Category Archives: poem

the yarn spinner

taken from my great-grandmother’s book of poetry, Where Childern Live (1958).

The Yard Spinner

Intent on every word, the small boy hears
A story woven of an old man’s years
That, with the telling, finds a space to grow
In splendor for a boy who wants it so,
And, as the truly wonderous tale unravels,
Along an old world trail a small boy travels —
A boy who hangs upon each chosen word,
As with the spinning yarn the air is stirred,
Until the hero-worshipper is led,
His hand held fast in grandfather’s — to bed.

the art of waving goodbye

he looked at her like she was the most beautiful
woman, spotlighted inspiration,
but when she caught him
he looked away fast, averting,

it was then
she pressed her hand
forcefully through air
determined,
long fingers straining for
that fine art of
waving goodbye,
pressed her hand
and let it stain the air
strain the silence of an unspoken
conversation
that always ended so
abruptly… suddenly…
…

Wide Rivers

From my great-grandmother’s book of poetry, Where Children Live (1958)

Wide Rivers

A small boy has no use for gentle rains —
He watches with a weathered eye and mutters
For rains that come in torrents, flood the mains,
Overflowing streets and leaf-strewn gutters.

He sees wide rivers, far as eye can measure,
And, in storm-tossed debris, boats filled with treasure.