Browse by:

a poem for my late father on Father’s Day

Our Garden The garden, That’s where he met me. Weathered walls, Gated; secret. Unkempt and abundant, Scents of green, Heady perfume, A wild meadow, Encircled by bark, Safe; hidden away, This private beauty. The gate opened, Momentary present, We walked, Caressed by roses, Tugged by thorns. “There was nothing to say.” “I’m grateful for what…

“Where are you?” I call out  to feelings so deadened by this grief.   I know not, You.   listless; beyond pain, insensate; behind joy.   an empty moor, a garden door, locked.   unyielding thorny mass wound weeping pus blocked.   how can I heal; when it isn’t real?   This poem is about…