What I’ve Become in Their Absence

In shame,

my eyes cast to the ground,

I skirt the peopled places.

I turn away and hide myself

far from familiar faces.

My eyes are little hollow pits.

I hope you cannot see

their infinite echoing

and the nothingness of me.

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Autumn

There is a bit of clover still
in the field and on the hill.
There it will stay until
the frost comes to claim it.

I saw the first red leaf today
fall off its branch and float away,
landing softly in the hay.
The first patch of the quilt.

In the ditches, asters grow.
Now we reap what we did sow
and rest when the sun is low,
rejoicing in the harvest.

-from my book “Cornflower Blue” now available on etsy.

Soon

I can feel autumn coming.

It’s in the night air

that smells of decaying flowers.

The moon hovers outside my window.

Dawns are shrouded.

It’s cool breath fights with the balmy breeze.

The shadow trees shiver.

It is growing stronger.

 

from my book “Cornflower Blue”. Now available on etsy.

Crows

Like crows

we picked shiny things off the ground.

A crushed beer can.

A dime.

A rusty car emblem.

How did you spot them so easily,

Father,

with only one eye?

We collected broken things

that no one else wanted.

Said we’d fix them one day,

use them for something.

 

Two crows sit outside my window.

They caw at dawn

which lights my room

full of broken things.

 

My book “Cornflower Blue” is now available on etsy.

What Do We Have?

Tulips have bloomed in the Netherlands.

What do we have?

Bare branches.

Flooded beds.

Rotting, hollow stems.

 

The Earth is still brown

but the blue is returning to the sky

and the ocean moves freely.

We don’t have floral breezes

but we have the frog song from the marshes.

We have the sound of wetness seeping into the ground.

We have these grey trees

trying their hardest

to receive all the earth and sun give.

This Is Not Poetry

Wouldn’t it be

such a bore

if

we all followed

the same format?

Leave it to the documents,

files,

and reports.

 

Poetry is not

bureaucracy, it changes

as emotions do.

 

As art changes.

As humankind changes.

As the world changes.

 

That is life.

You may not agree

but why do we seek to create strife

with those who see

 

differently?