My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • The morning chex-press

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    I remember mornings before school Eating Chex Cereal – rice, corn or wheat Milk with three teaspoons of sugar (four, if mom’s not looking) My sisters around the table Reading The Morning Chex-Press Good news only on the back of a cereal box I would construct a three flavored fort around my bowl Until mom…

  • Laundry day

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    because I hated folding clothes growing up, I don’t everything is hung on a hanger except my underwear and socks those I throw in a basket in the closet all my dark socks are the same and I’m not an underwear model so who cares about wrinkles if they fit 4-4-25

  • Confessions of a feral poet

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    Mother did not want feral seeds to parachute into our yard and take root. She used to send me across the street to cut down milkweed that grew wild in the ditch. It was only later I learned monarch butterflies need feral milkweed to feed and breed and to lay their eggs upon. Now I…

  • Freedom ain’t free

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    The house I grew up in was not the house I was born in so I have no lullaby memories, just themes songs of Romper Room, Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo and Sunday morning hymns in four part harmony. I weeded momma’s garden, took care of siblings, snuck out at night to run the neighborhood and…

  • hope

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    yesterday, unable to wash the dirt of my youth from my skin I put on cologne and clean clothes and hope no one remembers who I was today, I do not recognize the face in the mirror or the voice that mumbles morning prayers I undress, step into the shower, towel off, put on cologne…

  • Gamer suicide

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When he first experienced a random act of kindness, it made him feel warm and when he thought he understood the concept, he tried it on others and soon it was randomness he sought and soon folks did not see him as kind and soon he became an oddity tolerated in polite company and laughed…

  • White lace

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Where I sit the arm on our couch is worn It is then I understand why My mother and her mother and her mother… Sat for hours in a corner chair Crocheting frilly, white, lace doilies to protect The fabric of furniture from wear And I wonder about other tedious daily chores She performed to…

  • For Barb and Kathy

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    on an old green swingset, new to us, we launched ourselves so high in the sky It threatened to tip us backward in the grass we would fling ourselves towards the sun competing who could fly the furthest I used to win a lot maybe, it was because I did not fear the landing or…

  • The end is the beginning, is the middle, is the end

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    My father was always concerned with the now, with what I’m doing with today with not wasting time in pursuit of frivolous things. When my first book of poetry came out, he told me on the phone that he read my book and he didn’t think much of it. At the end he spoke of…

  • —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    I used lie awake at night listening to trains wail in the distance and dream of running away to ride the rails to far off places Now I lie awake at night listening to trains wail in the distance but I’m too afraid to ride up under a train for fear I may fall 1-8-25