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Poems

A Young Boy's Prayer | Amtrak Angel | Prayer | The Old Guy | Tiger at the Window | To My Wife-In Memoriam

 

A Yound Boy's Prayer

Look at me, I stand before You;
I have no shirt, no shoes.
I’m only a young boy, only a child;
Look at me, or are you blind?

Talk to me, answer me;
To whom shall I call, if not to You?
On my knees I come to You;
Talk to me, or are you dumb?

Hear my prayer, hear my voice;
I’m only a person, not only a number.
Only praise have I always had for You;
Hear my prayer, or are You deaf?

Save me from the Nazi ovens;
If I die, my beliefs also die.
I have no water, no bread;
Save me, or are You also dead?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amtrak Angel

The seat beside me is empty
No Circe with golden curls;
No charming dazzling maiden.
Where are the dimpled girls?

I long to chat with someone
of the gracious, tender sex;
my taste is for the lovelies
with long and slender necks.

Ah, my Amtrak angel,
sit here by my side:
at 85 I’m harmless-
relax, enjoy the ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prayer

Come rain, come shine,

come cold, come hot,

I thank Thee, Lord,

for what I’ve got.

Come health, come pain,

come joy, come sorrow,

I thank Thee, Lord,

for each tomorrow.

Come good, come bad,

come life, come death,

I thank Thee, Lord,

For every breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Old Guy

Look at the old guy, she said.
At fifteen a sixty-seven year old
bicycle rider must appear strange,
an affront to her sense of propriety,
anomalous as a grandfather
playing Romeo.

But maybe she meant:
look at that terrific old guy-
legs and thighs like iron
bare chested, tan as a lifeguard---
I hope my daddy looks like him
when he’s an old man.

Or maybe she meant:
Look at that crazy old guy,
trying to look and act young;
he should be riding a rocking chair.

Maybe…
She’s got her nerve.
The hell with her.
But I am a n old guy.
Not old old.
Old

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tiger at the Window

Famine-sightless, soundless-

engulfs the dessicated earth.

Children’s bellies swell like melons

in a fruitful Eden, collapse

like wombs of sterile women.

Arms and legs wither-

fat, flesh, and muscle

cannibalized by the shrinking body.

Flies crawl in eyes,

nostrils, ears, pullulating sores.

Locked in our home,

every entrance bolted,

we try to escape.

A tiger, white in the moonlight,

Appears at a window,

crashes through the glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Wife-In Memoriam

I miss your hand in mine

As we walked at ocean’s edge.

I miss the sly perfume

Of your black, silken hair. 

I miss your lips on mine

Your murmuring in my ear,

Offering luscious delights.

I miss the ripeness of your breasts

In my caressing hands,

The rough passion that left us

Gentle, trembling, and laughing.

I miss the closeness of silence,

That sharing that needs no words,

I miss our playful love,

The lodestar of our lives.

I miss telling you,

“You are my only love.”

Oh, my sweetheart, my wife,

My one, my only love,

How I miss you.