Category: friends
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Through the broken glass
You have grown tired of sickness All the news, all the fake news and Graphs spinning in fractal mazes You want to sit with friends Say hi to strangers Enjoy music and poetry in a crowded room You want to attend workshops in person See peoples’ gears grind as they respond to prompts Wander aimlessly…
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poem for a friend
If you don’t die first grief will follow you Today, you think the lucky go first Tomorrow, you may think the lucky go last Either way death follows us all Turn around and embrace it 9-6-21
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3 haikus while meditating on friends old and new who are standing at the door or waving from the next room
in early morning before light gathers you in cast your shadow long long before it’s cold some leaves grow tired and lie down in the midst of green prayers for a friend bitter taste lingers on tongue a cup of dark roast 9-2-21
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We were the class of ’70
We were children pretending to be adults. This was our seeding, the setting of roots until our transplantation. If these were our glory days what the hell have we been doing for 50 years? We were the bridge between the gap a bridge over troubled waters waiting for the bus at McCord’s running to Goodnight’s…
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Swimming in third person
Coming out of COVID Albert realized He exists outside of his relationships Tries to reintegrate Beyond the confines of his mind Wonders why or if it matters Memories of friendships On an ascent path Rise, break cerebral fluid’s surface Like the taste of cinnamon and icing In the bottom of a bowl His mother once…
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nothing personal
If I don’t call back It’s nothing personal You see I have an appointment with death I’ve turned off the ringer On my phone I don’t want reminders disturbing My nap or planning my day It doesn’t mean I don’t care It just means I’m busy Leave a voice mail Or short text If it’s…
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opening
She asked when I’ll restart the open mic. I said I don’t know; I’m nervous about sharing a mic in confined spaces and I’d feel responsible if I spread the virus. She said no one makes them go; they’re adults; the guilt’s on them not me. I asked if anyone is guiltless. She said she’d…
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Queuing at the Door, or, A Prayer for Bob Hinkle
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by
1) Fold your hands, bow your head, Shut your eyes and pray I would try, but no one said how to pray Just how to act like praying I wanted to know where to go, how many Steps to take, how many doors to open 2) Dad would get angry, If you cheated and opened…
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for Jane
I journeyed to Cedar Creek to visit a friend She made me lunch, talked of her children memories of her husband plans for her house and yard She introduced me to her friend who lives on a hill through the trees We walked home through the woods she showed me all that was and all…
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School yard shark
Cat eyes, milkies, puries, aggies, speckled whites and blues and blacks, a steely shooter my prized possession. I lost it to a chipped cat eye. He put it in his pocket and used the damaged shooter, until I wouldn’t wager anymore good marbles against his lucky one. He gathered up his winnings in a draw…
My husband's poetry 