A eulogy for our friend, Harlan Kooima, who died in farm accident while loading cattle…
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A farmer is a man with simple needs who learns to follow weather in the skies he watches corn grow tall from kerneled seeds enjoys his morning coffee with the guys.
His wife beside him, faithful thru the years she was his only chosen, youthful bride and tho’ their troubles sometimes caused her tears she listened to his stories, saved his pride.
They raised two lovely daughters, three strong sons took them to church and taught them of God’s love life on the farm made hard work seem like fun grown green with rain and sunshine from above.
This farmer’s sudden passing came too soon we’ll miss his presence here, his smiling eyes he now whistles some bright celestial tune… we trust God’s grace to keep us all our lives.
Lillian hosts dVerse poets pub where she’s serving quadrilles till sunrise.
dark cloud gathers over house, heavy weight of self-pity settles in; crawls into bed with depression to brood sombre mood; unsettling helpless inhabitants who desire respite but cannot escape shadow of “woe-is-poor-me” midnight feeling …unless faith dawns miraculous at sunrise.
Think hard again before you leave the partner you pledged to love; That decision will certainly cleave two hearts like a sacrificed dove.
How much value is in your word, honor found deep in your soul? Hold onto courage and fortitude however love’s difficult toll.
Opposites do naturally attract or eventually they may repel; Often we give up, due to fact of living in temporary hell.
Perhaps if given gracious chance people can learn to change; Pull partner closer in life dance, pride aside, missteps rearrange.
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Linking to dVerse where Grace hosts with a new form: Trolaan, created by Valerie Peterson Brown, is a poem consisting of 4 quatrains. Each quatrain begins with the same letter (the second letter of previous stanza). The rhyme scheme is abab for each stanza.
Tillie slumps in her wheelchair under hand-stitched patchwork for warmth. She’s shrunk with age, both body and mind. She stares, emotionally flat…until they place young grandson on her lap. They sing “Jesus Loves Me” off-key together and watch little birds chirp behind glass.
Eight years of Alzheimer’s…enough for anyone to suffer this long goodbye. Her breathing shallows as family gathers round. Last grandson arrives as they hold matriarch’s cool-veined hands in prayer. She quietly exhales one final breath after family members murmur, “Amen.”
lap quilt for keepsake
her once sharp eyes, now shadowed
trust we’ll meet again
…
Haibun on “momento Mori” linked to dVerse poets where Frank Tassone hosts pub for Memorial Day.
a poem in my pocket 
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