I missed her the moment she was gone

In the silence

My heart breathes

Beating between

Memories set

Adrift alone

Life falls eyes closed

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

Rush through my heart

My blood is warm

Echoes only

A voice now stilled

Stepping round her

Love gently paused

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

Adrift alone

Beating between

Memories set

In the silence

My heart breathes

Life falls eyes closed

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

A voice now stilled

Stepping round her

My blood is warm

Rush through my heart

Echoes only

Love gently paused

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

A voice adrift

Memories breathe

Silence runs warm

Stepping between

Rushing echoes

Life falls eyes closed

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

Silence beating

Round in my heart

Breathing alone

Memories of

A breath now stilled

Love gently paused

I missed her

The moment

She was gone

12.11.12 by M Jane Jones

Inspired by Erin Rakich-Clubb’s facebook post about her Grandmother’s death – Naomi Cochran

the hawk's gift

the hawks

here glide

on the wind,

wings outstretched,

spread wide,

belly bared,

sharing their talent,

their brilliance,

their gift

I grab my camera

they are gone,

dropped down

below the hill

to my left,

essence of the hawk's brilliance is left ...

I wait for them

to mount again

upon the breeze,

but they are gone

they do not consent

to their capture,

even if only in digital form,

in this metal box a camera,

they have been warned,

a voice an intuition,

speaks to them,

all that is left is the wind

and it laughs at me

you foolish girl

still foolish

after all these years,

it laughs at me,

chides me,

warns me

to accept gifts that are

but for a moment,

not forever

gifts cannot be grasped

and held,

they are freely given

must be freely received

accept with thanks the gift

let the gift do it’s work

the hawks are sharing

say thank you …

thank you

my cameral lays still 

on the table

and they come again

I reach for it

they dip quickly

hiding from this trap

my hands pull back

they stay this time

my heart breathes thanks

a moment in Malka’s memory

        chicken pox
        lunch pails
      tiny blue table
            quietly
            eyes smile

        colours dance
        under feet
      tiny blue chairs
            silently
            they rest

         Mother’s love
         “Be Good”
      two tiny boys
             need
             ears listen

        Malka’s laugh
        seeing them
      two small hearts
             quicken
             life hears

        tiny boys two
        Grown Men
      Mother and Malka
             remember
             they love

Blue is Blue
what are you going to do?

It is nothing to you
except what you make it do 

Friday Morning Pebbling

ink flows
where each mind goes
eyes shine
reading idea's line
laughter
round the table
poets
young and able

hands together the rhythm

skin and string stretched played
faces weave their hearts passion
one moment in time

erosion

er er er
as the sand slipped
away with the ebb
of the ocean
i am shorter
now no
sunk down
move inland
ere feet are
out of sight

j j jones