The concept is simple: Here’s a doodle. Now write a poem to accompany it!
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Yay Words! 
I know which one–
he has red hair.
Drops of fog
on facets of red granite.
visiting the memory
where I left you . . .
on the headstone
weeds fill
around your name
chilly night walk
I let the season rest
in peace
Beautiful poem
aloha Ellen. thank you. there are perspectives on life (that surface for me) when I walk in places like this, in a number of ways, that bring out the things that are important while in this world. I like that. much as your words here bring out too. I like that as well. aloha.
Lovely, Rick!
mahalo (thank you) Sanjukta A. this image has me thinking i may need to visit a few places like this as the weather improves. soon. i hope. be well. aloha.
the grey haze…
searching among the gravestones
for that name
Reblogged this on A Walk In Haiku and commented:
forgiveness …
from the other side of rain
I hear her voice
words on Nanna’s grave “Born In Sweden”
spring rain —
tracing the letters
on a tombstone
I show myself
only death sees
through me
we are too innocent to
look exhausted red-rimmed
faces shocked and bending with
this death we are too young
tell us why we came here
grief shrouded steps
lead me back
to You
This last time the hospice nurse gives him a bath, I find it difficult to pick what color of shirt he should wear. Although black is his favorite color, I think at his final hours it will look ominous and morbid. The hospice nurse and I finally agree on a yellow orange shirt. It’s absolutely the right choice because it seems to add life and peace in his face. Even with his heavy breathing, I know for sure he’s comfortable wearing it, too.
he wants
his ashes all together
with me . . .
my broken heart turns out
much heavier than his urn
correction:
…. it seems to add life and peace to his face.
I think “to” should be the right word.
wild flowers
growing in an open grave…
the memories
snow-covered graves he breathes beside me
this little light into the fog
She walks the graveyard
Looking for lost souls
There can’t be any stragglers
The devil doesn’t like that
Reblogged this on Failing at Haiku and commented:
She walks the graveyard
Looking for lost souls
There can’t be any stragglers
The devil doesn’t like that
He searched
for the spot of red,
of life that bled,
in the grey landscape.