Tag Archives: loss

heart shift

Merlin invading space! ❤️
heart shift

even the tiniest of souls,
when they leave a space,
may impart a void so deep
and wide; though we may
try to fill it with memories,
stories long forgotten that
manifest, consuming our
thoughts, spilling out like balm
to comfort us in the emptiness,
that strange hush of one less
heartbeat, one less breath,
one less voice to fill the
hollow air surrounding us,
even the tiniest of souls,
once having touched our
hearts, never cease moving
us, though their physical
presence may dim, never
to return, it is then we realize
that they will never truly be
gone, because they became
a part of us, oh so very long
ago, and the emptiness we
feel is our own heart skipping
a beat, adjusting to the shift
that fondness of heart, and great
love in absentia, knows so well,
the bitter and the sweet


Taking a moment to wrap myself in grief over the loss of our very senior 21 year old gentleman cat, Merlin…may he rest in peace. Merlin 2001-2022

the unraveling

the unraveling

the tapestry is unraveling
earthy tones of brown and
tan, yellow and red fading,
white patches soiled from
blood and tears, offering no
warmth, no consolation,
threads splintering, breaking
unable to hold together the
dreams of the innocents
wrapped in it like a shroud…
where are the seamstresses
with steady hands and nimble
fingers, trembling with needles,
eyes too narrow to thread, to
mend the tatters, to scrub
the fabric clean, to restore
the tapestry, or better yet,
to weave a new cloth, one
that is brilliant, softened
with batting, large enough
to cover all who slumber,
to shield us from nightmares,
from the darkest of nights,
to bring us safely to the dawn
we’re hanging by a thread
tossed by tempests, trembling,
chilled to our bones
while the world burns


Crawling out from under my rock. Sorry for my recent silence. I confess that I have been overwhelmed of late by what’s happening to our brothers and sisters of color, to those sick and dying from the pandemic, from the lies of our leaders, from the hate ravaging our streets, disturbing the ardent pleas of peaceful protesters, from sheltering in (sheltering…what a benign word…sheltering). I have struggled to find words, forgetting that it is words that save me from the abyss; that help me get out of my head. I hope everyone is staying safe and well. I hope…at least I am trying to even as the dawn seems so very far away. Peace ✌️

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 27 August 2017

Some believe innocence is only a casualty of childhood lost, but I know this is not true. Even grown ups cling to wisps of innocence, suffering its loss when it slips away. The only difference is we call it hope.

The hope that deep down all people are decent and good and will do the right thing if given the chance.

The hope that bad things and people eventually pay for the harm they perpetuate.

The hope that people see us for who we are inside, not judging us for our faith, the color of our skin, where we were born, or who we love.

The hope that everything happens for a reason and in the end all things work together for good.

Children aren’t the only ones at risk of losing innocence. And there are many ways to suffer it’s loss. A parent will cushion the harsh blow when their child discovers that there is no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy, by telling them the truth; that those fantastical characters are in fact a mommy and daddy who love them very much and just wanted to make their life special. But who is there to reassure us as adults when the world we hoped in, and believed existed, begins to crumble away?

Some turn to faith, while some look to others to make things right. But even the strongest faith or the greatest savior in the flesh can leave us feeling empty, inconsolable because of the gnawing questions everyone asks in times of lost innocence, lost hope….”How could…Why would…What now…Who can I trust?”

The honest answer, the one we may not want to hear, is that some things can’t be fixed, made right, or restored. Just as a child can’t unknow the truth that Santa is not real, we cannot unknow the reality of the world, with its imperfections and cruelty, once it reveals itself in the light.

But one thing I do know is that the end of the world as we once knew it is not the end of the world. We go on. We always go on, a little wiser perhaps, but hopefully not jaded. Innocence is a bit overrated in my opinion. Hope can be too, when reality is not taken into account. I’ll take truth and light over the alternative any day… even if it hurts.

