Nothing Will Be Magic Anymore

Prompted by a line* from Fredrik Backman’s book, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry

What day, which hour

Did un-magic reality arrive

Black-hooded visage and

At hand, Death’s scythe?

Did it whisper words ill-chilled

Declare edict in dark-masked roar?

Maybe mere sternly weighted nod…

Intuitive souls perceive, sigh

“Nothing will be magic anymore”.

Was it spring day, truth’s force struck

Childhood, stolen, slammed starlit door shut?

And the murder that slashed everything safe, sacred.

Perhaps it dawned post-honeymoon

Rages unrelieved dissolved vows soon.

Or, when fifty candles’ mocking mirror fired:

“All second chances stamped ‘Expired'”.

Flimsy notion, Imagination’s infinitude…

Fine substance flamed is elusive, fades

Like fallen rose petals leave but dust

To conjure half-drawn dream from hoarfrost-

Heart, scarred soul balanced on tottering legs

And held in palsied hands bent on scribbling

Scratchy-voiced poems’ acknowledgment

Of hard-edged fact:  what worthy remnant 

Time deigns deliver yet, ‘pink-cloud possibilities’

Wishes windswept…all allures pass swiftly.

Drink hope’s dregs, grateful thimblefuls blessed…

*‘Because nothing will be magic anymore’.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Crows ‘n Snow

I count on distraction

From winter-fear white

Ice-rink-slick sidewalks

Fast piling-up snows

Soul’s soles without traction…

Ah, there—my delight!

Heads’ ebony tilt, quizzical crows

Eye my quake-shaky steps…’silly pace’ slows.

Their little prints, sheer artistry

Speak crisp language of assurance

Journey’s calm philosophy:

‘Put one foot in front of the other

Yes, the next…come, let us dance

Shimmered season’s rapt poetry…

Squint too hard, you’ll miss romance’.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Casual Crows

Crows, gotta love ’em!

Two meet, converse

Right next to busy

Highway at rush-hour

In late afternoon when

Forecast calls for SNOW

Seemingly mindless of

Precarious circumstances

Sending humans into fret…

Casual demeanor, no cares

Consume, interrupt their

Peace, they’re a positive lot

Likely wishing each other

Best of New Year’s offerings

While I—(clenched, waiting

For crosswalk’s signal

Allowing safe passage

Through traffic, hoping I’ve

Bought enough groceries

To outlast whatever winter

Weather’s coming my way)—

Consider calm onyx feathers

Envy birds’ simple life, apparent

Trust that God will watch over

And provide for them each day.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Heaven’s Home Office

I’m relieved God

Has not assigned me

A chair on His council

Where tenured saints

Discuss, vote on issues

Hand down judgments


Taking and typing up notes

Bringing donuts, spring water

Will stretch my limited

Talent, capabilities.

God understands, accepts

That I’ve never been ambitious

And when there’s an opening

In Heaven’s Kitchen

I’m assured the position…

Happy day!

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations,  2020 ~ All rights reserved.