Hi, friends.

Today I'd like to share some more traditional type poems I have written since I published my Collected Poems in 2001.

COMPANIONS

The population suffered, and the minister,

Peevish at being questioned, forced to stir

From his family den with its comfortable chair,

Thundered forth an appropriate condemnation

Of universal sin and sin’s occasion,

And then went off on his usual vacation.

But in a little park something occurred

Between a pigeon and another bird

That left us comforted and strangely stirred.

The pigeon cried, and sat upon the lawn,

Its head all tarry and its tail all torn,

And doubting it would see another dawn.

The starling feathered down and then was still,

Removed a flea or two with gentle skill,

Ensured the sorry end was not a kill.

DEAD ENEMY

So you have died. So this will never heal,

Never make sense as far as I can tell.

Your disapproval and my gossiping,

Beneath it all the nervous fear that clung,

The sickness all around us, poisoned love –

A friendship that became too good to live.

The rifts estranged, in spite of all we shared,

Till every fragrant flower became a shard.

Yet something in me dies, now you are dead,

That only you, and briefly, understood.

In hating I have loved you – oh, too well,

Too badly – I have cared enough to fail.

FOR DAVID

In vain our mother sent us out to play –

We knew what mattered, how she sat intent

And quiet as a fisher in the sun,

Her desk light with its concentrated beam

Choosing the meat of anything she read,

Her index cards amassing in the tray.

And we had seen our father ply the lead

And hunt the keys amid the garish gleam

Of newsroom light, his back grotesquely bent

To the low table, on some wasted day

Mom left us there, to get her errands done.

We quarreled, laughed or climbed the dirt in vain,

Miming the spontaneity we saw

In other children, while the precious years

Bled out to sea, and waited for the time

We could distill the meaning of our tears,

Shut out the world, its clamor and disdain,

Gather our joys, and start that inner climb,

And be at last what we beheld with awe.

THE INJURY (9/11/10)

The things I did just weeks ago,

The sex, the worship, and the spin

On my beloved bike, now glow

With wonder that remains within.

I did those things – will do again!

And yet the doubt begins to blur

The cadence of that bold Amen –

I do not dare to be so sure.

It was the anniversary

Of such a strange and evil day

My happiness deserted me

My joy was not allowed to stay.

In that frenetic time, there was,

I now admit, a secret fear,

A menace lurking just because

That awful date again was here.

My face will bear a little scar

When pain and struggle finally cease

To show my soul has traveled far,

And surely qualifies for peace.

Love, Barbara