Category: poetry

On January 23, 2018, I lost my great aunt Lois. The very next day, on January 24, 2018, I lost a former coworker and friend named Phil.

I’ve heard comedians joke about the use of the word “lost” to talk about people who have died. It’s not like they’re missing and we can’t find them, so why do we use that word? Maybe it has nothing to do with them and everything to do with how WE feel.  We feel like we’ve lost something, someone. They are not in fact lost (one hopes). No matter what you believe happens after, the feeling of loss when someone you care about dies is universal. I feel privileged to have had both of these special people in my life.

Those with the largest capacity for light
Can suffer the darkness inside twice as bright.

We see each other through me-colored glass
And wonder why days like this come to pass.

One would think us connected, with Face glued to Book.
One tremor. One candle flicker. The whole world — It shook.

Then came the “Hellos” and the “So good to see yous,”
The “I can’t believe its,” and (of course) lots of booze.

Together, we reach out to the stars and shout, “Why?!”
They twinkle and whisper, “We love you. Goodbye.”

(Originally published 1/31/18 on https://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com)

I turn on the computer
Enter my secret passwords
And there you are.

Oh my Facebook friend,
Retweeter,
And Instagram lover.

He “likes” me.
He “likes” me, not.
I think I am in #Like with him.
I hope our Like will last forever.

Then he moves on to Snapchat.
Without me.
Unfriend.

(Originally published 08/12/15 on http://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com/)

A heart of glass within a wall of stone;
I offer the sledge hammer freely.
Deconstruction.
Each stone is regrown from my tears.
12/02/09

So many thoughts, so little time.
But are they worth writing down?
By the time I pick up a pen, they are barely a memory.

Feelings are fleeting, changing like ocean waves.
To write them is futile.

Ideas are nice, but are any of mine original?
I don’t believe in beliefs today.
2/14/11

A hopeless romantic,
I fall in love each day.
Alas, I am left heartsick…
and drink the pain away.
2/5/11

Don’t throw out that worn welcome mat.
It remembers the feet of those who have sat
at your garden bench or dinner table,
helping you when you were not able.
For friends have come and friends have gone
and that path worn thin recalls their song.

9/1/07

We prefer pseudonyms to reality
Relating to people by way of T.V.
Flashback to my favorite episode,
But no one else has seen it, so I guess I’m on my own.

Out of words, we just use someone else’s.
Vicarious love and hate till we’re senseless.
Think for ourselves has become so cliché.
Carbon-copies, unrealized potential-Empty vessels made of clay.

(This was originally published 12/03/09 on http://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com/)

–Written by Leann Moore