Bitter maroon moments too hard to drink" is brilliant.  And "Remembering"... those certain smells and tastes that trigger memories of long-ago happy times.  Kudos to you for learning how to spell "Schenectady" without having to look it up.  ;) I always have to spell the name of my town whenever I'm out of the area.  Nicely done, Parker, although I'm sorry for the circumstances under which they were written.  :hug::kiss: 

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Thank you, Val. And I am glad you found things that resonate for you in these. Writing really helped then, and now, too. 

7 minutes ago, Valkyrie said:

There's so much here that resonates with me.  "Bitter maroon moments too hard to drink" is brilliant.  And "Remembering"... those certain smells and tastes that trigger memories of long-ago happy times.  Kudos to you for learning how to spell "Schenectady" without having to look it up.  ;) I always have to spell the name of my town whenever I'm out of the area.  Nicely done, Parker, although I'm sorry for the circumstances under which they were written.  :hug::kiss: 

 

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i was very young when my mother passed away. i wrote back then but not poetry, and i was too hurt, too angry i think .. to write about her.  i have now and it helps. 

 

these are beautiful and honest Parker. thank you for sharing them. 

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2 hours ago, Mikiesboy said:

i was very young when my mother passed away. i wrote back then but not poetry, and i was too hurt, too angry i think .. to write about her.  i have now and it helps. 

 

these are beautiful and honest Parker. thank you for sharing them. 

 

Thank you, tim. Sharing these helped me see things more clearly; to concentrate and distill memory. 

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I've read these a couple of times. They are all so sweet, so sad, so moving, my heart aches right along with yours. "Reflections" especially resonated with me. Recognizing that we are not isolated by our own sense of loss, but that humans across the globe experience similar heartaches every day, brings some reassurance in our ability to heal. Beautifully done, Parker.

Edited by MacGreg
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They are all very touching and emotional. As I mentioned earlier, I really like the 'chaff' poem. I have used this analogy in my writings before, but never with this much clarity and simplicity. You really hit it out of the ballpark with this one. 

 

Thank you for posting these, my friend. :hug:

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In the night I found the most raw. The hollow numbness of At daybreak immediately takes me back to when I heard of my mum's death. Remembering is beautiful - those random things that come to your mind associated with your loss. All of these are wonderful, profound, poignant, and I'm glad writing them gave you comfort.  :)

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too many thoughts come rushing at me to pick out the ones that would convey all my thoughts and memories that rushed at me. all hit me as raw and true in my own life, although not of my mother (she was too toxic of a person to leave me with nice memories) but to other loved people in my life. some of myself (the 1st one form the viewpoint of the being in the bed) to bring me to the memory pearls i have today. thank you for the journey on a Saturday night,  Parker. masterfully done. 

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7 hours ago, MacGreg said:

I've read these a couple of times. They are all so sweet, so sad, so moving, my heart aches right along with yours. "Reflections" especially resonated with me. Recognizing that we are not isolated by our own sense of loss, but that humans across the globe experience similar heartaches every day, brings some reassurance in our ability to heal. Beautifully done, Parker.

 

Thank you, Mac. I’m really glad you liked reflections. Uttering these words aloud, and them setting them to paper helped the hurt dissipate, some. And your words are very kind, and generous. Thank you. 

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6 hours ago, AC Benus said:

They are all very touching and emotional. As I mentioned earlier, I really like the 'chaff' poem. I have used this analogy in my writings before, but never with this much clarity and simplicity. You really hit it out of the ballpark with this one. 

 

Thank you for posting these, my friend. :hug:

 

Thank you, dear friend. Your encouragement has made a world of difference. 

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6 hours ago, northie said:

In the night I found the most raw. The hollow numbness of At daybreak immediately takes me back to when I heard of my mum's death. Remembering is beautiful - those random things that come to your mind associated with your loss. All of these are wonderful, profound, poignant, and I'm glad writing them gave you comfort.  :)

 

Structured poetry distracted my mind just enough to make experience bearable. And later, made it possible to distill bits and pieces of memory’s mosaic into a new sort of picture. I am glad you connected with some of these. Thank you for reading them. 

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1 hour ago, mogwhy said:

too many thoughts come rushing at me to pick out the ones that would convey all my thoughts and memories that rushed at me. all hit me as raw and true in my own life, although not of my mother (she was too toxic of a person to leave me with nice memories) but to other loved people in my life. some of myself (the 1st one form the viewpoint of the being in the bed) to bring me to the memory pearls i have today. thank you for the journey on a Saturday night,  Parker. masterfully done. 

 

If we can share such a journey, perhaps its burdens become easier to bear. If any of this hurt you, I grieve. Perhaps these will become like poetic strands of memory, much like those you referred to. Thank you so much for reading these. 

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16 minutes ago, Parker Owens said:

If we can share such a journey, perhaps its burdens become easier to bear. If any of this hurt you, I grieve. Perhaps these will become like poetic strands of memory, much like those you referred to. Thank you so much for reading these. 

time and sharing turn irritating shards of sand into pearls of memories. time doesn't heal all wounds, but the distance makes it bearable to look at. i always keep the thought: "if we never know pain, how will we recognize the joys that come" close to my heart.

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I've been on this journey, like so many of us have, and these poetic observations of yours brought mine forth. I agree with Val about the line she quoted, and Remembering is astounding. Without a doubt, some of your best writing... you pulled at every emotion I have, but they never interfered with the beauty and clarity of your words. I will return to these again, my friend. :worship:   

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On 2/3/2018 at 10:03 PM, Headstall said:

I've been on this journey, like so many of us have, and these poetic observations of yours brought mine forth. I agree with Val about the line she quoted, and Remembering is astounding. Without a doubt, some of your best writing... you pulled at every emotion I have, but they never interfered with the beauty and clarity of your words. I will return to these again, my friend. :worship:   

 

Thank you so much Gary, for your kind words, and for your patience. I have fallen victim to the flu, and so much has simply gotten away from me. These poems were written over a stretch of very difficult weeks. One can put them in better perspective now. Even so, certain smells or flavors will forever be evocative. Again, my deep thanks. 

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On 2/4/2018 at 10:04 PM, Defiance19 said:

These are beautiful, emotional, in a good and helpful way.. 

Thank you Parker.. 

 

I am sorry to have been so slow in responding. The flu will do that. Thank you for your kind words about these. They really helped me in those weeks when they were written. 

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