Poets Salon: Together

POETS SALON

– 5/08/19

Hosted by Kath Abela Wilson

My Maltese mother grew up in Egypt, in an international community and spoke five languages. When I was in grade school in New York, she started weekly meetings in our home, gathering my friends together. We made things and donated to causes, often little bookmarks with poems that my father, a poet and journalist, taught me to make. Mother loved life, lived as long as she could, 95 years of inspiration and then:

my inheritance
her will
for peace

~ Kath Abela

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Nicholas Klacsanzky

haka—
the wind offers
a song

*Haka is a Māori dance that is performed to welcome guests, or to acknowledge great achievements, occasions, or funerals.

We are all interconnected, both physically and metaphysically. When someone or something dies, who he or she was gets reinserted into nature. The nutrients and matter we leave behind might even end up as part of the food other people or things consume. People’s memories of us and the work we leave behind stays in the consciousness of others after we pass. No one really dies, and perhaps no one is ever born. It is just a transformation of existing matter and energy into another type of matter and energy.

whale vertebrae—
memories of father
fading to white

Love can keep memories only for so long. Luckily, I see my father more and more in myself. I am carrying him in my laugh, my poetry, my jokes, sense of adventure, yearning for unifying religions, desire to meditate.

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Grace Galton

All our sorrows, joys, tears and laughter will pass like clouds. I dedicate my work to my beloved husband, Ralph who brought so much beauty into my life.

after the funeral
all the dead stars
still shine
now I understand
the twinkle in his eye

anniversary…
early morning mist
blurring the view
or just a stinging in the
corners of my eyes

sliding
down the mountain
the sun on its way
to tomorrow
without you

concert in the park
a butterfly and a rose
swaying
do they know the band
is playing our tune?

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Carol Raisfeld

Missing her everyday, how I wish I could call. My daughter and I reminisce…so many beautiful moments to remember.

hibiscus
the color of mother’s lipstick
when she was young…
in full bloom, my daughter
wears the same hibiscus smile

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Echos

Mom’s melodic voice at night, “remember, sweet dreams always.” She only wanted us to be happy. During dinners we each made up jingles about our reheated leftovers with mom joining in. She was beautiful. I always wanted to look like her; long red hair and hazel eyes. Teasing, dad would kiss freckles on her nose.

Her memory seemed shorter each day as our names and faces faded in no special order. Late afternoon she swept spots of sunlight while humming a child’s song, a lullaby with no name.

At mom’s funeral one by one we spoke of her love… memories a good life brings.

outgoing tide
she blinked and life
drifted …
sand in a paper cup
pouring out dreams

Ο

two together
tiny shells overturn
in the tide

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Josette D’Orazio

The first time I was invited to Norman and Marilyn’s home I was taken with the bamboo forest they created in their yard. It was a lush and private place where one could sit and enjoy a tranquil setting.

bamboo garden
unintentionally neglected
shivers in the wind
the empty bench waits
for a new beginning

The backyard was a container garden full of potted plants. We shared a Chinese Elm. I believe Marilyn’s garden was an extension of herself. After her death the plants needed to find a new home and my husband and I adopted them. Though they are all healthy and wonderful in their own right, the tiny purple orchid is the plant that keeps Marilyn alive in my memory. It’s not a spectacular plant, it’s quite small, when I brought it to my home I wasn’t sure it would make it. With a little love and light it grows and blooms; it is an encouragement which keeps me thinking of my dear neighbor and nothing is really lost.

a tree brought us together

the fence was built around it
without expectation we created a bond

we tended that tree’s needs
holding much of your garden in my hands
those years are held in a small purple orchid

Together: Quotes and Credits

Nicholas Klacsanzky is a web content specialist by day, and a poet and writer by morning and night. He hosts the blog Haiku Commentary, which is an extension of his father’s work. His father, George Klacsanzky, created one of the first journals of haiku in America and was pivotal in spreading haiku in the Pacific Northwest. Nicholas lives in Kyiv, Ukraine with his wife and pug.

Grace Galton lives in the UK. She says: “Over the years since losing my beloved husband, Ralph, I have written many tanka for him. I holiday abroad quite a lot and each time I take him with me in my mind and discuss all the beautiful things I see with him, just as I used to when he was alive.”

Carol Raisfeld lives in Atlantic Beach, a barrier island close to New York City. Her hobbies include sailing, chess, sculpting, painting and boxing. She holds US and foreign design patents in interactive toy design. Her poetry, art and photography appear worldwide in print and online journals. Carol is a worldwide anthologized poet and winner of several international awards.

Josette D’Orazio lives in Pasadena, next door to the home of her artist-poet friend Marilyn Zammit and her husband, the renowned artist Norman Zammitt whose lives and friendship she honors with her poems and prose above. Marilyn, who frequently participated in Poets on Site in Pasadena, introduced Josette to the group. Josette attends weekly meetings, and has published her work in anthologies and journals. She publishes her cherita (a six line, lyrical story form) in the “cherita journal” published in Singapore and U.K. Josette says: “I am grateful to Marilyn for introducing me to Poets on Site it is yet another dimension of my
life that I will keep her in my memory.”

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♣ We welcome and encourage your response, especially in the form of a short poem, by leaving a comment below.

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