Category: poetry
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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…
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Driving toward Pittsburgh
dear siri, today, while driving towards pittsburgh I wrote a poem in my head I’ve lost it can you help me find it ? I promise I will take back all those horrible things I’ve said about you 9-8-20
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a poem for G.K. Chesterton
Relaxing in the dark the moon appears luminous in the trees above my yard. I wonder who started the rumor about the moon being made of green cheese, when clearly it is Havarti curd. I savor a bite of extra sharp New York style cheddar cheese and say, the next slice is for you, Mr.…
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a poet’s house
I have stacks of poetry books all over the house ones I am reading, ones I will ones I promised to read, but forgot books of friends that deserve to be heard I have manuscripts on my computer and in folders on my desk I have poems for my many moods Joy Harjo’s on the…
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What if
What if famous magazines who publish poetry, only gave the author’s name on a website after you filled out a critique? What if we didn’t know the author’s name, whether they had ascended into the clique; literati who wrote with the right amount of ambiguity, verbosity and anger, conforming to the latest styles and forms…
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Ayn Rand forgot to spit
Allied with the losing side of history Atlas was condemned to bear the sky upon his shoulders But sculptors didn’t get the memo and had him holdup a globe of the world I used to ask myself how is this possible To hold up the world while standing on a mountain on the western edge…
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On a page heavy
“I lead her, a / child waking up / from a nightmare, / dazed by light” Lyn Lifshin, poet ==================================== Where have you been all my life, Lyn Lifshin Why don’t I remember reading your poetry until today I must have missed the invitation to your dying ‘The Sun’ published a tribute this month nine…
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A poem for a poet
a slim manila envelope from Clemson, SC in Friday’s mail it was expected you bring it in the house and place on a stack of folders and books unopened, because you know what’s inside your wife is home from Pittsburgh and has her laundry on the side porch so you carry Saturday coffee to the…
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The Congress of Birds
(any allusions to Attar’s The Conference of Birds are subconscious and probably intentional) Birds fuss at the sun squirrels, the neighbor’s cat a snake and other birds They call back and forth in bushes and trees from fence and power lines Some may even bully honk get out of my way I’m coming through There…
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The Last Super Moon of the Year of COVID-19
A friend told me last night, she and her husband looked out over the ocean at the last super moon of 2020 She said it would be just as beautiful tonight My wife and I live in an urban forest dotted with houses At moonrise we walked two blocks to a darkened ball field trees…
My husband's poetry 