Dry Bones

Dry Bones

A Poem by Cherrie Palmer
"

Sorrow and heavy heart

"
Dry bones carry me through the day,

As I search for ease from this pain I only find dust to drink.

Days before the oil of gladness flowed, anointing me in mercy for the coming storm.


There is no joy in the 'prodigal son,' and no rest from worry.

There is forgiveness for the child now man,

But the closed door of my hovel will only open to a sober hand.


A heavy knowing blots out the sun

streaking my face with sheets of rain

and

stinging my soul with sleet like pains.


Words of stone
I cannot lift.

So, at the cross
I lay them low,

Then look upon this embittered child.

My silence forms a wall of stone,

but nurturing within is the seed of hope.

 

© 2019 Cherrie Palmer


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Featured Review

This could've been written for any number of parent-child relationships within my very broken family. As everyone knows, after abuse follows substance abuse. I've seen this play out in so many arenas, where a parent has to do the "tough love" thing, but always in the spirit of hope (great ending). Your poem unfolds so gradually, I'm kinda dying to know where it's going the whole time, until I get to V2 & it feels like everything splits wide open with all the imagery your brief words incite (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

We've gone down this road before. He'll do good for a while but then when he falls beware.



Reviews

The ending is the best anyone could give to this scenario which is described in your poem. Wonderful piece of writing.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Wow!! This is very heavy, but I feel it's a positive note too. For someone like me, at least.
The line "my silence forms a wall of stone" is one of the best you've written. I kind of wish I had come up with that.

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

:)For a dollar I'll let you use it.
Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

I see you have been writing up a storm. Working on a new book.
Wesley Dingler

1 Year Ago

Yes ma'am. I'm releasing it in the spring. Two new books actually. Another Louis McKraker young read.. read more
Very sad poem about trauma. Trauma will never be forgotten.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Hi Cherrie. Your poem is written from the heart and so painful to read. You have many strong images to describe this most anguishing thing for any parent. It's not what you imagine but the future holds so many perils. There seems to me some contradiction between the parents 'forgiveness' and the closed door and words of stone but what is the way forward. I noticed a couple of slips I hope you don't mind me mentioning. It should be 'prodigal son' and at the end 'nurturing'. Well done for sharing this.
Regards.
Alan

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

Thank you Alan, I did go back over this to really look at it. I appreciate your good eye. :)
Such a wretched state to be in, those troubles near crash right through a family. Each member wanting to find a remedy only to find its only determination, perseverance, hope and time can help. If only those foolish, tragic people could turns selves inside out and see selves as others do. But can't happen. Your words are so painful, Cherrie. there's no overnight solution; onlookers can only do what t hey can and meantime grip tight onto hope.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

Thank you, Emma,
And that is so true.
emmajoy

1 Year Ago

Hugs and hope sent here to there.. .
So hard, but what is a parent to do. Tough? Nurturing? Responsibility? You try them all. Damn girl this was hard...

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

A blending of bitterness and a dash of resentment makes a ugly drunk with a paranoid inner voice. <.. read more
This poem reminds me of the Bible's story of the Valley of Dry Bones . . . This poem speaks of the reality of human suffering . . . something we'd like to deny in our frenzy to have a 'happy' life. An important poem . . . not totally sold out to despair, but hope. Thanks.
T

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

Sometimes all we have is hope
dearest Cherrie... many of us have been touched
with this dreadful malady... in one way or another.
Your poem seems to be a peaceful prayer...
your words are laid before the Shepherd's love.
May His rod and staff comfort those who suffer.
Amen... Pat

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago



Ouch.. you do pain so very well my friend, my eyes are stinging and your sorrow so very tangible here.. now passed I hope.. sending love regardless :)

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Oh Cherrie, I am so sorry! I have 4 stepkids and I know this must be so hard for you I love them like they were my own and I have experienced watching things I could not change and the wretched helplessness that comes from being powerless to intervene! In the end that is all we have is hope and at times that hopes flame is so faint and we think what did we do wrong and blame ourselves. But most often it has nothing to do with our actions, it is just random where the wretched falls at times and we have to forgive ourselves too! My heart goes out to you dear Cherrie

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 1 Year Ago


Cherrie Palmer

1 Year Ago

thank you Robert

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Added on October 18, 2019
Last Updated on November 13, 2019

Author

Cherrie Palmer
Cherrie Palmer

Oakland, AR



About
I am a published poet and love poetry. My husband and I live near the White River, and love trout fishing. I find my surroundings a great inspiration to me. I also have two books on Amazon Kindle: O.. more..

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