Daybreak walks in the city with me dragging my feet the driving lesson that became an accident Chicklets to combat the salt of the sea. Sun-kissed days in the summer sun lazy somersaults in the pool steaks and fries and chips with sauce rolls shared on half-day afternoons. That movie I begged you to take…
To the crow
I used to hate crows, scavengers of the earth squawking, snatching, swamping the skies when one died, shot by that stray bullet frightening us into the house. But then you said that crows were good that when they eat the food offered to the dead it is as though the dead have returned. Since then…
Ghosts
There are no ghosts, you said, there are no ghosts; only the memories and those we have left behind. Or have been left by by those who moved to another place from where there is no return. Yet, when the stars flicker glittering through my tears and the skies are silent at that moment when…
To the stranger in the dark.
Faces change over time grow up and move away But eyes? Eyes remain the same, windows to all that was. I think I see you cross the road our eyes meeting only for a second to move on, obscurity measured in a single glance. Maybe you too thought I was someone you knew from another…
Old wounds
There was a wound near the ear That never healed. Each evening I would change the dressing The blood never stopped its flow. He would not wince, even As I applied disinfectant trying To be as gentle as possible, As softly and as far as I could go. His eyes glistened with pain and tears …
Abandoned.
A little girl sat on the swing set When I took the dog before dawn. I almost missed her quiet face But the moon was still in form Her face was streaked with tears In her hands she clutched a cloth With which she tried to cover her face Fear upon her visage wrought. I…
No poem today
I will write no poem today I will just chill, not fret about meter And spend the morning Nursing my coffee and Sudoku. I will not write a stanza today No deep thoughts to construe, No yearnings to express… No quatrain or haiku. I will binge-watch a TV show About haunted houses or spies And…
The poem I was writing
Died a senseless death The body waits In the crowded funeral homes For the rich In lime covered mass graves Of the poor Tortured and twisted In the agony of birth Breathless and blown By gathering storm clouds The cadaver awaits A decent burial.