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 27 August 2017

harmony murmuring

sifts first through sludge and shale

a sight deemed tasteless

where’s the lens filter

to reignite hope’s embers

shell shards spawn the shore

I just don’t think I’m into roughing it

Who likes cookies?

incogitant tweet perhaps,

spoken from privilege

only for a season

you can ask any child

if we could remember

storms, singing in the rain


A shi sai or ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the shi sai features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 July 2017

I think of loss when I think of 2017. Loss of friends and family to the great chasm forged by the US election. Loss of safety in a land whose people feel emboldened to hate, discriminate and dismiss others not white, privileged or born here. Loss of the ideals that once bound us all; things like truth, honor, common decency, compassion, empathy and kindness. Loss of hope that I will have security in retirement…scratch that…I am resigned to the fact that I shall likely need to work for some company who cares only about profit margins and synergy savings and downsizing, until I die.

It all feels pretty grim. And yet I resist. I fight for what I believe is right and good and true. I extend a reed from the sharp edges of my bleeding heart, hoping to bridge the divide between me and those I never stopped loving. I dream of a day when religion is not used as a weapon and laws are not written to discriminate and exclude, but to serve all and protect. I tread lightly on the precious soil beneath my feet, leaving tiny footprints, though others may trample our mother’s green places, spewing poison in her waterways. I try to be good. To repay malice with kindness; avarice with generosity. To be a flicker of light in the growing darkness. To love and not hate.

I wonder how much more I can lose and still survive. And yet, I am still here living and breathing through things I was certain would break me.

But I am not broken. I have a heart that beats, and a conscience that sings me to sleep each night. I have an inner light that stirs me every day to press on. And so I do.

There is comfort in knowing that I am not alone. That there are others like me who wrestle with darkness. Who speak the truth. Who love unconditionally. Who care for the least of us. When I start to feel weary I remember the good and goodness that exists.

Sometimes losing everything helps us realize what is most important. It helps us let go of the things that were never ours to hold, bringing us to our truest self. It lightens our load for the long journey home.

While I’m not home yet, I think I know the way. Following the light is all it takes. Just follow the light. Just follow the light.

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 July 2017

remember the good
purr in rhapsody, the muse
filled to brim longing
most comes to mind, not amusing
when the tree bough breaks
dressed in eerie blue
welcome us in death
like diamonds
and dragons…
you are from eden
tiny gift
to the day


A shi sai or ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the shi sai features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.

Fête -Friday’s Word of the Day

I know it’s Saturday. It took sleeping on Friday’s Word of the Day to come up with a Haiku considering the bitter irony of its timing.

Fête is defined at dictionary.com as:
In noun form: a festive celebration or entertainment; a day of celebration; holiday; a religious feast or festival; a fete lasting several days in honor of a saint; and as a verb: to entertain at or honor with a fete: to fete a visiting celebrity.

It came to us from the French, according to The Online Etymology Dictionary, in 1754, from French fête “festival, feast,” from Old French feste “feast, celebration” (see feast (n.)). If the date is right, first used in English by Horace Walpole (1717-1797). fete (v.) 1819, from fete (n.). Related: Feted; fetes; feting.

So the timing of the word makes perfect sense! France? Bastille Day? Ah hah! I get it! Of course!

Except…on Thursday, in my world, I was graveside at the funeral of the beloved husband of a friend and Friday? Well, Friday found me at the veterinary office saying goodbye to my 17 and a half year old rescue dog, Lucy.

So you can imagine I was in no mood for fetes of any kind on Friday, or so I thought at first glance. But then I began to embrace the word and found comfort in it.

I thought about the happy reunions that happened in clusters at the graveside on Thursday as family members and friends, separated by distance and time, embraced. And there were sermons and songs that promised the joy to be found by the departed in the beyond; a Fete of heavenly proportions and happy reunions with those who had passed before and would be waiting to greet him. Whether one is a believer in heaven or not, the comfort it gives those who do believe is lovely to witness.

Then on Friday, I considered how the joyous memories of happier, healthier times held me as I helped my little dog take her final trip “across the rainbow”, as they say, in peace and dignity. A life well lived is much to be feted! And Lucy was a diva and a queen while she lived. I smile to think of her, a 10 pound shitzu bossing around her 180 pound mastiff brother! She was a force! Her life was a fête!

So, this is your Haiku, a day late, for Friday’s Word of the Day. Maybe not what you were expecting, given it’s definition, but every bit as relevant to me given the circumstances of my real life week, kissed by irony.

mourners imagine
joyous fêtes beyond the veil
welcome us in death


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