Category Archives: Memorial Poem

Under The Sycamore. A Place of Grateful Rememberance

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It is tall

and stretches to the heavens.

It is solitary and strong.

 

The leaves unfurl late

and wither early

with fashion and grace.

 

They dangle around

the solstice

like light green earrings.

 

Its bark breaks

at the hips

and peels

to reveal a smooth

decoupage of earthy pastels.

Tan and light brown on ivory

are the shades of color

I long to climb.

Those branches are beyond reach

and slippery as silk.

I will look up through the freckled limbs though,

and see clouds passing

like time,

and sky, blue, unending

like a patch of eternity.

 

What remains of my mother will be placed deep

into the humus to compost

with shards of fallen bark.

Death on death will serve nutrients into the roots.

I am thankful for place,

this place.

I will visit

and till memories into the soil

and grow up

again and again.

When Sleep Came

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Your eyelashes moved the

air between us.

The lids which carried them

would swing open and shut…

open and shut.

 

And there, soft blue would

circle the light within you.

That little light of yours

that did shine…

did shine on us.

 

When we were with you

lower loves were called up

to the higher one.

Agape’ would surface…

it would surface in us.

 

Your family would see

your smiles spread across.

Sometimes you would

lend them to the rest of us…

to rest on us.

 

A language from above

you would speak.

A coo of your own tongue

would rise with our questions…

rise above our questions.

 

Without a first step,

without a framed embrace,

without a formed word,

you spoke to our lives…

spoke into our lives.

 

And we slowed down

down to our being

where the still small voice is

that voice you heard

that voice we hear.

 

And when sleep came,

it came so sweetly and

air slipped in and out and

God held our breath…

God held our breath.

 

For the Webb family

in honor of Aiden Josiah Webb

April 1st 2011

 

 

© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.

Time for a Nap

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We were tired.

We were asking for traveling mercies.

What was once “not yet” became “come”.

We waited with the Lord.

But we drifted.

 

We didn’t want to nod off.

She loved to watch us.

So many scenes of cracked light

upon our beds.

Her shadow covered

us as a blanket.

 

A role reversal,

our silhouettes longing

to rest upon her chest.

Our ears pressed

against her last heartbeat.

 

 

 

 

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.

 

 

>Real Time

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That afternoon there were moments
Time outs from speaking, breathing
All that surfaced was a ticking
A tocking like a heartbeat
Thump, thump, thump
Like a metronome keeping pace
And we submitted to it
for what else was there
There was no DVD
there was no DVR
There was only us and him
and thoughts and prayers floating
He once again suspended future
and past and invited  present
Oh what a gift it was
like eating breakfast on the beach
after a long arduous night
and light came softly
and spilled on us
through that window of
real time
For Dan Webb in the loss of his son.

When Sleep Came

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Photo: Miss you.

Your eyelashes moved the
air between us.
The lids which carried them
would swing open and shut…
open and shut.
.
And there, soft blue would
circle the light within you.
That little light of yours
that did shine…
did shine on us.
.
When we were with you
lower loves were called up
to the higher one.
Agape’ would surface…
it would surface in us.
.
Your family would see
your smiles spread across.
Sometimes you would
lend them to the rest of us…
to rest on us.
.
A language from above
you would speak.
A coo of your own tongue
would rise above our questions…
rise above our questions.
.
Without a first step,
without a framed embrace,
without a formed word,
you spoke into our lives….
spoke into our lives.
.
And we slowed down
down to our being
where the still small voice is
that voice you heard
that voice we hear.
.
And when sleep came,
it came so sweetly and
air slipped in and out and
God held our breath…
God held our breath.
.
For the Webb family
in honor of Aiden Josiah Webb
April 1st 2011

>In and Sometimes Of

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I remember praying
words only our spirits
understood.
Those mysteries behind
a veil where angels gather
and gold is laid.
Some would say you were
in the world
not of it.
Yet those who loved you,
who came near you
knew this was a small
truth of your life.
The essence of your life
was as pure as the
cradle of the womb.
Those who cared for
you became embryonic fluid
and they baptized you
in the fully immersed
waters of love.
The contractions would
come and go,
come and go,
come and go,
In painful grace
your mother and
mid-wife
delivered you into
the arms of Jesus
as your father
released you
to his Father.
Seven perfect years
our Lord lent you to us
to teach us about
the highest love.
Sure, Caleb, you were sometimes
in the world not of it.
No formed word uttered
but the word of your
very life taught us so.
It taught us so.
For Michael and Corine Johnson
In honor of Caleb Johnson
2004-2011
By Gerald Barrett
March 7th 2011

Clair-bear

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I didn’t mean to leave you
in my dreams.
Yet is was dream on dream
on dream and then…
*
I woke up in the arms
of Jesus.
*
His hands touched my
cheeks like you did.
*
His eyes twinkled brown
into mine like you did
every morning.
*
He sang lullabies
that both of us know.
*
We went for walks
and talked about
how much we love you.
*
I told Him how I missed
you and yet the ache
wasn’t there like
when it was nap time.
*
He said, “Claire-bear, here
time is set aside, like when
you would play and play
and your imagination
was free and full.
Your Mommy will be
here before you can
flash a dimple.
It will be as if she
came along too.
*
Then the three of us
will rock in the chair
in the lazy afternoon
hours of the day
and dreams will come
absolutely true.”
*
 Written for Hollie
for Claire’s 2nd Birthday
By Gerald Barrett

>She Was She Is

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Pain was amongst the close circle of friends
for she would visit with suffering faithfully
for 20 years.
Each prick and poke a tiny sting of death.
Each stay wondering maybe if her address
would change.
For each suction of life from her
a greater breath for life would exhale.
Those reactions spiritually, physically
would often mock the nerve ending
throbs and sandpaper edges.
Faith would often trump understanding
and mercies new with each sunrise
would reflect off her soul.
This is the first year of wiped tears
and dissolved sorrows and
understanding that trumps faith.
This is the first year of seeing
the One who took the sting out of death.
She knew more intimately his suffering.
She didn’t need to poke her
fingers into his wrist.
She put her hand in His.
In memory of Laurel Barrett’s Ultimate healing one year ago today.