The radio always playing
In a manner too loud
For one person, but two
Floors, this old house
It must dim the echo
Of her emptiness, these
Songs I remember so well
His crooning, whistling while
Prepping his family’s meal
That vacancy of memory
Of his sound, the nightclub feel
A martini sipped slowly
His smoke gently rising from
An ashtray taking for granted
Health, like his favorite singer
Now gone too who sang
With a cigarette wedged
Between fingers, scotch
Waiting diligent on an
Adjacent podium while
Lady is a Tramp and
The Girl from Impanema
Cascade effortlessly
Across the stage
Cherished women
These melodies his gift
Keeping her company
In her hope to soon,
Be with him again
Category Archives: Poetry
Mother Nature
Mother Nature only promises to be predicted
The rain everyone wishes would stop
Will be begged and prayed for,
Maybe next year, maybe a month from now
When the ground hard in misfortune will in its
Withered state dream of this time and its abundance
The Lucky Penny
See a penny pick it up all day long you”ll have good luck
The scheme offering reason for bending to scrape up
What buys absolutely nothing except help on a tax
Today, the first truly hot day of our summer, while
On a well traveled road to buy a lottery ticket
From the convenience store lying at the heart of town
It laid there, dull, green, and bent in on one side, not in half
Like one would suspect pennies to be bent, if at all
This penny curled upon itself; the start of a croissant
Maybe a thumb so worried, anxious; desperate for
Something bad not to occur, or hopeful at least there might
Result from the combined efforts of all that emotion
Transferring in pressure onto this penny from that thumb
Some wish for goodness to unfold or surprise the one
Whose only hope might have been this old well used bent copper
Disc that now not even fits into a slot for coins
Nor can add much value to anyone’s purse or pocket
But at some point in time, I like to imagine that
It gave comfort to another as possibility
This ugly little penny now traveling well with me
Farmer’s Market
It is dark, impending thunder, high winds;
Slate grey caution in the wall of clouds
In the imminent distance, momentary
Hesitation to head downtown away from
The promised safety of home, to the streets
Where farmer’s, bakers, florists, artisans
All specifically entwined, connected to
The wares that lay on or under tables, maybe
Being stored protectively on the organic seats of
Old Toyotas, beds of big American made Fords, Chevys
The lovingly cared for old Dodge owned by
My first stop, a gentle well worn guy who
Does not allow me to place into my bag uncovered
What he acknowledges are small strawberries
But he adamantly asserts are the sweetest
You will ever enjoy, as are his bulbous green onions,
Asparagus proudly standing in formation
For free he provides the knowledge of his years
About each purchase I make, as he speaks I hug
The memory of the uncle who similar in looks; manner
Called me Lester, to make me one of the guys; included
Like his wife who welcomed all with time, cookies
Pleasure always in shared conversation, her patch
Of strawberries and asparagus hidden down the hill
From the lines of perfectly hung laundry gently
Acknowledging the breeze and ease of hanging out
He is gone now, and what she was is too, but I
Visit them with my heart every Saturday morning
Stormy, rainy, sultry, or cool at the pool of hosts,
And hostesses of my local Farmer’s Market
She Misses You
There is a space that hangs in midair
Dangling immediately there ahead of her
Like a rabbit chasing a carrot, she follows
In desperate hopes of catching even a
Glimpse, a scent, a murmur from the mouth
That is gone and barely does she see you
Doing the regular things, the everyday
The motion picture sense of you that
Is repeatedly rewound to save you from
Being diminished or worse forgotten
The one that maintains you flawless,
Saintly and revered by all the others
Is not what she seeks, nor needs you to be
No, her wish is someday, to simply see that
Face, the head slightly tilted back to the side,
The smile content in the moment
Breakfast with Buse 