R L Kilgore
Mar 15
Final Gift
icon1 Ron | icon2 Poems, eulogy, personal poetry, poetry about age | icon4 March 15, 2009 @ 7:12 pm| icon3No Comments »

The small boy brings a single flower,
A daffodil picked from the yard
And presents it to his mother,
And she weeps - she weeps because
She knows he has given her all he has,
All he has to offer and with no
Motive other than his love.

 

The mother’s eyes no longer have tears,
And I weep - I weep because the
Moment is gone when bouquets of roses
With the sweetest of fragrance can be
Presented for no other reason
Than the pleasure they bring.

Now my gift is all I have to offer.
Garlands so readily wove, yet carelessly
Denied when days were warm, now
Serve only to soften a lingering guilt.
Just know, my Mother, on this earth you
Are remembered - and shall by my children
And theirs and theirs to be.
   
                                    rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net 

 

Feb 1

This was written for a friend who recently passed away.  I was able to visit him about three weeks before he died.

Eons stretching beyond belief
Now mean nothing but what we see,
With none more precious than this day
To him, knowing so few remained,
Poised at the edge of what’s to be.

A light-hearted spirit true to his nature,
Unaffected as one might assume
In his grievous condition, relieved
Me the task of feigned good cheer,
His buoyancy dispelling my dreaded gloom.

Instead we talked as a normal day
Of sports, of kids and elections, wise
In combination over one hundred years,
With catchall solutions uncontested
By those not there to see our eyes.

But far, far from a normal day
We tacitly knew – small jokes brought
Smiles but no belly laugh,
Mirth without twinkle and we paused,
Looking away, each to his thought.

Ensnared in a web of no one’s making,
Spun by blood cells out of control,
He bravely proclaimed his satisfaction
And readiness, but I thought better –
Valiant warrior, gentle soul.

I said I would see him in the Spring,
He hugged me with no uttered reply.
We knew only I would see the Spring
So I turned to go to my car,
Turned to hide my moistened eye.

                                rlkilgore

 

 

 

 

Dec 24
Plain As Jane
icon1 Ron | icon2 poetry about age | icon4 December 24, 2008 @ 9:32 am| icon3No Comments »

                                Whenever there I chance to see
                                Sails and gales,
                                In mystery,
                                I wonder where I might have been
                                If I had blown before the wind.

                                Perhaps a beggar on the street
                                Worn and torn
                                In stocking feet,
                                Wine imbibed, waiting to die
                                And cursing all that passes by.

                                Perhaps a president or king,
                                Bestowed with gold
                                And high esteem,
                                Adulation, fame, success
                                And fortune more than popes could bless.

                                Fair winds have borne me love’s caress
                                Hand in hand
                                With happiness,
                                Compassion, trust, fidelity,
                                No greater fortune could I see.

                                And what I am is what I’ll be,
                                Plain as Jane
                                In reality.
                                Though precious youth is robbed by time,
                                The child inside remains behind.

                                                                  rlkilgore

Previous Page »