Posting these literary poems where people can enjoy them pleases me. Even poems that have landed in books, magazines, or anthologies will find a wider audience here, while poems used to the quiet solitude of my desk drawer will get to see the light of day and meet readers like you! (Art fans: Look for poetry inspired by the work of well-known photographers and painters.) Please request permission by email, including full copyright information on each copy made. For internet use, a link back to this website is required.
oh, that this sight were never found
a grieving mother, brought to ground
bereft of hope, forever bound
she falls to earth without a sound
∞§∞
If this poem resonates with you, you might also relate to The Heart Attack.
Nearly a year ago today,
you said goodnight and slipped away.
A sea of tears inside my heart
marks every day we’ve been apart.
What is your move
the day you realize
no matter what goes down,
worse things can smite you?
city beat
city heat
miles of pavement
pulsing feet
dirty asphalt
ocean breeze
misty morning
nights to seize
sidewalk sleepers
suited men
money makers
born again
mission district
nob hill flair
sunset, castro
union square
trolley crossings
up-and-downs
beeping, dinging
magic sounds
snaky streets
bridge of gold
arching, soaring
bonny, bold
gritty, graceful
work of art
san franciso
from the start
(bring your dreams
leave your heart)
You say I’m “always right.” Go get the rope!
Slap me in chains and throw away the key.
Charge me with leading you too forcefully,
your mind impelled up my unyielding slope
(not even time to scan your horoscope),
bowled over by the power that is me.
How rather omnipotent I must be
to move another so, against his will
and quite without design, perfect the skill
of bringing forth blameless impotency.
However do I do it? All must bow
in deference to the mighty sword I wield.
And yet, one question, if you will allow…
Are you excused? Did you not choose to yield?
His cat was dead.
Ours was a garden party,
ranunculus in every color
no relief for
fur-brushed blood
against a bleached
white t-shirt.
We sit.
She, burgundy chair.
Me, blue leather sofa.
Like so many times
before, days of yore.
She used to watch me,
claim me, eyes love-lit.
I’d blush. You’re staring, Mom.
But I put up with it.
His spirit crawls a lowly road
with little will to rise.
Leaves falling from the trees reprise
tears falling from his eyes.