My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • three humble haikus

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    brown bird in green bush mean as a blue jay…curses if I walk too close mockingbird of change maybe he’ll winter over maybe, we’ll be friends every morning swear my father’s ghost sent him cut me down to size 9-29-23

  • Two haikus for a rainy day

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    even in the rain two squirrels chase each other ’round and ’round a tree I watch from the porch remembering when I’d play unafraid of rain 9-10-23

  • Albert

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    wind in trees cool overcast skies nice day for sitting in the yard gym calls my name Albert, get off your sagging butt and push some weights 8-23-23

  • Infinity

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    You wake up dreaming about the infinite number of smaller and smaller fractions you can divide The distance between zero to one And wonder since the distance between zero to three Is three times the distance between zero to one, Why is three times infinity still only infinity? You decide this plane of existence is…

  • Mr. Wright’s Kitchen Table 1966

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    green stained gym shoes sweaty tee-shirt sticks to your back smell of wet cut grass blisters from hand shears the sun grows hot you walk faster to finish by noon Mr. Wright calls come inside pours coke over ice condensation puddles on kitchen table he offers more coke; you drink that, too he asks if…

  • Fourth of July

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Hot summer, childhood days Wetting a worm Watching a bobber Dance in the sun Believing today is the day You’ll catch the monster fish Every boy knows it’s there Lurking in a deep hole Too smart to bite the hook Too strong to be held by a thin line Laughing at their belief In a…

  • Sand in my shoes

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    I wish I were a mystical man but my toes curl into the sand. I daydream intricate math equations, design homes and landscapes unable to afford the cost. I intuit award winning poems and novels I have no patience or skills to write. Yet, still I wish I were a mystical man but my toes…

  • Translation

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    by

    cfblack
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    05/20 – sometimes I scan magazines articles to see if I want to dig deeper and they feel like poems – this is a poem I call Scan and Pick poem (in the order words occurred) from a New Yorker article this morning: =================================================== multilingual childhood between languages find myself untrammelled lyrical linguists Ay-Speak unabridged…

  • Translation

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    05/20 – sometimes I scan magazines articles to see if I want to dig deeper and they feel like poems – this is a poem I call Scan and Pick poem (in the order words occurred) from a New Yorker article this morning: multilingual childhood between languages find myself untrammelled lyrical linguists Ay-Speak unabridged original…

  • I do not own a gun

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    My two older sisters had matching dolls. I had cars and trucks, a Roy Rogers’ holster with a silver cap gun. I used to hide in their closet and played with their dolls when no one was around. My mother was a girl scout leader; I know all the songs. I belonged to the boy…