[Howard's] eyes were open and very clear. I'd forgotten what a beautiful gray they were--illness and medicine had regularly glazed them over; now they were bright and attentive, and he was watching me, consciously, through long lashes. Lungs, heart may have stopped but the optic nerves were still sending messages to a brain which, those who should know tell us, does not immediately shut down. So we stared at each other at the end... 'Can you hear me?' I asked him. 'I know you can see me.' Although there was no breath for speech, he now had a sort of wry wiseguy from the Bronx expression on his face which said clearly to me who knew all his expressions, 'So this is the big fucking deal everyone goes on about.
Gore VidalTag: death-and-dying
And where does that minute go, that minute that separates life from death? I want those sixty seconds back.
Carmen RodriguesTag: life death-and-dying death-of-a-loved-one
once ruffle-skirted
vanity table where I primped
at thirteen, opening
drawers to a private
chaos of eyeshadows
lavender teal sky-blue,
swarms of hair pins
pony tail fasteners,
stashes of powders,
colonies of tiny
lipsticks (p.39)
Tag: poetry death death-and-dying memoir mother verse cancer death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness mother-and-daughter poetry-quotes mother-and-child mother-and-son colon-cancer death-at-home
blue-gold sky, fresh cloud,
emerald-black mountain, trees
on rocky ledges,
on the summit, the tiny pin
of a telephone tower-all
brilliantly clear,
in shadow and out.
and on and through
everything
everywhere
the sun shines
without reservation (p. 97)
Tag: love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying mother grief conflict healing dying poems daughters verse memoirs cancer son death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother alchoholism death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son grievindeath-and-daughters new-york-quarterly verses
...gripping the
rim of the sink
you claw your
way to stand
and cling there,
quaking with
will, on
heron legs,
and still the hot
muck pours
out of you. (p. 27)
Tag: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
I could simply
kill you now,
get it over with,
who would
know the difference?
I could easily
kick you in, stove you
under, for all those times,
mean on gin,
you rammed words
into my belly. (p. 52)
Tag: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
oh.
she heard it
too-no waters
coursing, canyon
empty, sun
soundless-
and the beast
your life
nowhere
hiding (p. 103)
Tag: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
One's ribs shouldn't be prison bars.
David MitchellTag: life death death-and-dying
Our existence comes with Death. And it comes with suffering, death alone is not enough and pleasure have consequences. wicked and fucked. love comes with hurting. And having means losing.
Ira N. BarinTag: madness death-and-dying losing bitterness hurting death-and-sickness death-and-love
If you don't know how to die, don't worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do this job perfectly for you; don't bother your head about it.
Michel de MontaigneTag: nature death-and-dying
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