Category: poetry
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Understanding Robert Frost
(for Tim Conroy) Sometimes It’s good to take the road Less traveled Walk in woods Where no one goes Stand behind a tree And flop it out Because old men Need to pee a lot 9-17-21
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Quatrains at 55 degrees
Cool, windless dawn Mist hovers over pond unwilling to leave Fish rise, kiss the bottom of sky Puckered ripples replicate to nothingness Cardinals call back and forth Squirrels churl and chase overhead Anoles and frogs are hunkered down Insects await the sun to speak I return to our yard with empty cup Sovereign lord of…
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Poem before dying
Lorca wrote of roosters, of eating cemetery grass, of weeping little boys, of snow, of guitars, of murder, of women dropping off to sleep, of a resurrection that will never come, and he makes me weep. I write of barking dogs and feral cats, of trash on asphalt courts, of weeping little boys, of warm…
My husband's poetry 