BARBARA JEAN

 Sometimes at the edge of the pasture

under the eaves of trees, the soft

greens of spring slide through my eyes

and paint the curves and shadows of

you to float like the bare-bottomed moon

settling softly into the grass out there

where the sky is sliced from the earth

as clean as if by a surgeon’s scalpel.

Reviews

[DIVYA]

When we lose someone precious, they return to us in such a myriad of heartbreakingly beautiful things. Dear Vol, reading this stunning poem, I could have never imagined the shocking truth that lay behind it. I'm truly sorry for your loss but I know no words can fill that abysmal void left in you. Sometimes, we just have to live with their unseen presence.

[Vol]

Divya,
You have a fine sense of empathy, and thank you... And I would have it no other way. Mourning is human thing and valuable, It doesn't rule my life, it decorates it.
Vol

[DIVYA]

I really appreciate that Vol. There's so much joy behind the obvious. It doesn't have to be tethered to the physical.
Have a great day. 🌺

[Lorry]

It's strange and never ending the images we see so regularly can tune us into "those there are gone FM."
You hear a song, it is her is her calling.
A face in a crowd morphs momentarily into doing that double take dance or even the sight of a beautiful day can gazump even the most focused of thoughts into another realm of memory that we happily swirl down the drain into.
No wonder we feel that the older we get waking each morning can become the argument of incredulity once more, as we blink once more into life and think "it can't be breakfast time again surely!"
It's because we spent most of the previous day lost in the thought of her.

[Vol]

Lorry,
I've got all kinds of ideas about what might be waiting on the other side... But whatever the reality... it is what it is. So I believe the thing I callmy soul is my cionsciousness, and I believe when I die, it will retain "me" as a part of that consciousness. If not, no harm, no foul. If I am able to reacquaint with any or all of my lovers, I think we'll get along, we'ii ave a whole universe as our play room...
Vol

[Lorry]

I reckon you may well be right. I think of it as a cloud of consciousness, all mingling together in ways we could barely dream of in life.

[Vol]

It is a rather difficult thing to contemplate while trapped in this flesh prison... It is impossible to anticipate something so outside our experience... Who could believe that an entire cadre of wild eyed third-worlders would hijack four airliners and fly them into sky scrapers? I've red that the Indians on the beach could not even see the Spanish ships from shore... too far outside their world to understand... I also niticed that 95% of news stories have the words might or could in them... like "There MIght be a Heaven!" Ain't no way to argue, only believe... or not.

[W. Barrett Munn]

When it hurts enough, the readers can sense the pain and that makes it good. A lof of pain comes through here.

Winston

[Vol]

It is a kind of PTSD... one I treasure...

[.]

I saw your other comments and reading this is so special. I am truly sorry for your and your sons lost. This poem is so deep and written gracefully. Last line will haunt me for a while.

[Vol]

Beren,
Thank you for your sweet compassion... I can feel how deeply you mean it. sigh...
read moreBeren,
Thank you for your sweet compassion... I can feel how deeply you mean it. sigh...
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

There's such a sadness behind these words, albeit laid so gently. But, memories can cut a wound into a chasm. Such a tragedy of words

'where the sky is sliced from the earth'

[Vol]

EmmaJoy
I was Barbara's first husband, and father of her two sons, her second husband killed her and himself...
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

An even greater tragedy, sir.

[John the Baptist]

Both loss and erotica come through in this one. I suspect Barbara Jean was someone quite special.

[Vol]

John...
My first wife and mother of my sons...
Vol