Category: poetry


The Rain 1

 

I remember standing in the rain watching you cry behind the glass helpless, powerless, I could only watch as the curtain fell and I was alone Cold and wet I stood on your front porch listening to the muffled cries Our night was over. The hours until I could see you again laid before me like cold black miles I had never felt so alone, so removed from the world, Separated from my only purpose, my reason for being

I thought of you crying, knotted into the fetal position on your bed I could almost see you there with your cherry blossoms cheeks and sad determined eyes whispering how one day we would run away and never come back how we would find some far away land and spend our days playing backgammon and making love I thought of you standing behind the foggy glass helpless, powerless, as the curtain fell

I thought of you as the rain suddenly stopped and the sky opened wide and black above me I thought of you as the clouds spread and the stars sprinkled the sky and the moon glowed like the sun so many rainy nights have come and gone and I think of us now so many years later standing together behind the glass watching as the silvery sheets of rain fall and gather into deep dark puddles near our home Then I hear the tea kettle whistling high and sharp calling from our kitchen and I hear your voice calling me for tea and I drop the curtain and go inside.

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Not Love

A deserving love,

She gave it freely

A fool, that could not see

Her wasted gift

Sacrificed by the indifference

That hide by his loving eyes

 

 

 

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Illustration ©2017

She lives in the house over there

She’s peeling paint off the ceiling

A marooned girl skipping in the moonlight

She’s nine years old

A thin smile and tired eyes

Her clothes are barely held together

The invisible girl walking on dusty roads

She’s nine years old

She has a friend and he lives over there

He smokes the peppermint cigar

Invisible in the daylight

He’s all she has in the world

He’s ninety years old

She sits with him in the morning

He feeds her pancakes in the afternoon

They’re reading the funny papers together

These are the best years of his life

He’s ninety years old

They lie on the cot in the backroom

With lunar sneaking in the windows

They’re drinking green fairy from the bottle

The sun comes up

They’re zero years old

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old man

 

Heavy clouds hanging low overhead

 

Collecting smoke from skinny finger cigars

 

Pillows of evanescent vapor floating like halos

 

Over nappy heads and perpetually curled shoulders

 

Bent, red-eyed men with mournful smiles, and calloused souls

 

Are telling lies about the good old days that were never good

 

 

 

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Lifted

 

twister

 

Funnels twisted before me,

 I came out to greet them

With open arms I stood before them

I did not flinch, I did not falter.

I waited. Until there was nothing,

But black skies beneath my feet

And the majestic whispers

Of the raging wind in my ears

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book-cover

I have appreciated the support I have received in the past from the many talented writers and artist in the past years that I have been allowed to express myself artistically on WordPress.

I am not much for self-promotion, so I will keep this brief. I am excited to announce the release of my recently published a book of poems “The Obvious Sound of Noise is Silence”

Click the cover and  check it out.

Thank you all in advance, and keep writing.

https://www.amazon.com/Obvious-Sound-Noise-Silence-Poetry ebook/dp/B06XD6QKH8 

The Mintz

 

 

 

ice melting

as time spins

days meld into and nights

evenings are monolithic blocks

heavy, dark times frozen

somewhere in the in between

 

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Get Up

I get up

because the need to get things done outweighs the need for sleep.

I get up

because my family depends on me and the world doesn’t owe me a thing

I get up

because I owe it to myself to achieve as much as I can achieve

I get up

because nothing in this life comes for free

I get up

because I want to become who I was destined to be

 

 

 

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grey-miles

I walk the gray miles

That lead me home

I have come so far, from so far

Marked, battered, and bruised by time

I stagger into the dimming light

And lay as still as an oak

My weary head on my mother’s lap

And listen to her rhythmic breathing

As she strokes my head and whispers

My son has come home.

 

 

 

 

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trump

 

 

The day after has come America, and now we know the type of country we are

A nation exposed for all to see,

A façade, of righteousness and moral fortitude

Sullied by the indignation of the ignorant and the arrogant

Bold and brash, stripping away the faint illusion of graciousness

The false proclamation that all are created equal, and that we are all free

The nation has spoken make no mistake about it, and the world was listening

And the path that was chosen was the darkest.

We have chosen fear over hope.  Hate and bigotry over love and respect

We have turn back toward the past instead of forging ahead to a brighter future.

The day after has come America, and we are now a lesser nation today then we were yesterday.

 

 

 

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