to my dead friend dave
The emerald seasons, high on themselves,
glisten in shimmering mornings.
Divining life through pantomime
illusions, they rise and fall
greening bones bared during the fallow
void of winter’s faded balcony
where you sit forever locked
in celestial observation
flapping your quirky rhythm
in wind that jostles my car
on highway 87 near Moccasin’s
ominous edges.
~~~~~~~
The first stanza of this poem came, and then it changed into a poem to my friend David Arnott. After being hit by a truck on highway 87 near Moccasin, Montana, last November he lingered in a coma a few weeks before dying. The title will remain obscure. Dave and I always joked that our daughters were twins with different parents. They were born a month a part, and look like sisters. My poem, The Dead Woman and The Mad Hatter at Beyond the Bozone is the first piece I wrote for Dave.
Please visit The Sunday Whirl and check out some other poems written with these wordle words. You’ll be glad you did.
undercaws 
I’ve lost a lot of friends young. It sucks. You are left behind with good memories and bad, but no hope of memories to come… that bright future that friends look forward to.
You will meet up in dreams, though, at least that’s what I’ve found, and even when you know you are dreaming, you still have a good time. I’m sorry you lost your friend Dave, Brenda. And thank you for bringing a new meaning to this week’s Wordle. Love, Amy
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You have written a lovely tribute to your friend, Brenda. Our best poems often come from our deepest emotions.
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I loved that dead man poem. This is a fitting complement to it. The title is fine, even without knowing its particular context.
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I know it’s something special when a poem starts writing itself and goes in unexpected directions. Something in those first lines triggered a memory; then there was no way to stop it. All you can do is ride it out and feel all those emotions again.
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It’s a lovely tribute and I’m sure your friend had a hand in guiding your pen. Your words ahve ensured his imortality.
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This may be my favourite of your poems that I have read. It pays to reread and I think would sound good read aloud. One of those poems where I forget there is a wordle involved.
And the memories don’t go. David will find a comfortable spot in your world where you will sense him. That doesn’t go away.
margo
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The second stanza gave me a little chill. Great piece!
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Thank you Mama Zen. I like this one, too.
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This is lovely, Brenda. The first stanza is absolutely breath-taking…
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Thanks Laurie. It’s interesting with wordle words. I wrote the first stanza and stopped. Reread, ruminated and I kept thinking that Dave is forever stuck in last year. So the rest came.
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Such poetry is the ultimate compliment you could have paid your friend. May your memories remain green.
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Thank you VIv, I hope they do.
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Moving tribute to your friend, Brenda. I liked it and the title very much.
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🙂 Thank you Traci.
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Brenda, I love the delicacy of this poem. I remember when your friend passed away. A loving tribute to him.
Pamela
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Thank you Pamela, and thanks for your earlier support, too.
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Oh this is lovely, elegaic, with the “celestial observation” and the hint of danger at the end in the “ominous edges”. Beautiful poem.
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Sorry for your loss Brenda, good friends can seldom be replaced. But out memories keep them alive as is proven by this gently landscaped poem you have written. And I like the title, as well as emerald seasons.
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
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Thank you Elizabeth. It makes me smile to have the title liked, 🙂
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The title is really great, and I love how the external landscape leads to the meditation that transforms through the creative act of memory. A sensitive tribute, Brenda.
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Thank you Irene. The mind travels when you drive long distances, and Dave was with me on the trip out here, floating through fields of memory across farm landscapes. I’m glad you like the title.
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“where you sit forever locked
in celestial observation”
May his essence continue to live on through yours and others’ memories! I am sure it was hard to lose such a good friend.
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You know Mary. Their ghosts keep coming back, there’s no question. He’ll be with me until I go.
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