I See You
I am
inside
the letters
of this
poem.
That makes
no sense!
And yet
here I am,
staring
at you
staring
at the
letters
I write.
Why
do you
look
so
sad?
How to do crabbing
What an all day to catch a crab
And it takes a lot of patience to go crabbing under the heat of a fiery sun.
You add the bait inside the net
You lower the net to the bottom of the shallow water and wait
Yoy waited and waited but, the bait is gone and the crab had free lunch.
You add another bait into the net
You lower the net to the bottom of the shallow water and wait
You waited and waited all day and
To your surprise, a tiny, undersize crabs was trapped in the net
You let go those baby crabs and
Head off to a seafood market to buy a bushel of crabs for your family dinner
who are expecting, you’ll bring home a big catch.
Well , I miss crabbing in Virginia Beach
23
I can’t promise that I’m not a thunderstorm
but I was the best part of the rain.
The sleep weather.
The gentle roars.
The Friday nights in.
The cool flicker.
The grey.
Soon
I dreamed of time spent with you
Nestled to my chest
Soft and new
I ache with longing to see you
Hold you again
In my arms
I give thanks to pictures
To help pass the time until
I see you again
Depression
I am like the moon
dead inside but still
glowing
more whole some
days than others and
sometimes
disappearing but
even when the moon is shrouded
in darkness no one doubts
her right to
take up space
her beauty is all reflection how
the light bends toward her
and though the sun makes her
invisible after daylight has long
given up
she
shines
beautifully
until the sun remembers how
Just a haiku
Torches light the path tonight
Exuberant exhilaration course through the atmosphere alive
Follow its upward intent successfully
Brother
I miss those paper boats
We used to make on rainy days
And those magic shows
We used to watch in a daze.
I miss those story books
We used to read every day
And those art and craft lessons
Where we butchered the clay.
I miss all the times we
Hid from mom behind the rack
But most of all I miss you
Dear Brother! Please come back.
Hour Twenty-Three
The green wingback chairs, the cookie drawer,
Sandwiches made with butter and honey,
The dinners and back rubs and lullabies under pale coverlets,
Gifts of precious time and of money.
Surprised by this saltwater
Out of sight, out of mind, is a powerful lie.
#17 just something comical maybe
Fell on my ass
But the best part
Was standing on glass
Made it look like art
Dropped phone on my face
Not in the usual way
Wrapped it in lace
Made it look like faberge
Melted plastic in my ear
You will laugh for sure
It was Richard Gere
Made it look like couture
Hour Twenty Three Missing
Hour Twenty Three
Missing
by Paul Robert Sanford
Body by Rubens
Personality shaped by the suburbs of the valley.
Sweet, bright, with lovely soft childish nasal voice.
College sweetheart, first wife,
divorced when her father died
Unsettled child, guided by her mother
happily humming to herself
playing the piano in her little cottage
I never stopped loving her,
just put up a wall of hurt and anger and feigned indifference
between us to make myself safe.
She died before we were forty
her ashes were scattered over an unknown field
I never attended her memorial or visited her grave.
I wonder how we would have been together in our old age?