Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts

Lucky

It's still too early
for the comfort of newborn green,
but underneath the leafless cherry blossom tree
there are bowls of tea for the ones who aren't here.

In warmer times
I first learned how a splash of water
can lift a scent high enough to soothe a spirit.
I'd almost forgotten

those earliest days
of fumbling unfamiliarity
and how quietly something can change

from part of the background
to something inviting 
deeper consideration.

There is a hidden path here.
I discovered it by going around

the obvious delights,
of the stone lanterns, the pond, and the maples,
to a dark and overgrown thicket of bamboo.

Today, 
I make sure to pay my respects
there, remembering the first time
curiosity drew me.

I greet the gods I find here.
This time I understand the reason
for smiles and tears.

I cup my hands around 
the memories that brought me here
warmed by today's tea
under the leafless tree
and give thanks.

How lucky I was.
How lucky I am.

Three kami in the woods




Liner Notes For This Groove: If you came around via Poets and Storytellers United, feel free to skip this part because it's a lot longer than 369 words. Though I am elaborating a bit on the prompt I gave this week, "looking back".

So for the last couple of weeks I've been looking over all my old blog posts. It's been an interesting experience, not just in showing me ways I've changed as a writer. There are a lot of other changes too. Last September, we lost my mom-in-law. She was the bedrock of my husband's side of the family and navigating a post-Ellen world is just plain odd (when it isn't deeply sad). 

tea with Mom Driks
Tea with Mom Driks

I don't think I mentioned it on this blog, but we also welcomed another corgi into our family, Jelly Bean. Like my dearly departed Kit, she's a rescue. But she's *ahem* a lot more complicated than he was. I think we've finally got her used to the idea that this is her forever home (but she still thinks the ceiling fan is out to get her).
 
Jelly Bean and Lamb Chop
Don't let that cute face fool you. 
She's bossy and anxious.

I quipped on PS&U about the change in my all-time favorite book series. But in a lot of ways that change really does represent a lot of the ways I've changed. I was unaware about lot of things. I'd even say that I was a bit naive. Sure, I still love a generous dose of whimsy and magic. But these days, I relate better to sharply satirical (and hilarious) whimsy that isn't afraid to take a hard look at some of the biggest ways our world is broken. (That the author doesn't appear to be a massive jerk is a bonus too.) There's something to be said for whimsy as an act of defiance.

Dungeon Crawler Carl
You will not break me
from Dungeon Crawler Carl
by Matt Dinniman

I think in most ways, I've become more solid in who I've always been. So what seem like changes on the outside feel more like coming home to myself.

One thing that absolutely hasn't changed is my love of tea. This piece was inspired by a recent trip to Shofuso, the Japanese house and garden in Philly. I actually haven't practiced tea there in ages. Of course, I've been practicing tea, but my tea teacher had the space to build a traditional Japanese tea room in her house. When changes occurred that limited our use of the rooms in Shofuso, the students of Philadelphia Urasenke just went to their tea teacher's homes instead (we have multiple teachers, all with their own tea rooms).

The reason for my visit was a bittersweet one. There was a memorial to honor the passing of two senior members of our tea school as well as the passing of Hounsai Hanso Soshitsu, the 15th generation Grand Tea Master of the Urasenke School. I never met the Grand Master, but Keijiroh and Terry were always very warm and kind people, thrilled to share their love of tea. Terry was the one who convinced me to step up and do public demonstrations. I'll be thinking of her at this year's Cherry Blossom festival, when I'll be doing a string of demos all day long.

Here are a few pictures of my visit:

View of the pond and tree at Shofuso

bridge to the island in the pond




Keijiroh Yamaguchi, Terry Sherwin, and Hounsai Hanso Soshitsu

So that's pretty much it for me. Thank you for reading this far! Anything new in your world? Let's talk about it in the comments.



Sing a Song of Giants

Sing a song of giants
in a land far, far away.
Tell a tale of magic
to keep despair at bay.

Whistle an adventuring tune
as you begin your trip.
Wander an ancient desert.
Try to give your shadow the slip.

Gather odds and ends of myth.
Plant the bits you love the best.
Weave the remainder into a quilt
to wrap around you as you rest.

King, from the animated series, Owl House


Song Choice: Owl House LoFi 

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was written in honor of one of the regulars at the local writers' group I frequent, Tyler Simanski. He passed away some time late last Friday. Tyler was a fantasy writer too. Sometimes he and I would talk about our favorite cartoons, including Owl House. He will be missed by me and all the other members of the Bucks Country Writer's Room.

That Last Morning

That last morning, you woke me up when the light from the alarm clock was brighter than the sky outside. It didn’t bother me because I knew the clock had been winding down since January of last year, when I prayed that you’d see one last snow fall. You got your snow. You got your week by the sea. You played with the children you loved. Earlier this week you even got steak. So when I heard you whimper during the morning shift (Dad always takes the night shift) I lay down next to you. I rubbed your back until you felt better. And together we watched the sky lighten, waiting for Dad to get up and so we could that last morning walk together. 


