Breathtaking beauty,
One by one the petals fall,
Revealing the roots.
02-25-2019
Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category
Haiku to aging
February 25, 2019 Our kids don’t know poverty
October 7, 2018Our kids don’t know poverty.
Not like we did.
When we had our babies,
I stayed home with them.
Besides, by the time we had 3, or 4,
my working was not cost effective anymore.
When we had our babies,
government decided
to downsize middle managers,
so sometimes you were home with us,
and still, somehow, we survived.
When we had babies,
I used cloth diapers,
and hung them out on the line to dry.
One summer, the gas company shut us off,
we had no hot water for weeks.
Our kids don’t know poverty,
Not like we did.
They have nice houses,
new furniture,
They don’t have wealth,
but they don’t go without,
or have to use food stamps
at a local store.
They don’t know the shame
of standing in line
to get that free government cheese,
They don’t know having to take a bus
to go downtown to pay a bill,
and I wonder what they will ever do
if hard times come to call,
or if they will know how to find the joy,
while making it through it all.
cfblack 10-06-2018
We get the picture
October 1, 2018There is so much I want to say,
like name-calling,
being whistled at as I walked down the street,
asked if I wanted a baby.
I liked to walk.
Until a man
exposed himself to me, from his car,
asking me for directions.
I was terrified and ran for blocks,
until I saw him following me.
then walked up to a house and rang the bell,
as if that was my destination.
Heart beating in my chest,
thanking God someone was home.
We get the picture, Mr. Kavanaugh.
You and your friends,
laughing through college,
bragging, cavorting, falling down drunk,
clueless, relentless, taking advantage,
not once thinking these party days
could return to haunt you.
You have a lot of ghosts in your closet, Sir,
They have all the time in the world.
cfblack 10-01-2018
Awaiting a hurricane
September 13, 2018The silence is deafening
I lie here thinking
where the homeless go
in a hurricane,
Tonight there is hardly
A sound or a chirp,
It is as if they sense
The coming dread,
We all await
The power unleashed
That soon will blow
above our heads,
The size of 3 states
Nature’s fury
She churns the waters
Reaching out her arms,
“Rest assured,
I am coming,” she says,
“I will turn your way
Into the South,
I will release
My endless waters,
The winds I have
Will scream my name,
And you will know
When I am with you,
And when I leave
Your world is changed,”
And so we wait
These endless hours,
and birds now sing at break of day,
I bring my plants in from the porch, and wonder
Where the homeless go
In a hurricane?
cfblack awaiting Florence 09-13-2018
Peace Day, Hiroshima
August 6, 2018We make paper cranes
sing songs for peace
think of Sadako
meditate,
wonder at the images
August 6th of ’45,
the pilots shocked
at the fire cloud,
100,000 gone in a flash of light
People on fire sit in shock,
Children cry, skin falls away,
and I like to think
after 80 years
that we have LEARNED,
that we are BETTER,
but I know that fear is still a tool
used by those drunk on their power,
to create a world where we exist
apart from one another,
So it is good to gather here,
to remember and to pray,
that this horror may never show itself
on any future day,
Good to look around the room,
see others here for peace,
Set a lantern on the river,
Lift a crane and set it free.
cfblack 08-06-2018, revised 8-13-2024
End of semester
July 17, 20183 hours of sleep
all is graded
assignments, essays
and extra credit,
Finals await the morning sun,
They sit in my office
all alone,
Soon they will come
to do their best
the last jokes, laughter,
and second guesses,
Then all disperse
to worlds unknown
while ghosts of their words
remain,
No more required
for those who came
to ever meet again.
cfblack 07-17-2018
This you will not be forgiven for
June 19, 2018This you will not be forgiven for.
Not this.
Nor will any one of us who does not speak up for them.
This. Butchering of hearts.
This lack of compassion.
This unthinkable act of human barbarity.
We did this once.
We sold children from their mothers.
This bragging of idiots defending atrocity.
This little one. Right here. She is everything we stand for.
She is the world come crashing down on us.
She will never be the same.
Nor will I.
cfblack 06-19-2018
Tired
June 6, 2018Tired.
You know this feeling,
it comes after you go back to work.
Body aches to go to bed,
but you just finished
loading dishwasher,
pulling chicken off bone,
making soup,
lunches for tomorrow.
What shall it be?
Chapter 1 review,
or head hitting pillow immediately?
Half hour of reading,
Clock hits midnight,
Coach turns to pumpkin,
Good night.
cfblack 06-05-18
to my mother
May 18, 2018I try to imagine, being you,
born in the roaring twenties,
Taking out seams to make clothes fit
during the Great Depression.
Your parents quit school at age 12,
to earn money to help out at home,
They didn’t want you to suffer their fate,
so no matter what,
you felt blessed.
You met my father at age 16,
he was 4 years older than you,
and from that day on,
your life became
whatever it took to advance HIS career.
You never balanced a checkbook,
never worked outside the home,
Your friends were his academic colleagues,
never a friend of your own.
You never advanced past high school,
while he earned a PhD,
No one thought in the “baby boom”
a woman could advance herself.
My father’s career took off
and the poor boy became a Dean,
while you kept house, raised kids, and cleaned,
gave dinner parties on weekends.
But once he died so early,
at 50, was suddenly gone,
His friends dropped you like a hot potato,
and were not there for you.
Your life did not foster within you
a sense of your own strength,
Your life was focused on his success,
and now you were alone.
The next years were all a blur
as you turned to alcohol,
your kids all had to fend for themselves
to make it as they could.
To succeed in your recovery,
as any addict knows,
you have to center on yourself
because you have one goal.
At age 63 you did this,
and never once relapsed,
this, in itself, showed us all
how truly strong you were.
Mothering is never perfect,
neither mine, nor yours,
One thing that I always knew
was that I was deeply loved.
It helps me to imagine
all the things that you went through,
I hope you had enough time
to develop who you were,
Our lives were very different,
but what I learned from you
is a woman can do anything
she sets her own mind to.
I balance my own checkbook,
I work outside the home,
so another thing you taught me
is to have a backup plan.
Mother/Daughter connections
are always complicated,
I also know the Love we share
continues unabated.
cfblack 05-17-2018
Doctor Grandma 