My husband's poetry

Author: cfblack

  • Reading Sylvia with Rain in the Forecast on Friday Afternoon

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    sitting in the side yard reading Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath on a Friday afternoon light breeze sways upper limbs of trees shadows dance is it mottled sunlight or mottled shade does it matter I’d like to tell her it will be alright but she wrote in permanent ink shroud poems woven with anguished threads…

  • rain

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    on its race to return to the sea rain does not discriminate between rich and poor homes it washes the dirty and the clean never asks what is deserving or sends a utility bill 5-9-24

  • ellipsis of the soul

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Who! Who! Who! 3 am, owl in the trees asks and I do not know. I do not like my dreams. The anger and fighting – everything unresolved. Who! Who! Who! 4 am, owl in the trees asks and I still do not know. Restless sleep. I remember failure, the young who died and we…

  • still life

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    in a pretty vase waist deep in tap water trying not to die beauty caught in full-bloom strikes an objectified pose the compost pile is calling 5-7-24

  • review of new recruits

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    this morning resident geese paraded six goslings in single file a band of frogs on mud banks played poor covers of John Philip Sousa I paid attention to their passing while deep in green undergrowth birds wouldn’t stop talking 5-6-24

  • excuses are for the weak

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    rainy mornings I’d stop and save the worms drowning on puddled sidewalks picked them up threw them in the grass check marks on my report card told my parents I was late they would not understand saving drowning worms so I took my punishment and moved on 5-5-24

  • in an Indiana woods

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    there is a space in the woods on a hillside where I would go to hide up under the roots of a tree the ground had fallen away and roots hung down as thick snakes I would hide among the roots for hours wait for my stuttering and tics to stop and I could speak…

  • staccato hoof beats

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    sugared tea spilled upon sand glistens for a moment soft green spring gives way to deeper hues cut roses lay in sacrifice along a garden path petals bleed in the dirt felicity wears a silken gown count twelve days of paradise on fingers and two toes staccato hoof beats on ancient cobble stones red roan…

  • in the beginning

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    in the beginning (chiseled in free verse) was the word no acronyms needed for validation just their name was enough prophets did not write to form only flow of the word on the tongue 4-30-24

  • Love cuisine

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    You say you’re not hungry, but she cooks fish sticks anyway, because fish sticks are an act of love and the world needs more love (Whatever the hell that means). She calls you inside. You put four on a paper plate, add horse radish sauce for dipping and go back outside to eat. Confident no…