Tag Archives: loss

Mother

Posted on February 12, 2015 by Jim Stewart

Strangers hover over your swollen belly: Was there a window? Were smiles real? The clock ticks in your heart. Your hands caress your abdomen, already saying goodbye. You give me to the air, knowing enough to understand the coming of … Continue reading →

Posted in family, Gratitude, Humans, Kids, Poem | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Poker Pout

Posted on September 10, 2014 by Jim Stewart

The gyre of chance: swirls in swirls; the cards are so cold, colder than the click of a door locking out hope. I push my chips to another stack, no regrets, no goodbyes offered, not even “see ya later.” My … Continue reading →

Posted in Consciousness, Poem, Poker, Slice of Life, Sport | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Haiku–Hair Reality

Posted on August 19, 2014 by Jim Stewart

The skin on the back of my head is warm and smooth. I miss my hair there.

Posted in Aging, Haiku, Poem, Slice of Life | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Bastards of Pain

Posted on July 18, 2014 by Jim Stewart

So, what do you do when the bastards of pain camp on your front porch? Do you politely ask them to leave? Or do you wade into them with rage and a machete? Usually, with pain—physical, emotional, whatever—the bastards like … Continue reading →

Posted in Consciousness, Humans, memory, Poem | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Peace and Fire

Posted on June 20, 2014 by Jim Stewart

We kissed: lips groping without knowing, hands benign and trembling, timid and still. You were a gift I did not understand. I had no way to accept the strange dichotomy of peace and fire. When I moved away to California … Continue reading →

Posted in Beach, Hope, memory, Poem, Slice of Life | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Haiku–I Know Why the Caged Bird Springs

Posted on May 28, 2014 by Jim Stewart

We are all human: a few of us light the way; Caged Bird rises free.   (from oprah.com)

Posted in end-of-life, Haiku, Maya Angelou, Poem | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Last Beach House

Posted on May 13, 2014 by Jim Stewart

It sits hollow near the sand washed up the road where the other houses look like waddling waders, maybe clamming, maybe just enjoying the wet. Old Bill built his bungalow back in the teens when high tide was still a … Continue reading →

Posted in end-of-life, Poem, Science, walking | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

A Question for Cheryl

Posted on February 11, 2014 by Jim Stewart

I should have knelt in the street, put my head in your lap, and let you stroke my hair. But we didn’t know. We were ten. Would you have grown into a woman who found a cure for what killed … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Consciousness, end-of-life, family, memory, Poem, Slice of Death | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

A Frog for Cheryl

Posted on February 10, 2014 by Jim Stewart

(Note: This is a reprint of a poem I published years ago in Licking River Review. Not sure why, but I’ve been thinking about my long-gone friend Cheryl, who died when we were ten. The poem also appears on jamesrichardstewart.com.”) … Continue reading →

Posted in Consciousness, end-of-life, memory, Poem, Reprint, Slice of Death, Wildlife | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

To Grow and Be Safe

Posted on January 26, 2014 by Jim Stewart

Well. You’re both down there now with pieces of my heart, shared like brie on a plate for the enjoyment of this family who loves unconditionally and proffers a home to grow in and be safe. We are emptier than … Continue reading →

Posted in end-of-life, family, Morning, Oregon, Poem | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments