My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • Two haikus for a rainy day

    —

    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

  • three humble haikus

    —

    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

  • The reader

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Because I read the King James version of the Bible, I learned the misogyny of Paul could imitate the truth and sound beautiful on the tongue. Because I read Peter Matthiessen, I learned the truth is hidden in the narrative. Because I read Homer, I learned every hero has an Achilles heel and a dog…

  • Old friends

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    I heard yesterday from an old school friend she said she’s been with her wife since college and now I wonder if our 9th grade make out session was consensual or she was too afraid to say no or I was unable or unwilling to hear and I want to ask her and I want…

  • Vertigo in a crowded room

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    gyroscopic mud ball spins on its axis, revolves around a star whirling out from its galaxy core giddy toddler pirouettes in the living room, spins until they fall in laughter upon the floor 10-5-23

  • Hippocampus ears

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    wood glows in the fire pit up and down the street as they prepare to dream neighbors’ lights go on and off lone oak leaf lands on my shoulder I hear my father’s voice say get up and go to bed 10-25-23

  • Autumn

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    dry leaves beneath my feet sound like home “Albert, rake those leaves before you go anywhere.” 10-26-23

  • 1950s cold autumn rain

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    black foldover buckles on yellow raincoat wear your hood or you’ll catch a cold black galoshes – tuck in your pants keeps them dry when you splash in puddles take it all off in the cloak room so they dry before noon rush home for lunch and Popeye on TV black foldover buckles…start all over,…

  • Dessicated dreams

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    mother’s unused canning jars sit on shelves in the garage dried fire flies in some it does not matter if it was a sibling or I who tried to capture light and forgot to let it loose before we were called inside it only matters that mother allowed us to use her precious canning jars…

  • Empathy #19

    —

    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    In deep shadows empathy may fade Fractured world, in hues of gray, Lost echoes of choices made Tear-streaked nights, where dreams decayed, Heart’s whisper becomes a bray In deep shadows empathy may fade Mirrored in souls, reflections betrayed, The tapestry of kindness starts to fray, Lost echoes of choices made Yet in silence, a spark…