My Poetic Path

My journey…shared in poems, prose and photos.


4 Comments

Revisiting…Fading Memories

It’s a cool, dreary Thanksgiving Day, here on Vancouver Island.

This poem and photo came to mind this afternoon, again and again.

Thinking of all those struggling with these heartbreaking issues. Sending hugs. ❤

Your efforts ARE appreciated.

I know….because my mom so poignantly told me that, when I needed to hear it most, many years ago. 

My Poetic Path

She sits in the diner, far from home.
Lunch rush over.
Blessed quiet restored.
It’s Tuesday, “her day”.
A crosstown bus ride, now a secret and special delight.
Away from the caring but claustrophobic family.
Still time to look back on happier days.
Trying to hold on to precious, fading memories.
 
The hours to savor, often still hopeful and good.
But too many others, a haze of uncertainty and doubt.
For now…
She will cautiously guard her fragile independence.
If only for a while longer.
Keeping them guessing.
Or so she hopes.
 
Where did the time go?
When did the children grow up to rise above her?
Knowing “what’s best”.
The mother becoming the child.
The child becoming the mother.
Trying to do their best..
Of that one thing, she is sure.
 
She grasps fervently and desperately to the time left.
To revel in these sacred moments alone.
Savoring her own thoughts.
Not willing to give…

View original post 201 more words


6 Comments

The Homecoming ( a short story, encore post)

Hot, stifling air. A far-reaching, almost eerie silence. The sky: brilliantly blue, generously dotted with billowy “mashed potato” clouds.Replicas and visions from younger, happier days.

All of these had remained, helping to sustain him through the long, lost days. He had known only to well, the many faces of hunger and thirst. The nights, hardest of all to bear.

He stood slightly stooped; his back to the sun. Sweat clinging the coarse denim shirt against his gaunt, slender frame. In spite of the relentless heat he felt a chill, deep inside. Cold to the bone. No clothing or blanket would warm that space; his needy soul and tattered heart.

The long, gold and maroon train, once again picking up speed. He watched its departure with mixed emotions. Waving a farewell to no one in particular. Passengers peering out of the now dusty windows; grateful to be moving again. Leaving behind the flat, unforgiving Prairies as the Transcontinental continued on its regular run, due West.

Faded brown-striped grip in one hand, the heirloom 12 string in the other. The latter, his only treasured possession. Handmade so many years ago. Lovingly polished and preserved. Miraculously unscathed in spite of life’s bumps along the way.

Too many miles; too many alone. Late nights and bar fights. Cheap booze, poker games and words gone awry. County jails and letters,never mailed.

Familiarity: once shunned, often despised, now craved. The old room. The same old stories. How they would make for a welcome, much-overdue change.

He trudged the last five, long miles along the well-worn path. Almost as worn as his one pair of shoes.

There would be shade trees so high and cool clear water, back on the farm. The now “old” dog announcing his arrival, long before he would tap on the frame of the carved screen door.  A warm welcome; wan smile? Her older but still beautiful face to greet him and hold him close? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Only to rest awhile. Not to look over his shoulder or “watch his back”. To slowly unclench his rough calloused hands. To sleep as if a young boy again, under the sun-dried handmade quilt, laid upon his single bed.

The green grass and greener pastures still to be found. But not now. Not for a while.

Coming home….

His bronze face relaxed. Looking up, he breathed deeply. The rays of sun reflecting a smile.

***

“The Homecoming” © 2008 Geraldine Helen Hartman. Revised 2015. 

PS: I wrote and first posted this story back in 2008.It came to mind the other night, when I was watching a movie about another homecoming. As I have many new readers here at My Poetic Path, I thought it was worthy of an encore. 😉 I hope you enjoy it.

Link to original post with readers’ comments

Photo courtesy of Flickr

 (Note: use of this photo was allowed when I downloaded it in 2008, but has since been disabled.  My thanks to the photographer for an excellent image that I think complemented this story so well. 


10 Comments

Vanished!

After seeing a beautiful little girl sitting alone in a store doorway yesterday, while her parents (I’m assuming they were her parents) were sitting a long distance away, having lunch and not even watching her closely ; I felt compelled to reblog this poem/post.

