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Behind him a brick wall drips with old colors,

He is facing West 82nd Street.

His lashes droop down, his eyes are closed.

All I can see is the blackness where his face was,

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As if his face had been cut out of the brick

And the brick holds his face for me.

I stare, and the shadow stares ahead,

.

Daring me to remember the color of his eyes

The cut of his hair, his name.

Philip, I say to the picture,

Philip, with blue eyes.

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Posted in love poetry, Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

Quiet

This forest is so young

My hands can reach around almost each tree,

My arms can tightly embrace even the oldest.

Yet such quiet pervades the forest

That I forget time.

.

Quiet is itself older than trees and forest,

Yet chooses to live here,

Comforted by the slow growth of maple and pine,

Hiding in the rustle of wind-shaken branches.

 

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Posted in nature poetry, Poetry | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Feather and Skin

The sixty-ninth year is coming upon me

Since first I made to count.

Still the self-same hawk circles over,

Or another in its place,

.

Skimming clouds overhead, watching

My old bones and eyes.

She disappears a moment into the sun

So that I can remember the first,

.

When we met, midway between earth and cloud,

And touched,

And recognized one and the other,

In midair feather and skin.

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Unwearied still, she ranges beyond my eyes,

Stopping only to spark a dream or

A recognition, or better yet,

A reminder,

.

In midair between feather and skin

.

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(With thanks to WB Yeats)

Posted in nature poetry, Poetry, Spiritual | Tagged | 1 Comment

Stay tuned….

I’m working on the final draft of my first book. Crowds are waiting for release:

137018-004-18C4C15E

I’m working as fast as I can.

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Cafe haiku

Floor tiles are mismatched

An old man stands bewildered

Which way to go now?

.

.

A woman passes

In the cafe filled with diners –

A breeze melts my skin

 

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Skeleton Skeltonic Verse

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skeleton bones

rattle as they roam

‘til they come back home.

the last time i saw one

he, she or it shone in the sun.

he, she or it was having fun

until he, she or it shouted a curse

it was so much worse…

it’s supposed to be a skeltonic verse,

you dummy old bones,

stop all your groans.

go back to your graves in that thick thick thicket

‘til you find a poet who’s not dyslexic

 

Skeltonic verse consists of short rhyming lines that just sort of flow on from one rhyme to the next for however long one chooses. 

 

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Grandma’s Ghost

My grandmother wore a white sheet on Halloween.

Her black oxford stout-heeled shoes poked out from under the hem.

She walked with her familiar rock from side to side.

Her pale blue eyes glinted through the eye holes.

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She was not carrying sweet candy;

She carried a loaf of rye bread.

The aroma of weak milky tea surrounded her.

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When I ran to her to clasp her in my arms,

She was gone.

So I went home,

Waited,

And every child, “Trick or Treat!”, got a slice of rye toast

And a hot cup full of tea.

 

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