Author: cfblack
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Inside out
our closet is a mess clothes in need of darning worn out clothes without hangers clothes no longer fit the body I’ve started wearing clothes inside out looking for a silver lining searching in seams for a gleam 7-27-20
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Birds like sticks of dynamite
birds like sticks of dynamite circle a ship in the bay while he plants fruit trees amongst gallows on the hill birds return to roost as ship sails north into the sea sweet juice lingers on lips drips upon their chins 7-28-20
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surrender
for a moment in time a drop of dew hung swelled and quivered in sun vibrated yellow, orange and red blue and green released its grip on a leaf surrendered its form to the pull of earth 7-26-20
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On a page heavy
“I lead her, a / child waking up / from a nightmare, / dazed by light” Lyn Lifshin, poet ==================================== Where have you been all my life, Lyn Lifshin Why don’t I remember reading your poetry until today I must have missed the invitation to your dying ‘The Sun’ published a tribute this month nine…
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a binary life
Sitting on the porch she opens the door says, “It’s too hot” You use pen and paper to flesh a poem a computer to bone it Your computer complains slows down and threatens to abandon you You are a peacemaker in a binary world and tear out the page and go inside 7-23-20
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Mequbbal
Do you ever think that a prophecy is pre-existent somewhere – somehow That a prophet is just returning to the past to drag us kicking and screaming into the future Like our parents lecturing us on the living room couch that someday we would understand Someday is now and we are living that promised future…
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Light rain
You lie down to rest close blinds to darken the room but still light leaks in Puddles on cheeks of closed eyes pull a sheet over your head protection from light rain 7-22-20
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Inside
I still think of dad and how he wouldn’t crawl inside our backyard tent because he knew what the inside of a tent looked like And he vowed that if he survived the war he’d never stick his head inside a tent, again _____ I always wanted a gun to shoot and hold in my…
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poem for a friend
On a log pile by a fire pit On a log with lichen clings a lone cicada husk Split in the back for you to flee A life that’s grown too small you flee into green canopy And sing incessantly to be found To be loved before a change of seasons 7-20-20
