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A Gift From Mama 🌼🌼🌼She didn't want to goto Nonnie's house to recoup,it was musty, old,and Nonnie would fuss,but she didn't wantto hurt her feelings either.We laughed as we secretlyplanned for meto come down and carefor her in her home.We had it all plotted out.What she would say when released,me arranging time off work.We got silly schemingour skulduggery, giggling away.Then she reached overand touched my armand said,"loving is a requirementof motherhood, but I wantyou to know, I am also proud of you,and I really like the womanyou've become."Shortly after, it was timefor me to leave.I never saw her again.She died the next dayin the musty spare bedroom at Nonnie's.She was released a day early,they settled her into the creekyold bed and an hour latershe took a deep breath and was gone. ~~Judi Van Gorder

A Queen has Passed This WayA Ping!A glance at my phoneand a tear slidinvoluntarily from my eye,a weight pressedupon my chest.A woman I have never metyet, over decadeshas touched methrough her regal,unwavering devotionto her people and her kingdom, has died.Her long reignthrough prosperity, wars,and a world on the brinkwas met with her stoicperseverance, generosity, and grace.A queen in spirit and ascension,displayed to the worldwhat dignity and honorshould look like. ~~Judi Van Gorder Queen Elizabeth II (1926 - 2022) has died September 9, 2022 at the age of 96 and after of reign of 70 years. Thank youand Rest in PeaceElizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor,Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom.

What is Heaven? I sat and watched while my husband took his last breath and escaped his body. I wondered where did he go? Where will I go when it is my time? My religion dictates I believe in an afterlife and I do. Is it the mansions of His kingdom? Did I do enough? Would I live upstairs or down? Will I see those who went before, will they welcome me? Or is it simply a resting space of peace and fulfillment? I'm leaning this way. But it doesn't really matter to me now. While I'm here I will focus on the moment. What can I build? Who can I serve? What can I leave? For me the answers to heaven can wait. ~~Judi Van Gorder

WidowHis ashes spread upon the sea;she, left to honor and grieve.Frozen in her inherent duties,smothered by a cloak of tasksthat transition from death to life, she utters one last goodbye.She, left to honor and grieve,his ashes spread upon the sea. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Just Another Day in the Land of the Free Lately every day When I turn on the U.S. news I hear and see Another act of gun violence Another policeman shooting A black person over a minor offense For the crime of driving while black Another shooting in a school Another shooting in a church Another shooting in a store 50,000 gun deaths per year As if an entire town ceased to exist Yet nothing is done The republicans offer Useless thoughts and prayers And refuse to do a damn thing Nothing can be done they say Gun violence Is the cost Of our freedom Guns don’t kill people The solution to gun violence Are more guns for all The Gun ghosts don’t care for thoughts and prayers They remain dead

Day 2 berkeley maps growing up in Berkeley back in the day we still were allowed to free roam and so I went everywhere on foot or bus walking to Solano avenue drinking coffee at Peets coffee eating Chinese food in Berkeley’s china town walking downtown walking to CAL eating top dog experiencing the late 60’s transforming Telegraph and walking in the woods in tilden park high up in the hills overlooking the bay area Day three Recalling people I barely knew over the years I have known so many people and now when the virus is spreading out around the world I will soon be hearing that this person has died and that person has died I will outlive many of my friends from around the world part of getting old something that I fear one day perhaps people will hear that jake has died and they will say that they barely knew me and wished that they had taken the time to become my friend Just as I think about all the friends i am about to loose to this killer virus running amuck corona fears corona the word fills us with dread spreading around the world today will we all survive this corona

Ashes to AshesAsh contained in an urn,142 pounds of fleshreduced to almost weightless, white and grey flakes.Spread under a redwoodthey will soonfade into the earthto nourish new growth.Thrown into the airthey float on the breeze,separated yetone with the universe.But her humanity lives onin those who will remember. ~~Judi Van Gorder

April 19 My Good Friday offering Yellow Star Ripped from their abode, families wearing the yellow star herded into boxcars, to death they rode. ~~Judi Van Gorder Notes:

Trey He lay, his head on my lap, his pained blue eyes begged, I stay. I stroked his fur, calmly spoke while he closed his tired eyes and slipped away The moan came from deep within First I didn't recognize the soulful sound came from me. Then sobs wrenched my chest and tears poured from my eyes. ~~Judi Van Gorder Prompt: Write an Endecha

