What Hope is There Left

What Hope is There Left

Hope is a fleeting want

that desire for something more

a dream that seldom

comes to fruition

 

Hope wears the wings

of a spectral being

a mystical, dragonfly-like creature

flitting around dying flowers

 

But hope’s light

seems to diminish each day

the dimming sucking the joy

out of life

 

Hope’s bright white

fades slowly to a dull misty gray

taking on a musty decaying smell

until its light finally

blinks out

 

Hope’s song,

at first vibrant and

full of joyful expectation,

dies a slow painful death

its death-wail

tearing your heart

from which you feel

you’ll never recover

 

When hope is gone,

what is there left?

 

But there’s always hope…

isn’t there?

Shouldn’t there be?

 

I don’t know any more.

At the moment,

I have little hope

for anything.

 

--Sasha Wolfe

Grief Compounded

My heart
shattered, broken
shrouded in grief
so overwhelming
the shards continue
to cut deeply
 
My mind
gagged by strangling sadness
any joy within
has been pounded
into a murky congealing swill
 
My entire being
consumed by grief
of one thing after another
going wrong this year
I’m not sure
I can ever recover
 
Is it possible
that being broken
and put back together
so many times
throughout my life
that not it’s possible
these pieces may never
be glued back together?
 
I’ve forgotten
what happy feels like
and wonder
if I can ever feel
happy again
 
And, if I do get better
will I ever feel
totally wholehearted
Time will tell
I have little hope these days.
 
--Sasha Wolfe

No Warm Presence

There’s no warm presence

to comfort me
No fluff
rubbing against my legs
 
There’s no thump
as she jumps up
on the table beside
for kitty pats and brushies
 
There’s no warm presence
permeating the house
No warm solace
for my soul
 
There’s no comfort
in knowing
she’s just in the other room
sleeping on the bed
 
There’s no warm presence
to sit on my lap
while I’m watching TV
or watching herself
if there’s some
critter on the screen
 
There are no “Raow” greetings
in the middle of the night
when she looks for me
and jumps up on the bed
 
There are no
soft white paws
reaching up to me
while I get her breakfast
 
There are no
headbutts against my hand
while I’m writing
as she vies for attention
 
I miss brushing
that beautiful
white and calico
long, soft fur
 
I miss the purrs
the love, the companionship
I miss running my fingers
through that beautiful soft fur
 
There’s no warm presence
to comfort me
I’m alone and lonely
and missing the warmth
the purrs, the love
 
There’s no warm presence
to comfort me.
 

--Sasha Wolfe 

Surviving Grief

After days of grieving

I keep thinking
I should feel empty
Instead, my gut roils and rumbles
 
I keep thinking
I should feel more heartbroken
but, at the moment,
my heart feels nothing
 
its shattered pieces
have fallen in jumbled piles
throughout my gut
leaving a huge, gaping hole
where my heart should be
 
Sharp, crushing edges
pierce my soul
in a clenched fist
of despairing darkness
 
My emotions
painfully knotted up
I bleed out in tears
broken, abandoned, alone
 
Like a washed up
piece of seaweed
left drying up on an open beach
by the outgoing tide…
there’s no comforting warmth in this sun
 
I need a new kitty ASAP
not to replace Pele
but to be her own little love
and to help me live wholeheartedly again.
 
--Sasha Wolfe 

Grieving for my Dying Kitty

Grief
runs down my face,
breaks my heart in a thousand pieces,
makes my eyes and face swell and
my nose so sore from wiping it
I can hardly touch it
 
Grief
causes a horrific, pounding headache,
and stomach so in knots
I feel like throwing up
Emotions well up
threatening to strangle me
 
Grief
So sharp I can’t function
I just want to lie down
but there’s no sleep to calm
a sorrow so deep
I don’t know how I can go on
 
Grief
She hasn’t eaten in days
water bowls still full
The box delivered from Chewy.com
sits unopened on the floor
her food and water dishes untouched
opening the cabinet with her food and treats
seeing her toys in a bowl
start the tears flowing again
and vocal sobs
leap from my parched throat
 
Grief
Her purrs so diminished now
I have to put my ear down to hear
but she doesn’t want me close
she’s not interested in cuddles or pats
It’s like she’s already
moving away from me
 
And seeing neighbor Leo-kitty
makes my soul hurt even more
for my own kitty-love
to be healthy and happy
 
Grief
I can’t take it.
A part of me is dying with her
and the sobs consume me
I don’t want to let her go
but if it’s her time…
 
Grief
And the guilt
Am I doing enough?
Is it right to force her?
 
She hides under the bed
her sad dark eyes
looking out at me
 
I painfully lie down on the floor
knees screaming
reach under for a pat
she hardly purrs
and my heart shatters even more
as part of me is dying, too.
 
Grief
Another night
one more chance
but not any better,
she goes to her eternal rest
 
I’m relieved for her
but my heart still aches
I can no longer call out,
“Kitty, I’m home!”
and have her come running,
“Meow, meow, meow.”
 
