Tag: Poetry
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my lost list
sooner rather later, I’ll make a list of regret follies stupidities much better yet one of people I’ve wandered past. opportunities lost those better left yet forgotten I have a draft I refer to it often But you won’t be on it.
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dying alone on the rubble strewn road
I’m walking to work and a woman falls beside Me crouching on the road my way to her blocked By another bending over her. Until another Fending him off Starts yelling Two men pushing each other. Meanwhile the woman on the road lies Prone bleeding Bruised beyond mine and any help Suffering alone : she…
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Post Judgement
Two seats in front of me, A woman is squeezing her eyes, tight together while the man next to her, murmurs her through the stops remaining.
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The Receding Shore
The last time I walked out to you beyond the receding shore, The sand dissolved: fell away beneath my feet, The waves overtopped my bobbing head, My arms finally raised : a flailing reverse swan dive… And so now once more I am over drowned. I can only wait for you to be given up…
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More Slowly Afterwards
Resilience is said to belong to the higher altitudes: some say the lack of oxygen: Others the inhumane cold: Perhaps the unfeeling blizzards; Or maybe the rarefied air: all that is said to strengthen one. Although those who know: They know all it does is extend the weakening process : it’s true once summited the…
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The Sorry Door
When I opened that door marked sorry I never expected nor knew there’d be recriminations despite my persistent contrition. And when I entered each punishment Became an extra judicial banishment Despite my promises to do better I lost what I thought was a progressing love. Then there was that last time. I still am sorry.…
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This Ongoing Summer
This is the last and final ongoing summer, Although there was that hot past year, Supposedly this isn’t the one: so don’t fear, This passing heat: just don’t ask how it gets colder?
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The Breeze : It is she
Hers is the breeze that whispers to the trees, sieving the sunlight through the green leaves.
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The Jigsaw Puzzle of Grief
Grief is like a box, as was told to me, which is true, and also not so true. In my box lives yet another jigsaw puzzle: like the ones given me, in hospital as a boy. An occupation to consume the time, hundreds of pieces first scattered, on the silver arched bed table, Next drawn…
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The Sky was NEVER Blue
I’m driving looking outward and around that day. I’m watching the road, admiring the clear blue sky. A beautiful day, the sun is shining, I say. No it’s not, is her only and considered reply. I then espy a wispy thread of cloud that disappears : maybe cirrus perhaps even cumulus. Now there’s nothing between…
