On our 8th Year
—
Today I’d like to share with you a poem I did not write.
It’s a translation of a love sonnet, number 33, by Pablo Neruda. This is sonnet my friend Lisa read for Colin and I at our wedding, … Read the rest “On our 8th Year”
Writer. Demand Poet.
—
Today I’d like to share with you a poem I did not write.
It’s a translation of a love sonnet, number 33, by Pablo Neruda. This is sonnet my friend Lisa read for Colin and I at our wedding, … Read the rest “On our 8th Year”
—
We are always eavesdropping.
The boy in the next yard admits
He forgot to do his work, and the ladies who
Race by walking exchange their bodily failures
Like measurements of sifted flour.
I hear you, little bird hiding … Read the rest “Eavesdropping.”
—
After handing me a cup of
Cinammon tea, Colin gently repeats
How he ordered the nematodes for
The garden. And I “oh-yeah” him
And say: hey, yeah, I think I did
Hear you say that once before heh-heh and… Read the rest “Pink Eye”
—
We are all on the verge
Of something. Like the serene
Beagle standing so still at the
End of his leash, yet shivering
For the ripe time to snatch
That little boy’s dangling sandwich.
We are on the verge … Read the rest “On the Verge”
—
I drive along Whippoorwill
With humming girl strapped down
In the grey Honda hulk
Of metal and plastic and
We pass the 14th fairway of
A country club to which no one
I know belongs, and it’s so early… Read the rest “That Loose Girl”