My husband's poetry

Category: Family

  • 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…

  • Cashews

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Racing south towards home. mist on the windshield, white clouds on green mountains. The crunch of cashews keeps me awake. Tonight, I’ll sleep in my bed. 5-29-23

  • Waking in a strange house

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    Above my head blue jay searches in roof gutter finds just the right piece and flies away. A deer samples leaves in the underbrush. Distant motorcycle accelerates, shifts gears and is gone. Family wakes on the other side of the door,; soon, I will go inside to sit on the couch until it is time…

  • 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…

  • Translation

    —

    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…

  • Greening clover

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , , ,

    Today is the anniversary of my birth; a day when I was innocent and my parents were not yet disappointed. I put on old shoes and a rain suit, grab the umbrella from its place on the porch and walk in the park. Beside the pond I recite the name of God and ask for…

  • Sip the morning dry

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Like a ship coming to harbor, bullfrog calls out from weeds, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Before heat chases dawn away, I watch day shadows shorten, ask the Creator to refine my character, inhale the last fragrance of warm tea from the bottom of my cup and sip the morning dry. 5-11-23

  • Pressure

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Two kinds of pressure Within and without Both will kill you If you don’t watch out One will make it rise The other make it seethe You can change the outcome Just relax and breathe Push your ass from the table Do not lick the pan Take a baby aspirin And your Losartan 5-9-23 from…

  • 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…

  • self-hate

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    My great grandmother was orphaned at three, only child of a widowed Irish immigrant and widowed native American woman. She was baptized in St Anne’s Catholic Church and raised by half-siblings on her father’s side. When she married a Quaker, she was not allowed communion, but still attended mass; sat quietly in the back pew,…