Author: cfblack
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Weather report from the Eastern steppes
Carolina wren calls in trees weatherman promises rain by noon chill water wrung from clouds cause more leaves to fall from their perch were they pushed or coerced to leap only Vladimir’s minions know 11-20-24
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Tom Joad’s shovel
in my compost pile of library books, magazines and family book shelves I searched tidal flats for signs of life with Steinbeck shared intimate secrets with Dickinson, Sexton and Edna St. Vincent Millay I gloried in myths and legions with victors and survivors studied the Bible to stay awake during sermons read dictionaries, Reader Digest…
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Contrails over Haifa
prayers at the Holy shrines The promised day waits beyond the horizon It is darkest before the brilliant dawn 11-14-24
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Folktales among the disenchanted
Enchantment arises From the disenchanted Magic is out there Waiting for words to congeal Write it down Future generations to marvel At our waiting to be disenchanted Before we find our magic 11-15-24
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Gifting among the poor
In the sweater section of Goodwill She saw the ugly hand-knit sweater She gifted her best friend for Christmas 2016 She bought it for a dollar And gifted her best friend for 2024 So she’d have a matching set 11-15-24
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Big yellow bus
puddle in the street wishing it was the sky reflects its dream school bus pushes past deposits children at the curb traffic stops in both directions free at last they stomp and splash the puddle dry before they race for home 11-14-24
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Autumn rain
Rain pushed the reds, yellows and golds below water’s surface Gentle winds are stitching a new, bright, colored quilt for the pond 11-12-24
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After the storm
All night and into morning it rained. Our yard is covered in leaves. The path by the playground is muddy. The pond bulges out of its banks. I sit on a wet bench, ponder the future, Offer prayers to a sullen sky, And ask the Unknowable Essence to grant me The strength to bind up…
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Slapstick
11/05 – some call me Polly Anna, because I am still an optimist – it’s only a part-time avocation ————————————————- Buster Keaton turned slapstick into an art form, Excuse me while I go hurt myself and Try to walk away oblivious to pain Humor is only allowed, if you laugh at yourself Just another form…
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A Gerbil’s Life
falling down the steep slope of night he slid to a stop at the bottom among the dead even though he knew he did not belong he stayed until dawn walked back up the slope took a shower got dressed drove to the office and went back to work 10-31-24
