The featured image is a book that Robin and I have read and highly recommend it to all. But honestly, I have been writing my way through grief because of Tyler’s death. What you find below are three of the poems I have written in the past couple of weeks. If you would like to follow the fullness of my writing do follow me on Facebook. You can find much more there.
Obligation
I do what I must
Touch of dust.
I reach, wanting return,
Into an empty cistern.
Dry well
Spiders swell.
Woven webs
Desire ebbs.
My core
Is no more.
Joy replaced
Tears on my face.
Work a drudge
Flow of sludge.
Obligation
My only motivation.
A smile will meet you
When I greet you.
It is a placeholder
For pain I shoulder.
For those who suffer
Give a buffer.
Grant space
And a little grace.
Set expectations aside
Stand by my side,
In silence
Quiet alliance.
Don’t ask, don’t tell
Your words, quell.
Let me be
But be with me.
- Mark Eckel, 11 August 2022, seven weeks after the death of my son, Tyler Micah
Mandate
Edvard Munch
Art punch
Blood red sky
Silent the cry.
Solace
In silence
Sought;
But naught.
Early morning
No warning
Darkness descends
Starkness upends.
Bursts of interest,
Momentary.
Searches for rest,
Arbitrary.
Human
My acumen;
Unable
To label.
Real, not fake
For his sake
I continue
Seeking sinew.
Czeslaw Milosz
No gauche
The dead in living trust
So, living, speak, I must.*
*Czeslaw Milosz’s 1980 Nobel acceptance speech contains the truth, “Those who are alive receive a mandate from those who are silent forever.” Edvard Munch’s “Silent Scream” is an apt artistic depiction for all who have no words in their agony.
Loathing
Every step
A rep,
I, robot,
Caring, not.
Wishing passport
Chasing deport.
Every effort
To abort.
Caring gone
Seeking brawn
To carry on.
I, withdrawn.
What does it matter
If I scatter
To the wind,
My efforts thinned?
I’m lazy
Thoughts hazy,
Energy drained
Worship feigned.
Make no mistake,
I continue to ache,
Roiling tide,
Not soon to subside.
Having read,
Stay with my dread,
Keep up with me
Need of company.
Not as you suppose
With much prose.
Words abate,
Stay by the gate.
Soon, I hope,
To grab the rope,
To stay my fall
From this pall.
For me pray,
Do not say
You understand
Just with me, stand.
- Mark Eckel, 31 August 2022, ten weeks after the death of my son, Tyler Micah