Everyday Poetry

I spent the day with my grandchildren yesterday,  and some of it was spent writing poetry with Skylar.  We decided we make a great team - no room for modesty here! Here's my take on the process,  followed by our co-written poem on owls - 95% of which Skylar should get credit for.  Writing Poetry with Skylar She's just like me when words flow from brain to pen to spill across the page  in urgent haste. No thought, no planning where the poem is going, she just dives in, allows the words to take her to the next line, the next rhyme.  Only when she gets stuck do I suggest what might come next -  a description, an action, a different turn of phrase; she clutches at it, catches it, runs with it, spins it  into something of her own.  Mostly it comes unaided, straight from her eight year old heart.  ©  Copyright 2023. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved Owls as you settle down to bed sounds of owls come in your head soaring through the sky at night you might think it is a fright but when

Another sad one I'm afraid.   The mourners stand aghast, worried He's making inappropriate remarks,  Except they not, it's just dark humour.  It's who he is, lightening the mood,  Brightening the room, should it fall flat. It's what she most loved about him.  Now she's gone, he jokes 'She's not visited me yet.' Except he's not joking; He really wishes she would. He's waiting every night For her ghost to come calling.  ©  Copyright 2023. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I've been to two funerals recently. I suppose it's inevitable that their frequency will increase as I get older,  and my peer group ages alongside me.  It makes you consider your own mortality, and prompts a resolve to use the days left to you more wisely.  But somehow you never do, preferring to think there's still enough time left.   The death of an elderly uncle is easier to bear. It's possible to reflect on a long life, well lived,  To remember the fun you had when you were small, How he made you shriek until you were breathless,  To consider the grace of his faith, which eased his end.  The death of my sunny, fun-filled friend Is much harder to balance. We are all too aware She had too few years to enjoy her joyful take on life,  Will miss out on too many evenings full of laughter,  No longer guide her grandchildren into adulthood. Both deaths celebrated as a release from pain.  Both lives celebrated as lives lived well.  We carry their memories home with us,   To