My husband's poetry

Author: cfblack

  • after mindgravy

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Outside the moon rolled up clouds revealed its round Buddha belly. I stood transfixed in the afterglow. Is this Zen I do not know I pat my belly in satisfaction. It is a good night to be alive. 9-20-2024

  • Blotto boy

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    the prompt was ‘Drunken Scalawag’ He stumbles through midnight mist, bottle clasped in weathered fist, boots torn, shirt askew, a scalawag with nothing to lose. Eyes aglow like stars gone mad, laughs at dreams he never had, sings a song, sharp and sweet, the rhythm of his happy feet. Tavern calls, streets spin, wagers life…

  • a door with no window

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    Poem written from the prompt, ‘Magic Door’ behind a windowless door secret worlds await twist of the knob a gentle push careful it may lock behind you dreams take flight fairies dance dragons soar phoenixes rise where time stands still magic is not always good give me a door with a window 9-9-24

  • a short poem about war

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    wounded soldiers lie bleeding out in no man’s land neither side can retrieve them grown men crying for their mothers to come save them when will mothers demand an end to war 9-12-24

  • Indiana Winter Sundays on Greenbush Street

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    (09/08 – 1950’s memory poems) Under a doily covered table with a lamp, two African violets, and a half-filled ashtray; among claw-footed legs lay an out-of-round coconut, its outer husk intact, a large yellow conch shell with pink inner lips, Florida souvenirs from my aunt. Grandad said hold it to your ear, listen to the…

  • Soul Train

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    cfblack
    in , ,

    A friend from childhood asked me to write a memorial poem for the passing of his 92 year old father; I asked him for nine things that remind him of his father and incorporated them within the context of the poem (I have removed his father’s name from this posting). ‘Soul Train’ No one chooses…

  • (no title)

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Before our parents died and my brother bought their house an old flour sifter lay under the cabinet on a shelf next to a hand cranked egg beater Now they exist only in dreams of cake batter bowls waiting to be licked clean before momma demands I share 9-4-24

  • Labor Day

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    cfblack
    in , ,

    Small limb dressed in blue-green lichen, light as balsa wood, falls at my feet, all used up, breaks into three pieces, fit for the fire. I finish my coffee, rise from my chair, go inside change my clothes, and face the day. 9-2-24

  • Plumage

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    (for Harry Rogers) Feather pinwheels to my feet. I look up and do not see a bird, not even a gospel sparrow, maybe, it appeared from thin air. Do you know how to read omens? I imagine mystical things all around us piled up like snow drifts at our feet. Not every feather is a…

  • Song for Sylvia

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    (poem written to the prompt: “Radio”) 1965, late at night, tune out the static on transistor radio, sneak into the kitchen, call in song requests for the young girl in the news Sylvia Likens, look her up, she has her own Wikipedia page abused, tortured and killed by several boys and her foster mom in…