You won't weep for me as I would not hear your cries Bury not the dead It's part of you that has passed You bury yourself instead 'keeper 050613 / 1000

Moonless Reflection In the black and empty night I walk with my last memory of you, Moonless walk --------- mirrors regret -----Too late to say "thank you" --------- to tell you "I forgive you" --------- to ask your forgiveness --------- to bless your journey --------- to affirm "I love you" Moonless talk --------- mirrors regret. -------I could only utter ------------"goodbye". . . . -- -------------- ~~Judi Van Gorder

Reminders Outside the cold bites tender plants and shrivels vitality limp and black while inside thick walls, warmth rides acrid air fouled by smoke and the stench of sickness. A croaking cough emanates from the next room and I hang up the phone processing the news of a young friend just diagnosed with cancer. The season should be reserved for the old and worn. The sting of winter rests in death. ----------------------- Judi Van Gorder

Phone Call to An Old Friend Hi Meadow, I hear you're sick. --------"""Yes, I am." Really sick? --------- "Cancer." Where? --------- "Brain and lungs." Prognosis? ---------""A matter of time." Are you up to seeing an old friend? ---------------- "I'd love it." I'll be there, I love you. -----------------"Love you too." -------------------------Judi Van Gorder

The Will I read of love, undying love, what does that mean, undying love? A rose withers, a blossom falls, --------------- what lives will die. Love is a will, a rush, a sigh, a touch, a cry, a hope, a rock. I read of love, undying love, --------------- what lives will die. Blush of new love we know must fade replaced in time with trust and grace. In rest, I will my love remain. -------------- What lives will die. ---------------------- --Judi Van Gorder A Baccresiezé

Trey Today I cried tears of regret. I was not enough. -------- Judi Van Gorder Still playing with Forms, this is a Lune.

unidentified tangled tight within brush and brambles crusted in grit and crushed dead leaves in a putrid pile of trash the color of clay mud a skeletal hand lying stone still suddenly flinches, once ---- ---Judi Van Gorder A Nonet

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry English Verse Tyburn Poems can take one of two very different paths: Tyburn Verse is an invented form found all over the internet. This short verse centers around the 4 words that make up the first 4 lines..The The elements of the Tyburn are: a hexastich, a poem in 6 lines. Syllabic, 2-2-2-2-9-9 syllables per line. The 2 syllable lines should be one two syllable word. Rhymed, aaaabb. Repetition, L1 is repeated as the 5th and 6th syllables of L5, L2 is repeated as the 7th and 8th syllables of L5, L3 is repeated as the 5th and 6th syllables of L6 and L4 is repeated as the 7th and 8th syllables of L6. xa1 xa2 xa3 xa4 x x x x xa1 xa2 b x x x x xa3 xa4 b Condemned Contrite tonight midnight finite A church bell rings contrite tonight, thrice. Tyburn gallows midnight finite price. ~~Judi Van Gorder Rhyme in Time Obtain, retain, constrain mundane. To write in form, obtain, retain prime words. Practice to constrain mundane rhyme. ~~Judi Van Gorder Tyburn Verse is also a thematic genre of poetry named for the infamous Tyburn gallows outside of 16th century London where a multitude of political prisoners as well as other condemned felons were hanged. The poetry exploits the many executions there. The frame of the verse is at the discretion of the poet. I have to admit, I found this genre much more fascinating to research than the invented form of the same name. Maybe that is why I chose to write the example poem for the invented verse form to also fit this thematic genre. The history of Tyburn includes such diverse names as Cromwell and Molly Brown. Poems in many forms document this segment of history and even play a role in its traditions. Recitation of the "Neck Verse" actually played a part in saving some of the condemned. Any first time offender could claim "benefit of clergy". Clergy, among the very few literates of the day, were not executed but only branded on first offence. But to prove they were clergy they had to read what became known as the Neck Verse, Psalm 51:1. Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy steadfast love; according to Thy abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. At midnight before a prisoner was to be hanged a bell would be rung at St Sepulchre's church near Newgate prison and the bellman would then recite aloud this verse: All you that in the condemned hole do lie, Prepare you, for tomorrow you shall die; Watch all and pray; The hour is drawing near, That you before the Almighty must appear. Examine well yourselves; in time repent, That you may not to eternal flames be sent. And when St Sepulchre's Bell in the morning tolls, The Lord above have mercy on your souls. ----------------------------------------- --- Anonymous Poet's of the caliber of Shakespeare and Alexander Pope were among the many who produced verse in this genre. Act II, Scene iii, Air XXVII---"Green Sleeves" by John Gay 1685-1732 Since lays were ade, for every degree, To curb vice in other as well as me I wonder we han't better company ------------ Upon Tyburn tree. But gold from law can take us out the sting; And if rich men, like us, were to swing, Twould thin the land, such numbers to string ------------ Upon Tyburn tree.

