Wednesday poem

This is an old old poem that went nowhere,but I brushed it off

and put it forth...for One shot Wednesday #19

at http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/

Ache

I saw an old man today

and the child inside me leaped

he looked like a ghost of grandfather

I wanted to run up and hug him

hoped he would smell of soap

and his hands would be strong

and rough in mine

and it would be him

and I would cry

So I trembled

one foot in front of the other

But it wasn't him

and the man turned up his collar

disappeared into the darkness of the subway

and I lost my grandfather again

Gift

I wish I could gather forgiveness

like stones on a walk, place it

in jars or a smooth dish next to

fallen feathers and empty seashells

But it is a gift I must discover in myself,

wrapped up in tears, placed beside

regret covered in grief,

lit with love and set free

***

Jingle's Potluck Poetry

Theme this week over at
http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

is
LOVE AND ROMANCE




Quietly

In the dim light of the restaurant
I look at you looking at our
last child,our daughter,
whose 28th birthday we are celebrating
and I remember it was you who wanted
one more,
and my love for you deepens
as quietly as my love began
on that bus on the way to class
when you asked,
Is this seat taken?

A favorite poem

                                                                           

The Third Body
by Robert Bly

A man and woman sit near each other, and they do
  not long
At this moment to be older, or younger, or born

In any other nation, or any other time, or any other

  place.
They are content to be where they are, talking or not
  talking.
Their breaths together feed someone whom we do
  not know.

The man sees the way his fingers move;

He sees her hands close around a book she hands to

  him.

They obey a third body that they share in common.
They have promised to love that body.
Age may come; parting may come; death will come!
A man and a woman sit near each other;
As they breathe they feed someone we do not know,

Someone we know of, whom we have never see.

-from the book Eating the Honey of Words

NOW,THAT'S A POEM

The Cuckoo Clock

I love this clock. It was given to me by,Julia, a 92 year old lady from my church. She's long gone now, but I think of her and my grandfather everytime it speaks its mind. My grandfather had a clock like hers, my grandmother hated it. I loved it. When I was a little girl I was drawn to the clock. Sophie, my grandmother, always said it was broken. But one day while she was at the store, my grandfather wound it up and moved the hands until the little bird came out singing. I never snitched on him. Their clock was prettier then this one with an elk with antlers,acorns and of course leaves and flowers.
I volunteered to visit shutins at my church, and that is how I got to know Julia. We became friends quickly. I told her about the clock. "Oh, my clock hasn't worked in years" she told me. I've heard that before I said to myself. One day out of the blue she told me to take it down off the wall...it was mine. I protested. But she would have it no other way. When I got it home...guess what? It worked. But, my DH hated the cuckoo bird. So he gagged him. Me and cuckoo had to have our tryst while he was at work.
Now it hangs in my laundry room and he is free to sing his head off. I love this clock. But I had my revenge in a little poem I wrote one day:

`It's Time

Sometimes we argue
about the smallest things,
like having too many clocks.

I love them and their ways,
working only when wound,
speaking when they want to,
not caring about their neighbors' time.

Yes, the smallest things, like today
when he went on and on about a choice I made,
and the clock in the kitchen said, "CUCKOO".

Oh, the eloquence of clocks.