He’s Gone (for George)
He’s a bust-my-buttons hello
A faithful friend; we’ve
weathered some shitstormish eras
when nothing made sense
(save ourselves and
our good opinion of each other)
The kind of friend you can hug
and not let go
and know
it never has to get weird
The one who understands
the digressions of an alcoholic parent
who is like a child – and can
also laugh at some of the confusion
The one with whom you can
watch movies in total silence
or howl and poke each others’
arms, like “yeah!”
He hit the road again
just now
and I wrote this to remember
He’s a quick-before-we-cry
goodbye
An endless paradox
An understandable conundrum
He’s George
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Some friends you keep forever. After forty years of our friendship and many years of knowing my husband too, George will always be a part of our lives. We should all be so lucky to have someone like that in our lives!
Posted at ABC Wednesday (V is for VISIT!) and in the margins at Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Peace, Amy
And So, He Goes
(for our traveling friend, George)
Can there be
any better place
than just around the bend?
Goodbye once again
His car crammed with stuff,
fairly brimming with
all the absolute necessities
plus a few luxuries- an old quilt
to nestle in, dreamgazing
Sojourning toward Someday
Will it end, this road,
this exquisite journey?
Or will he fall
Touch down softly
where peace and love are waiting?
Where he feels
alive, vital at last
At present, tense – but future…
Don’t give up on
these outrageous dreams
of belonging somewhere as unique as you are
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday (Fall, Absolute, Nestle), and posted at The Poetry Pantry, Poets United.
Our friend George (buddy since high school) has been traveling for so long, it’s almost a game, like Where’s Waldo? Where in the World is George Sandiego? He’s on the type of quest we all dream of making, once we’re of an age and a mindset to understand the meaning of the Taj Mahal while standing in front of it. He’s taking his time, keeping in touch, and Lex and I pray for him always, as he figures out this grand scheme, this labyrinth of possibility we blithely refer to as Life.
Sharp Little Pencil 