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Latin Verse Lament- from the Latin lamenta-"wailing, weeping, groans", in verse is a genre of poetry that expresses grief or mourning. Although the word comes from Latin, there are Laments in the Hindu Vedas, classical Greek verse as well as the Hebrew Old Testament. In oral tradition the Lament is often performed by women. The 14th century, Occitan lament was called the Planh and was verse that gave general praise for the departed, prayed for his soul and ended with an expression of the poet's sense of loss. This was actually a secular funeral song differing from the Dirge which is liturgical. (According the NPOPP, the poet's expression of loss was sometimes questionable.) Dido's Lament by Nahum Tate Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me On thy bosom let me rest, More I would, but Death invades me; Death is now a welcome guest. Aria: When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create No trouble, no trouble in thy breast; Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate. Remember me, but ah! forget my fate,

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Irish Verse Form. Coronach (wailing together) found in ancient Irish and Scot traditions, is a dirge or funeral song. It is specifically, a woman's lament, a funeral song "shrieked by Celtic women". It appears less strict in form than many of the ancient Irish writings. The distinct Irish feature of dunadh, beginning and ending the poem with the same word or phrase, was not practiced in the few examples I could find. Sir Walter Scott's Lady of the Lake includes a Coronach. The elements of the Coronach are: commonly written in any number of quatrains, each line 7 syllables (give or take a syllable). rhymed, rhyme scheme is either xaxa xbxb etc or abab cdcd etc. written without dunadh. A slave woman's song by Barbara Hartman Ramses rules our newborn sons must die tonight by his decree. Swords slash small throats, blood runs through streets while families flee. When, O God of Abraham, will you hear these mothers' cries? Our infants, innocent as lambs, slaughtered here before our eyes. How long, O God, must we live and die by a Pharaoh's whip? How much longer can we survive? Take me, now, into your Fellowship.

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Japanese Verse Jisei 辞世 or Death Poem is a custom of the ancient literate Chinese and Japanese to write a poem when death was imminent. Zen monks often wrote poems for those who could not write their own. The poems were written in either Classic Chinese, 4 line, 5-7-5-7 characters, waka or haiku. Most often the waka was the verse form used. Writing such a poem is sometimes associated with sepaku (ritual suicide) because it was part of the sepaku ritual, though these poems only make up a small percentage of poems of this genre. One of earliest records of jisei was in 686 by Prince Otsu as he approached his death. The practice was all but abandoned by the 20th century. The jisei were written in "a graceful, natural manner, and never mention death explicitly". Symbols such as sunsets and falling cherry blossoms are common. Poems were not always written right before death; respected poets were sometimes contacted well in advance of the event to write a jinsei for one nearing the end of life, poems could also be rewritten by others after death, although the rewrite would never be referred to so as not to tarnish the legacy. a small night storm blows saying 'falling is the essence of a flower' preceding those who hesitate ~~Yukio Mishima An example of what can be done with this genre in English and Irish.... The Death Poem of Conor MacArt An Dán Bás Conchubhair Mac Airt by Brendan Lyons Tá mo chroí bánú. I bhfuil cónaí lá fada agus leisciúil. I mo óige a bhí mé ghaiscíoch, I meán-aois a bhí mé comhairleoir, I seanaoise mé díomá. My heart is fading. My days were long and lazy. In my youth I was a warrior, in middle age a counsellor, in old age a disgrace. "The Japanese warrior class (侍: samurai) had a tradition of writing death poems known as Jisei no ku: 辞世の句, often before committing ritual suicide to expiate some breach of honour. In Ireland, as usual, we do things differently. This is not a translation (well, obviously it has been translated) but a first attempt to write an original poem in Irish." ~~Brendan I'm waving at you, somewhat forlornly, before a mountain of outraged pedantry falls down on me .... but not here, I hope. Jisei no ku ~~Brendan Lyons