bookmark_borderPoem: When I Say I Love the Rain – 14 June, 2021

After a fairly unproductive day, I ate a small dinner outside the back of my apartment which is a small slab of concrete upon which there are two small tables, and three chairs. A neighbor was outside a few apartments away. He was on the phone and holding one of his young children. They both went inside shortly after I finished eating. Perhaps they knew the rain was coming.

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bookmark_borderPoem: I Saw A Missile Lying in a Bed

It has been difficult finding ways to cope with all that is going on in the world these days. After a long walk with my dog I sat down and tried to write. This poem, a work in progress, is all I could come up with. It is difficult to write about these things. About death and war and massacres, genocides, occupation. Difficult still when I have no experience with them. Do I even have any right to write about them?

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bookmark_borderPoem: A Melancholic Watercolor

A Melancholic Watercolor

The trouble with losing someone 
who opened your eyes
to a new way of looking at things,
a wonderful new vision,
is that after they're gone
your own eyes remind you of them,
seeing what isn't there.
And so everything is shaded,
slightly greyed,
and life becomes, for a time,
like a melancholic watercolor.
It's a beautiful gift...
a terribly beautiful gift.

bookmark_border15 April 2021 (feat. The Blanket poem)

Another night of restlessness.

I wrote a poem while lying in bed. I think it’s too sentimental, and therefore too amateur. Is sentimentality amateur? If so then there’s no hope for me. I am far too sentimental.

Yet I have problems with sentimentality. At least overly sentimental writing.

— (read on after the poem for an unintentional book review) —

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