Here is a new poem I wrote this morning:
Little Piglets
Three little piglets
Naming our summer delight
Then Christmas dinner
My uncle in Wisconsin raises three little piggies every summer. My kids have loved visiting and naming them(even if they already have names!). I love showing my kids around the family farm where my dad grew up. I found much joy there when I was younger.
I am submitting some writing again this year to Salt Lake Community College's writing competition. This year the poetry category is a short collection(no more than ten poems). I have found about 12 poems about grief and death that I will be editing. I am having a hard time deciding which ones should stay. If you are a fan of my writing and would like to help, let me know, and I will share those poems with you. I also will gladly take any feedback you have for the following poems. Please comment or contact me with that! Here is the first and last poem of my little collection:
Cemetery Contemplation by Alice Ficklin
I sit feet away from a baby girl
Who died about three months before I was born.
I wonder what she would have been like today.
Would we have been friends?
I sit yards away from an open pit
Expecting its occupant’s arrival today.
Whose partner has waited nearly thirty-three years
To meet his sweetheart again.
I wonder what that reunion would be like today.
Would seeing their glorious reunion bring comfort to the broken hearts of those who lost
Mom, sister, or grandma?
I scan the hundreds of faded, weathered and worn headstones
Each of them representing a person,
Each of them important to somebody.
I wonder if the memories of those departed begin to also fade with time.
Will I one day be forgotten?
I see flowers and trinkets
On or near many of the markers
Only the most recently erected have such tokens
I wonder about those who leave momentos.
Will their giving hearts ever be mended?
I realize that this sanctuary is for us, the living.
Here we come to remember and to reflect.
This spot is not for them; the dead are not present.
I wonder if they ever look down on their own graves.
Would they find our gatherings and rituals strange and unnecessary?
I notice walls surrounding this memorial.
A separation allowing us to leave our world behind for a moment.
A holy site giving solace from problems, worries and cares.
I wonder if everybody feels this same peace within these walls.
Are these bricks enough of a separation from the distractions of the world for all?
I feel the stillness
As I contemplate my purpose here on this planet,
The fact that I too will one day die
Leaving this world and all my earthly possessions behind.
I wonder what I’ll see as most important on that last day.
Will I be scared?
I reflect on what is truly significant in this life.
The flowers and trinkets mean nothing to the dead,
But the people who visit do matter.
I wonder who will visit my future grave.
Will they know I loved them enough?
Emerging by Alice Ficklin
Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon,
I’m rising from my deep slumber.
The grip of grief
The depths of misery
Slowly release their force around my neck.
The journey from deep depression
To the surface has at times seemed like eternal eons
And at other times it seemed to flow quickly like raging seas.
Time really does heal
Yet the length not prescribed or set
In fact,
Time can lapse differently,
Possessing its own personality.
For one,
Time speeds along
Like a cheetah to its prey.
For another,
Time slowly slacks,
Like a sloth to the next branch.
But time
Whether quick or slow
Chisels at grief
Changing one’s soul
It never truly leaves
Just makes the griever fortified.
So , I slowly will fly like a butterfly
Bouncing from flower to flower
Taking my time
Embracing all feelings
Healing at my own pace.
Emerging.