On that last morning
your pain finally left you.
My pain is lessened
knowing that we gave you these gifts—
a full life, a gentle end.

Kit, looking dapper


Song Choice: Cracker Jack by Dolly Parton


Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to the Friday Writings Prompt at Poets and Storytellers United. It was written for my sweet boy Kit, who crossed the rainbow bridge last Friday. I am grateful that our whole family was able to be in the room when it was time to say goodbye.


By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Who Can Think of Spring?

I often think about the still-born spring, three years ago, when it seemed like nothing would ever grow again—not even in our woods. The woods were lost girl met lost girl, years and years ago. We decided that it was safest to believe in magic to find the way through. We lifted moss-colored words from the banks of our creek to line our path and tucked stories into trees. 

I wonder if the trees notice you are gone, when I go to pick up scraps of memories caught in the brambles by the creek. I wonder what the creek thinks when I try to weave those scraps into something recognizable, something that makes sense. Spring green should not be the color of grief, but even now, in the spaces where growth is undeniable, spring always arrives late for me. 

 

who can think of spring
while grieving the one flower
that will not grow back



By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song choice: Gavi's Song by Lindsey Stirling

Liner notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storyteller United's Friday Writings Prompt, In Memoriam.

Solstice 2023

I greeted the Sun empty-handed
worn out from too long nights
spent counting out collected griefs
from near and far.

The Sun gave me Her gift

of the light I could not hide from
illuminating who I was
and asking what I wanted to be
the morning that light came back 
into the world.






Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United Friday Writings. 

Proto-Mouse (In the Last Days of the Dinosaurs)

I did not witness the first strike
but I had already seen the signs
that came even before the ill-omened moon
and understood the end was near.

I did not have to measure
those deep and ancient fault lines
to be wary of the poison I could smell inside them
well before I scampered too near.

The impact ignited the built-up gas
devouring any possibility
of sound over the screaming flames.

And it took no great cunning
to know this poisoned air
would burn down all of the history 
of a once lush era.





Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings.

Heavy Hearted

I have to kiss the world 

twice as hard now. 

I have to feel the weight 

of each leg of every butterfly 

that chooses to alight on my skin. 

 

I have to drench myself 

in the feel of moss 

and twilight colors 

over and over again 

 

to make my heart full and heavy 

with all the world’s subtle delights 

to outweigh the grief it carries. 



By Rommy Cortez-Driks


Song Choice: Nature Boy covered by Aurora


Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Friday Writing's Prompt at Poets and Storytellers United. It asked us to use a cliché in an unusual way.

Thoughts on Your Birthday

I wanted to tell you
how I fell in love again
with the sun on solstice morning.
Her warmth pulled me back
to myself and all the living
I have yet to do.

I miss you most in these moments,
when I’d share
another ridiculous whimsy of mine
and you’d take it as seriously
as a selkie takes the ocean.

Maybe this is why you called me Joy.
That never made sense to me.
It wasn't as much joy as survival.

I know the limits of my moth-eaten memory
and no matter what well-meaning people say
it isn’t the same as you still being alive at all,
not even a little.

I am left making up stories instead
about the sun and the stars 
caring enough to watch me

scavenge strands of joy
from the little moments of living,
in the hopes of weaving something beautiful
enough to honor who you were.




Liner Notes for this Groove: Today is the birthday of a friend of mine who passed away. These were just thoughts I had about it. 

Breathless

Some memories

are sharp enough to cut

off my breath,

 

leaving me

gasping

like a fish

who just wants

her ocean

back.




Song Choice: Breaking Down by Florence + the Machine

Liner Notes for this Groove: I know I'm getting serious about a new writing project when I start writing poetry in the voices of my characters. Rina has a some serious inner demons to face (and several fae beings are just complicating the situation). But I'm deep into the super ugly rough first draft and enjoying getting to know her world.

This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings prompt, Writing About Writing.


By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Shattered

The thing about grief 

is it’s more than the moment of impact. 

It's also the shockwaves 

after the asteroid hits your world. 

 

It’s the cracking  

along the fault lines 

breaking apart continents. 

It’s respecting the rage of the underground rivers 


racing madly where you hoped 

there might be gold, or at least iron

enough to try to make steel. 

 

It’s the near drowning 

in dozens of deep wells of resentment 

before you find any sign 

of a reservoir of grace. 

 

It’s the exhaustion 

in the mental cyclones  

of forgetting and remembering,

wondering which is more painful. 

 

It is also knowing 

that even if every breath  

I take ever after 

is ragged and choked 


there is something in me 

that wants to keep breathing.  




Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to the Friday Writings post at Poets and Storytellers United. At the time of this posting, it is a few days past the second anniversary of a dear friend's death. This poem was inspired by thoughts I had when I visited one of our favorite nature centers.