“Bells tolled a mourning
Angels on high
Heads in their hands
Last Christmas morning”
I find comfort in the tomb
that holds the virtual focus point of you.
I can lay the roses here that you did love.
In some ways, in the back yard of my second life,
I am one step closer. It does feel that way.
You passed away on Christmas Day
and even though it was that special holiday
now it means more to me these memories
on such a happy day to be remembering.
Thinking of the night the oropopo owls hooting from highest trees,
moon bright night of pale blue distant lightning,
the three of us hearing the ghosts parading down the hill.
You hold our hands, and we are children captivated by spirits,
protected by you,
wagon wheels bumping over rocks,
bells on oxen tinkling,
supernatural invisible wind-chimes.
You tell us how lucky we are,
to bear witness to this unexplained phenomena of our superstitious town,
the caravan of carts and men
traveling down our muddy roads at midnight once again,
never to be seen but so clearly heard,
the footsteps, the calling out to their teams
the grinding of the wheels,
lumbering painted carts from the past.
We, your small children, wild-haired, in our night gowns
keeping silent our mouths open in awe,
holding each one, a side of you
connected like three shimmering spirits ,
we watch with only our ears, ancient brethren,
neighbors from beyond still en route to some unknown destination
eternally in motion, ghosts from our collective past, the drivers and ox- carts.
I’m not sure why this is the memory of you,
that today I hold most dear,
but I do know so much has changed since that distant apparition.
I call to you on the anniversary of yet another year,
grateful to all my written history that for a wonderful yet short time,
I knew you, loved you, was with you by your side
as your daughter and you… my magic mother.
Maybe it’s that I hope, in the back of my mind,
some day to hear,
like the haunted ghost carts of yesteryear.,
Oh please if it be only your life -filled laugh,
just one more time,
that could break through death’s festive veil
and reach my ear.
The Cloud Forest Misty Shores SL
*footnote: a picture of two oropopo owls. Aren’t they wonderful?
I have been drawn several times back to “The Tomb”. The sadness yet love is so intense and personal, I feel like an intruder or interloper coming across an intensly personal and agonizing event. Yet I am drawn to Karima’s incredible storytelling and songs from her heart. I am compelled to hear more…to see more…to witness her flowing connection with all things. The brute power of her words is overwhelming. Do not step up and partake in her tribute unless you are prepared to be involved forever in her amazing works. They will work on your mind and heart like crystals made of musical notes doing their mischief in your mind and life. You will be forever changed by her. Thanks Kari. You have the heart and innocence of an angel and the ferocious energy and focus of a really angry brahma bull!
Thank you Tube for your deep and very beautiful comments. I like the image you have conjured up of a creature of Mythological proportions..the winged Brahma:) May I be that good and that strong!! Thank you too for understanding my poetry on a very mystical level..The talks we have had, have been rewarding and help me define many of my own ideas.. you help land some of the floating ones and ground them into poem ideas: the post-dream vignettes I performed at Sunday’s show. Thank you too for taking the time to write this comment and I hope you will continue to come to readings and to my island.