My husband's poetry

Category: love

  • the weight of living

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    1. Because they were loved and were loving Because they were needed and were needy Because they did not want to be misunderstood 2. Because they would not submit, they stayed, as long, as they could. Eventually the weight of living became too much They knew they could not wait long enough For the loving…

  • somewhere in America

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Introverted by nature, she never felt like she belonged. She wanted to fit in, but when she’d introduce herself at parties people would ignore her and laugh behind her back. Until one day in a high desert ghost town souvenir shop on a dusty swivel rack In the corner by the unisex restroom with knotted…

  • Retired marriage counselor

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Sitting on your couch Watching reruns on TV You grew tired of trying to return Lonely socks to their mate Told them all to leave Bought a dozen pairs All the same – one size fits all Dumped them in your sock drawer Said, “Choose your own mate. It’s none of my business” 6-25-22

  • group chat

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    They met in a graduate research lab at college, consummated in a hot pile of desperately removed clothes after a drunken cohort party so it seemed completely appropriate to breakup in a group chat while he was in Antarctica on a post-doc assignment. 6-3-22

  • Fragrant tea in a blue cafe in a red state

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    At a lull in business your barista wipes her hands on her apron, steps from behind the bar, hugs a woman who just closed a laptop, smiles gently, kisses her forehead, goes back behind the bar, wipes the counter with a rag, you take another sip of Jasmine tea, and wonder how can that be…

  • Only

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    If I do not write about hurt, it does not mean I do not hurt. It only means I’m running short on time and need to focus on the positive. If I do not write about social change, it does not mean I am blind. It only means I’m working on myself, refining the cinder…

  • Definitions

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Food is never Just about eating Neither is sex Just about pleasure… The push and pull, The friction and release. Walk away From anyone Who tries To tell you different. 4-29-22

  • Dear Siri

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    Because there was no how-to manual and GPS does not chart every trail in the wilderness of relationships, Because my mother was a perfectionist, I don’t know when good Is good enough, And because I’m a soul having a bodily experience for my first and only time, I wake up in the middle of the…

  • Diego’s wife

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    a poem written to the prompt: Ashes. She hoped her exit would be joyful She hoped she’d never return She patiently waits at home on a shelf Because they will not let her leave He swallowed a mouthful of ashes Gathered the rest in red silk sash Placed them in an pre-Columbian urn And made…

  • Blue

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , , ,

    Picasso paints a blue guitar, Blue flowers, blue ladies, an old man with a brown guitar Neck bent as if broken against a blue background Jared declares love is like living in a blue Delft porcelain cup Blue sapphires and bright diamonds on a blue couch, Pretending you were born with blue blood Carry a…