Poetry Here (Mostly)

Archive for November, 2013

The Way of the Cross #245


I grew up in Brooklyn,

our rooms hitched together

railroad style, on one floor,

life just a shout away.

——–

I was less than seven

when rheumatic fever

took my teen-aged cousin,

I have vague memories.

——–

A priest gave his parents

the coffin crucifix,

for solace I suppose.

They nailed it to the wall.

——–

My aunt and uncle’s house

country chirps and quiet.

Bedtime forced me upstairs,

to find my way alone.

———

Had to pass the Jesus

a funeral had risen.

Could not avoid his gaunt

body or naked eyes.

———

Across the hall, from where

I went to bed, should have

been my cousin’s room. Still

displayed his model planes.

———–

I feared hurting someone’s

feelings, living, dying,

or dead, if I revealed

how ill at ease I felt.

Parents and Pets (#243)


Puppies grow into companions

happy to remain where they’re raised.

Children feel stuck in home’s canyons

wishing on stars parents don’t gaze.

Purchased birds cling to their cages,

seem content with their inside lives,

but children seek wider ranges,

they need to fly when they can drive.

Puppies and parakeets liven

where children once played and chattered,

a house still a caring haven

though not the heart of what matters.

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