Grief
I am shattered
but at least
she’s now at peace
and no longer suffering.
 
--Sasha Wolfe

Social Anxiety

 

How can I describe

how my stomach knots,

how I feel nauseous,

how tears want to

leak from my eyes,

how the horrible lump

in my throat

threatens to gag me

 

How can I describe

how I just want to

hide in my bed

with the covers

pulled over my head,

how I want to close doors,

cover windows,

stay inside,

and not go anywhere

 

How can I describe

that being around

groups of people

makes me feel

out of place,

makes me want

to cower,

crawl in a corner,

stay out of sight,

and avoid talking

 

Was this how

my mum felt

near the end

when she no longer

wanted to go anywhere?

 

She never talked

about it

never had the words

Am I now

finding the words

for us both?

I Can’t Get Away from Words

I can’t get away from words

they chase me down

fill my mind

tear at my heartstrings

 

Thoughts fill me

stir me

roil in my gut

until I’m ready to explode

 

Too often

I push them aside

because of life issues

to deal with

 

Too often

the many feelings

accompanying the words

have me scrambling

 

to make

feeble stabs at

deciphering and recording

the waterfall rush

 

only to have them

evaporate

before I can

make order of them

 

and before I can

find cohesiveness

in the chaotic tumbling

of emotional ramblings

There’s so much

going through my head

I can’t get it

all down

 

I’m torn,

pulled in multiple directions

going from here to there

to another there, and still another

 

There are times

when the words

are filed away

until another similar outburst

 

But sometimes the words

evolve into a beautiful poem,

and other times there’s enough

for a full writing.

Night Shadow's Dance

 

Sultry moon hidden

dark of night

humidity hangs wet

in the 3 a.m. air

like last night’s underwear

hung on the line to dry

 

Silence is a presence

felt on the tip

of each finger

air has the heaviness

of baited breath

 

She moves swiftly, quietly

through the night stillness

to sit on back deck

sharing a cup of coffee

with the steamy night

 

She waits …

She dreams …

 

Breath held

she watches shadows

move silently

across the yard

quivering in ecstasy

erotic passion

eerily displayed

 

As clouds part to allow

one sliver of moonlight

to brighten the stage

she drops her gown

moves into

the dance of shadows

and disappears

into the coming

Dawn.

Life Work

 

I am continuing listing old poems, making a table of contents. Here's another I particularly like:

Life Work

Work

by Webster’s definition:

“physical or mental effort

directed towards a goal;

A job … employment … occupation …

act or deed ….”

In Webster’s,

describing work

takes up half a page

 

Society deems work

as something

you get paid to do

a service performed or

chores around the house

 

I want to know

about the other kind of “work.”

The work you don’t get paid for

and is often not recognized

or acknowledged by others.

The work that doesn’t

necessarily benefit anyone

but yourself …

and sometimes not even that

 

I want to know

about the work

that is never finished,

the work that if

you don’t do it

 you’ll die

or go crazy

or worse …

--Sasha Wolfe

Priceless Friendship

Different styles

different techniques

different mediums

and yet

we can totally support

each other

 

Maybe it’s

the one common goal

of being realists

in our paintings

that draws us together

 

Feedback and suggestions

are openly given

with the goal

of helping each other

achieve the results

each desire

in our paintings

 

She doesn’t force

her style on me

nor do I

try to convince her

my way

is the better way

 

In this day

when there is so much angst

with those trying to force

their points of view

onto everyone else,

this freedom of speech

between two very good friends

is emotionally refreshing

 

We’re able to speak freely

while remaining true

to our individual styles

I love learning

about her style

and she enjoys

seeing my progress

 

We remain

unique to ourselves

 

Author’s note: When she was leaving, she was saying how much our friendship means to her. Does to me, too. Funny, here I am a word person, and I can never find the right words, and then she was describing how wonderful our friendship is. So precious, so wonderful. –SW

 

  

Self-isolating Cave

I pull myself back

from the world

crawl into a hole

to protect myself

But the woes fall in

on top of me

I beg, I plead

demand them to leave

They mold around me

like a moldy, bad-luck blanket

smothering

any motivation

I lie huddled

in this dank emotional hole

a shivering, miserable

wreck

I may protect myself

from the world

but that doesn’t protect me

from myself

Some days

my self-isolating cave

isn’t the sanctuary

I want it to be.

Whirlpool of Despair

Feeling so hopeless,

so lost,

can’t figure out

how to fix

what went wrong

 

Technology,

when it doesn’t work,

confuses me,

getting live, human help

is near impossible

 

My desperate thoughts

batter against barriers

in hopeless misery,

tears of despair

rob me of all joy

 

Too much time

wasted in futile attempts

to resolve the issue

drains me of any self-worth

and the ability to think straight

 

Drowning in a whirlpool

of frustration

and hopelessness,

I’m sucked down

in its swirling vortex

 

I lie on the seabed,

a useless mental wreck.