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Month: November 2015

The Palms along Sarasota Bay

The Palms along Sarasota Bay

 

Lithe fingers that sway
and wave long eye lashes

sound like rain on touching
in the brightest midday

sound like secreted showers
mourning the Florida sun.

 

IMG_1025

 

Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
The image of the initial draft can be seen here:

new doc 30_1

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(Two from Brooklyn) (with photo)

IMG_0564

Grand Army Plaza, Prospect Park, Brooklyn

 

At Prospect Park Brooklyn

In the park alone, I stand or sit
and nobody charges me a fee.
No one can ask me to leave.
Nobody will be dragging a mop
dipped in acrid cleaner as a hint.

It may snow soon; it’ll surely rain.
But I can stay, there’s no curfew.
The police have better things to do
than bother an obvious lunatic
who remains merely to sanctify
not owing anyone a damned thing.

####

In a Backyard in Brooklyn

The narrow rusted ladder
rose thirty feet high
from a dense bank of weeds

As if an artist had placed
it there, but then, further
down, more rose up.

…In the old days to hang clothes.
It held the line from windows
I was told. Oh. So. Oh.

Then why are there rungs
and why in the age of laundries
are they remaining here?

Some people must like them.
It’s like a stairway to heaven
said yet another.

I could see. Who on earth
would dare curse heaven by
removing these rusty things?

 

Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about these poems, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial drafts can be seen here:

new doc 28_1 new doc 29_1

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Toolmakers

Toolmakers

The tools were simple
but we never mocked them.
There was nothing to compare.
Those stones gave us life.

In shattering and skinning
we loosened the vital flesh
that nourished brave bones,
helped us find shelter, rest.

The toolmakers are now dead.
A user grips something
with fresh trepidation
not knowing who made it.

Or why or what exactly
it might do or cause.
Of course it must be used,
by God it was bought.

 

Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft can be seen here:

new doc 27_1

Please like & share:

For Phillip

For Phillip

 

He asked me what it’s like to write
a really good poem and I began
but couldn’t assemble the words
because we were in the office.
His eyebrows rose as if to say
it must be awesome if suddenly
the poet should became speechless.

You should write a poem about me
he said and returned to his display
of numbers arrayed in columns and rows
as they often are for a Data Analyst.
So this is for Phillip, lost in numbers
as I am in words, both frequently seized
by the mysteries buried in each.

 

 

Poet’s Notes ####

 

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft can be seen here:

 

new doc 25_1

 

Please like & share:

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