Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Cannons' Cry





The MorgueFile



I wrapped yellow tissue around red
on days that the sun was clouded
and battlefields drenched,
days interminable.

If eyes could speak and lips weep
none would have broken
the confidences of their deaths
spoken only in their burying.

I learned silence that day.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2016

Today we are prompted to write about martyrdom/witnessing at Poets United

This is my humble offering.




Wednesday, February 3, 2016

The Path





The Morgue File
Withered Flowers of Winter by Modnar


One foot in front of the other
their patterns old
like toes that
tread the sun

I walk.
It is the only way I know--
one foot
then another--
without the sight of youth.

Its mirth
parsed out,
cards fluttering
between spokes
singing their rhythm in the wind.

I hear them laughing.
pause.
I know the secrets
that their rhythms guard
That life flutters
by us
touches our cheeks
when we sleep,
mourning when we forget
that all we must do
is continue.

One foot in front of the other.
It is the only way I know.
one foot
another.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2016

We are challenged today to write about identity at Poets United
This is where the prompt took me.