Author: cfblack
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somewhere in America
Introverted by nature, she never felt like she belonged. She wanted to fit in, but when she’d introduce herself at parties people would ignore her and laugh behind her back. Until one day in a high desert ghost town souvenir shop on a dusty swivel rack In the corner by the unisex restroom with knotted…
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wet wood wind haiku
the morning after wind plays liquid rattle song dripping last night’s rain 7-2-22
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haiku in time of rising food prices
during inflation hungry mice eat any cheese and don’t demand Brie 7-2-22
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Voyeurism 101: Saturday Morning at the Soda City Market in Six Easy Lessons
1) Arts and crafts – your name in wood, Handmade bird houses and bowls to sit on a shelf Tee-shirts – tie dyed, cute sayings, political epithets, Painted flags, cows and chickens with claws, birds on the beach Handmade pens and jewelry maybe imported from third world sweatshops 2) Food booths and trucks – artisan…
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the vanity of underachieving
Send me 21st century Proverb to hang my hat on; push me to do more My adolescent self found Ecclesiastes and I have been too lazy to go beyond “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity” I have two decades left and need to make up for 70 years of underachieving So send me a 21st…
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batrachian haiku
in high grass by pond days removed from tadpole spawn frogs of dewy dawn 7-9-22
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morning news
neck coiled beak sharp ready to strike blue heron waits standing still stalking shallow shadows waiting for breakfast to make a mistake you watch fascinated unable to look away 7-10-22
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old age
Because the feral grey cat was not blessed with opposing thumbs and death knew where to perch so ticks could suck its neck, there was not one damn thing it could do to alleviate the itch. It did not lament impending death and went on living, hunting food, rolling in the dust, fleeing just beyond…
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Cicadas
All night they sing in the trees hoping to breed and some of them breed and those that don’t, sing and they sing all night and some of them sing all morning and into the afternoon until it is night, again and you wonder do they sing in shifts or do they sing while sleeping…
My husband's poetry 