My husband's poetry

Category: War & Politics

  • After the storm

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    All night and into morning it rained. Our yard is covered in leaves. The path by the playground is muddy. The pond bulges out of its banks. I sit on a wet bench, ponder the future, Offer prayers to a sullen sky, And ask the Unknowable Essence to grant me The strength to bind up…

  • Slapstick

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    11/05 – some call me Polly Anna, because I am still an optimist – it’s only a part-time avocation ————————————————- Buster Keaton turned slapstick into an art form, Excuse me while I go hurt myself and Try to walk away oblivious to pain Humor is only allowed, if you laugh at yourself Just another form…

  • Haikus in times of war

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    fields of bright flowers lined up in row upon row waiting for the scythe cut flowers in vase I mourn the dead, the dying and the not yet dead if politicians fought in the front line trenches world peace would break out 10-16-24

  • a short poem about war

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    wounded soldiers lie bleeding out in no man’s land neither side can retrieve them grown men crying for their mothers to come save them when will mothers demand an end to war 9-12-24

  • Meditations on a Theme: Hiroshima Remembrance 2024

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    1 When I first learned of World War II and the cost of winning the war, I would lie on our living room floor, watch dust motes above my head shimmer in the sunlight and imagine white shadow dancers the same age as myself traced upon the ground no longer able dance. 2 I lament…

  • Fourth of July

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Cousin Billy lived across the backyard fence. We’d play army in the Summer, crawling through bushes and back yards our parents did not own. Both of us wanted to be Vic Marrow so we took turns in charge of our combat platoon. High school came and went. Billy went off to Vietnam, came home a…

  • Fruits of war

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    Somedays, I think of war and wonder about the beautiful souls never birthed because their parents were harvested in the Spring never to grow ripe in Summer’s heat and enjoy a golden Autumn breeze. 6/28/24

  • Sheaves of Green Corn

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    hot day, sitting in the shade even insects move slow bowl of mixed fruit – savor each flavor tart grape followed by cantaloupe – my favorite news out of Kenya, young lives snuffed out cloistered opposition leaders decry violence there would be less war and violence If leaders led from the front black wasp sips…

  • ‘Mr. Binkley’s Crab Apple Tree’

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Running through the neighborhood, crawling under bushes, hiding in Mr. Binkley’s crab apple tree. Playing army, believing a tree, a bush, a fence or the corner of a building would protect us from death. Kids fighting imaginary wars with plastic guns. No politics or religious ax to grind. We were undefeated, waiting for the ice…

  • Low tide

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    brackish water smells of decaying reeds and fish crabs scurry back into mud, await tide’s return crest the dunes on bare feet; walk an empty beach before sun microwaves the sand unfold a chair at water’s edge, dip feet in foam, read another horrible New Yorker academic poem where sky and water meet, brown pelican…