Tears in Heaven

It appears that I have abandoned this site, but that is in no way true. I have been living through the misdiagnosis, and subsequent death of my father.  It has been a very long, arduous journey, and for him, at least, it  is now over.

During and after, when moments allowed, I made some music, and wrote poetry dictating into my iPhone as I paced the halls of 5 different hospitals.

Dad. The Flyer.

“A flyer went to the skies
To see the morning sun
The flash of the morning light
Glints off his forward strut – what a run..

Free, he knows now, as he soars on wings
Held up by nothing but air.
Flinging himself with a voice that sings
Proud of himself for the dare.

The mountains are far,
his destination in sight
His dreams not yet out of reach,
he sees them fluffy white

As the further he flies,
the harder the sky
Holding down those
Great mountain highs.

The skies are so empty,
There’s nothing in view
Does he dare take
the path of the few?

His voice bouncing out
through thin wispy clouds
As he talks to himself,
” not for me, those shrouds”

The shudder of the wings,
as the little plane slips
Out of place, falling fast,
no radar, no blips

He knew his day would come,
he knew he could not stop
What is meant to be done.
Hoping to land at the top

Gone now as he sits.
In the catbird seat.
Captain of the ship,
but not of the fleet.

A flyer went to the skies
To see the morning sun.”

(c)g.abbey Wednesday, Sept 4, 2013

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A Collaborative Poem – The First Time I Caught Sight of You

A Cheryl’s Collab Poem

Sep 3, 2010

© g.abbey aka Deviant Artist

The first time I caught sight of you               (Just Joe)

Against the sky so sunny and blue              (Michelle K)

I knew I’d always remember you

Under a rainbow of vibrant hues                 (Sheila A)

So serene, peaceful, and beautiful were you      (Michelle K)

So difficult to just watch and stand still              (LostSoul.L.S)

As you danced under a sea of blue                      (~vivi~)

I drank in the sight of you to my fill

The days, the weeks, the months, they flew       (The Chairman)

As fast as the story winds blew.                           (Michelle K)

The bright lightening the daily finale as the curtain closed

On my happy thoughts of the most delightful you.          (sheila A)

As the lovely morne rose covered with dew,

I knew it rose to shine for you and me.                 (~vivi~)

What the seagull and the robin never knew

As we explored the vast blue sea              (Lady “Cheryl” Death)

Was that what we had was just ours to enjoy

Not shared, nor glared, not like a new toy,

Though I danced provokingly, this was no nun    (JohnLoving1963

Then we lied around just enjoying the sand and the sun.

Deliciously sweet like cherry flavored gum        (Michelle K)

Yet somehow it strangely seems not magical   (Desert Rose)

But all proven, matter of factual.                (Wintah)

As natural as the soaring of the seagull’s.

©g.abbey Sep 3, 2010 (aka Deviant Artist)

A Cheryl’s Collab

T. S. ELiot

“Thomas Stearns Eliot OM (26 September 1888 – 4 January 1965) was an essayist, publisher, playwright, literary and social critic and “one of the twentieth century’s major poets.”[1] Born in St. Louis, Missouri in the United States, he moved to the United Kingdom in 1914 (at age 25) and was naturalised as a British subject in 1927 at age 39.”  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T._S._Eliot

 

One of his poems is my favorite. It is very long, so I’ll only post the part of it that i like so very much. Like the photo, somethings mean so very much more than they appear to on the face of what you see. This is one of them:

 

“Let us go then you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question…

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo….”

Curiousity

“There are young men and women up and down the land who happily (or unhappily) tell anyone who will listen that they don’t have an academic turn of mind, or that they aren’t lucky enough to have been blessed with a good memory, and yet can recite hundreds of pop lyrics and reel off any amount of information about footballers. Why? Because they are interested in those things. They are curious. If you are hungry for food, you are prepared to hunt high and low for it. If you are hungry for information it is the same. Information is all around us, now more than ever before in human history. You barely have to stir or incommode yourself to find things out. The only reason people do not know much is because they do not care to know. They are incurious. Incuriosity is the oddest and most foolish failing there is.”
—  The Fry Chronicles by Stephen Fry