So many of these tragedies may never have happened, if parents/guardians had been more diligent and careful.

Seeing things like this bothers me so much….

Beware, the danger and the predators.

My Poetic Path

Gone in the blink of an eye.

The empty swing, still swaying in the afternoon breeze.

Leaving only questions and despair.

As life fades to black.

 

Beware, the predators.

Waiting, seeking their innocent prey.

Silent, evil power.

Shrouded in the persona of non-descript and ordinary.

Seamlessly blending with the mundane of:

“just another day”.

 

A young life, cut short.

Precious sons and daughters.

Never to be replaced.

 

Toy soldier, standing guard.

Dolls, sitting on a shelf.

A film of dust, softens the lifeless features.

Untouchable.

Constant reminders of unbearable loss.

 

Gone in 60 seconds.

As if a wisp of smoke.

Another troubled soul.

Rises up to join the sky.

 

Be wary, be diligent, be ever on guard.

Code-Amber.

May this loss.

Never be yours.

 

“Vanished” © 2008 Geraldine H. Hartman

Photo courtesy of Flickr

View original post


8 Comments

Happy Mom’s Day and a Poem for Mine

mom

Helen Ruth Hartman

♥♥♥

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there.🙂

And a big hug to everyone who is missing their mom today, as I am. 

The poem below is one I wrote for her a few years ago.

Sending hugs and kisses to you, mom. 

You are always in my thoughts and  in my ♥ .

♥♥♥

Blue Butterfly.

Finally free to fly again.
Up above.
Far from the troubles and sadness.
This world had been for too long.

You are with me…
Day by day.
Tangible.
Your presence stronger than ever.
Your touch, always within reach.

As you flit among the flowers and the trees.
Sharing your beauty.
A miracle of grace and rebirth.
No longer sadness, only joy and release.

As the spring becomes the summer.
May you bask in the warmth you loved so much.
Skim the lake, savor the scents, seeing clearly.
And being all that you were, once again.

Up in the blue, blue skies.
And in my heart.
Forever and unchanged.
Blue butterfly.
You shall remain.

***

Dedicated to my mother:
Helen Ruth Hartman, who passed on in May 2007.

‘Blue Butterfly’-poem © Geraldine H. Hartman 2008


13 Comments

Light a Candle, Say a Prayer, Make a Wish…

candles

How well I remember this lovely ritual from my childhood; visiting our small, neighbourhood church.

Now, I send out this wish to my blog friends:

That you will find the true wonder and magic of this beautiful season.

And may all your wishes for the new year come true.

***

PS: I am taking a short blog break.

Will be around to visit at your blogs and then, see you next year! 😉

Photo courtesy of: Flickr


13 Comments

It’s Not All Ho Ho Ho and Good Cheer

loneliness

Christmas:

A magical time for many people.

But for so many others.

It’s not about the ho ho ho and good cheer.

The holidays bring to mind the good times and memories, from years past.

But often, these are tinged by the sadness of loss and longing.

To relive the days of laughter and fun.

With family and friends close by.

Basking in the warmth that can only come from within.

It’s about the homeless and hungry.

The neighbour, struggling with their first year of being alone without a beloved spouse.

The disabled, in all the forms that constant burden can take.

Someone spending their holidays in bedside prayer.

Those who have lost hope, for whatever reason.

The unseen scars, not apparent at first glance.

Bottled up frustrations, fears and disappointments.

The wasted years, the regrets and wrong turns.

The things that won’t be changed, now.

The eyes speak volumes.

They can often tell us so much more than a smile on someone’s face.

Not a smile from the heart.

But there because it’s required and expected.

To “suck it up”.

To be strong.

To just, carry on.

But the pain is no less real.

So much need.

Give a hug, say a kind word, smile at a stranger.

Find a way to really help, this year.

To make a miracle happen.

For someone who needs one.

And who may have given up, on believing.

It might be small.

It might not be recognized or tallied, by some organization’s:

stats, quotas or newspaper photos.

But it will be tallied, all the same.

***

Photo courtesy of Flickr