Author: cfblack
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4-12 haiku
before sunrise came you lay in the dark waiting for avian hymns 4-12-20 (it is supposed to rain by noon and I want to get my 3 mile walk in, so here is a haiku for you; I may edit and expand this into a tanka or I may write a longer poem or maybe…
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Pandemic Meditation on the Second Anniversary of My Mother’s Passing
1) This morning On the second anniversary Of my mother’s passing I listened to birds in trees While contemplating how hard It must be to not be allowed to sit With love ones who are dying Breathing out this damned virus In vapors of last breaths 2) I remember how my sister texted That mom…
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untitled covid poem
When mortality numbers decline we won’t return to how things were to all our old routines to old haunts and habits There is no time machine to go backwards we have been remade for a future we do not know where past lives have no meaning The universe pulls us towards unity don’t throw away…
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Under the meditation tree
the wind does not roar in trees ___ rather leaves and limbs cry out to one another ___ hang on tight this too shall pass 4-9-20
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Truth
Sometimes when you are doing something else revelation comes to you You see truth and write it down Later, you read it and it is gibberish You think maybe truth is gibberish and this becomes a new revelation 4-8-20
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star gazing
As a child I stared up at stars with a book of constellations connected all the dots thought the problem was me Last night I stared up at stars still couldn’t find Orion or his bow and realized ancient newscasters drank too much wine after dark This morning I stared up at stars only saw…
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Oneirodynia
Disoriented, I wake stand at the kitchen sink For a moment, I feel as if I’m a child, again, living in Indiana, hunkered down, waiting for a blizzard, hoping they close school tomorrow But the wind doesn’t howl at my window tomorrow’s forecast is sunny and warm folks are hoarding sanitizer and toilet paper not…
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Wobbling
Social distancing on our porch with the latest New Yorker and a stack of poetry books the table I write on wobbles I place cardboard under a leg and still it wobbles I open Wallace Stevens, Collected Poems turn to a random page marvel at how he uses words in unique ways I put down…
