My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • petal picking

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Loves me Loves me not Loves me Loves me not Loves me Loves me not One petal Too few? One petal Too much? Love on a stem Scattered on ground 4-8-21

  • wet paint

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , , , , ,

    Before rain comes to fill my ears with neighborhood gossip, I gathered yard debris, admired the blooming azaleas, the last blood red camellia, I plan to sit outside on the porch, attempt, once more, to hack recursive algorithms, fractal Pollack patterns petals drip in homage on moss or maybe, I’ll take a nap. 3-31-21

  • well water

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    This morning, I remember a dipper full of water from the well that stood in my grandparents’ yard that waited for me to visit, pump into a pail, carry inside and fill the basin that sat under the slant of stairs in their kitchen. I don’t remember discussions of germs on a shared dipper only…

  • School yard shark

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Cat eyes, milkies, puries, aggies, speckled whites and blues and blacks, a steely shooter my prized possession. I lost it to a chipped cat eye. He put it in his pocket and used the damaged shooter, until I wouldn’t wager anymore good marbles against his lucky one. He gathered up his winnings in a draw…

  • spring cleaning

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    I slept in this morning, because Mom kept trying to contact me from her grave Pulling me back into a dream Laying on the guilt Something about Lent And spring cleaning the kitchen Dad was calling out Alice, leave the boy alone Turn out the light and come to bed But mom kept knocking at…

  • poem for a climbing tree

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    When I was young I considered every tree a potential trunk to climb upon I have grown older but I still admire as I pass by your limbs proportion and form Imagine climbing up inside better than any boy before me You smile as I pass by whisper to the wind if I were not…

  • Alice and Chester

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    Lately, my parents have appeared in my dreams young from before I was born I wonder if they dream of me or dream of a better son Who didn’t push limits get in trouble and grew up to be rich and successful They seemed happy unencumbered by children with dreams of post-war America and prefab…

  • haiku about busy work

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    middle school EnglishSatanic pedagogytorture by crossword 3-5-21

  • how I became a poet

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , , , , ,

    When I was in fourth grade they tried to teach me violin but I was called a sissy I put down my case and fought When I was seventh grade I wanted to play French horn but trombones were cheaper I knew all the troublemakers and band secrets I’d laugh and would not snitch When…

  • match.com

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    You wondered If she ever carried a cardboard box Home from the grocery, One that packed Cans of peaches In tight neat rows, Propped one side up with a stick Tied to a string and Hid behind a forsythia bush Burning bare legs In the sun waiting To capture the Easter Bunny. She read your…