Poetry

I don’t write a lot of poems, but occasionally I dabble. Enjoy!

---

Etchings on a Boulder

We cannot count ourselves enlightened
Until we outgrow this need
To carve our names
In every nook and cranny
Of beautiful wilderness

What vain hope
That initials in the rock
Will obtain immortality
Our frail bodies cannot

Petty little scratches
May outlive us
But they will fade
Wind and rain painting
A clean canvas

What meaning will those letters have?
Only this: 
We were so afraid
Of being forgotten

Another Song, Another Kiss

They say it’s getting worse
Look how people talk
How they behave

Look at politics
We live in different worlds
(Nobody has ever said
Politics is getting better)

And if you don’t believe it's all falling apart
If you don’t live in fear
If you dare to hope
You’re a fool, or worse: complicit.

But they forgot the feeling:
The first time hearing
Your favorite song,
The first time kissing
Someone you love

The future is not all bad.
There are more good things in store.
Tomorrow has a surprise for you
And you’ll never guess.

She Writes

She writes
Taps the keys
A poem, a secret, between her and the screen
Words are fluid
Day to day, month to month,
Year to year
Obsequious to whim and whimsy
To whatever mood takes her
That day
That year

The poems are not for others
They are hers
They are her
They are
A slow progression, knitting
Bonsai trimming
Cutting hair
No desire to share
To show
Not greedy
Just comfortable in the words
In the middle of making
No concern
For done