reading Jack Gilbert
mourning his dead wife
the grey sky outside
Continue reading “Poetry : Gilbert & Rome”
Tag: Poetry
Poetry: NW Portland @ 10 AM
November chill hits as the bus pulls away,
Her warmth absent now from my arms,
Tale of one city but two schools.
I pass a group of four hoody’ed guys,
One slurs, “I like all the little shops.”
10 am and already stoned, life on 21st.
Poetry : One-Eighth
Every so often I overhear a conversation so insipid that I have to write about it to get the memory of it out of my brain and somewhere else into the world where it will do less damage. Hopefully less damage. So a very rough poem, inspired by something I needed to process and forget.