My husband's poetry

Category: Family

  • Estranged

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    morning prayers in the park anole in bright green bush steps out on fence rail turns brown waits for breakfast to walk by you answer the phone “Hello” – anole freezes, turns, scurries back into the bush, disappears into green belated happy birthday wishes talk of life and poetry he reads you a poem he…

  • Birthday morning

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    watch water glisten just before it boils stir blue berries into a bowl of oat meal drink your morning coffee from a large blue mug put dishes in the sink take a shower sit on the porch listen to bird calls and wait for family to arrive 5-18-25

  • Seven questions

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    When did you stop looking up to find shapes in the clouds? When did you stop imagining heaven peeking through as light showers? When did you stop seeing who could swing highest in the backyard swing? When did you stop talking for hours with friends about your dreams? When did you stop calling in requests…

  • Voices

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When I was a child my conscience would talk in my father’s voice I didn’t recognize self-hate as my own Now I argue with the voices, take ownership and try to change 4-15-25

  • Locked knees

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When our father died Masonic members of the Scottish Rite came and performed final rites at his viewing. They marched to and fro in their regalia, spoke sacred vows before his open casket. The next morning, before his last ride, his preacher preached a sermon. A military detail came to the gravesite, performed a twenty-one…

  • 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…

  • Holes in my windshield

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    late at night I flee the living, drive along streets that make more sense than logic only to return each morning with shattered recollections of victories over nightmares and long walks with ancestors and descendants over landscapes impossible to reconstruct; late the next night I flee again 4-7-25

  • Blue

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Blue as the feather in my father’s brown hat Blue as my daughter’s eyes Blue as the ceiling of a low country porch Blue as the sky reflected on a green pond Blue as a crab boiled in a pot Blue as a faded bruise Blue as the old man Picasso painted Blue hands wrapped…

  • 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…

  • You are not born a butterfly

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    You are not born a butterfly …bright and shiney – floating on the wind You were born a worm …crawling in the dirt – devouring, devouring, devouring Before you craved the sky 3-10-25