We hesitate, glance over our shoulders,
hear whispers from our past,
and murmur, “Mother,” “Father” to ghosts long gone.
Father’s Day, and the dogs are resting
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Category Archives: Poetry
Old dog
This grief is familiar –
I feel it in my abdomen and jaw,
knit eyebrows,
clenched neck and shoulders.
It tints the brightest days gray,
paints blue tinges on my reds and yellows,
wakes me from deepest slumber. Continue reading
Hope springs eternal on the South Side
Sunday afternoon, the White Sox are playing.
We sit at home, too lazy (or poor) to be at the ballpark
but rapt before the TV,
inside on a glorious sunny day,
buoyed by the hope that accompanies Spring.
Flowers and leafing trees, a warming breeze,
and a new season
with new young players
who haven’t yet disappointed.
They may yet,
but White Sox fans are accustomed to disappointment,
and the future is not today.
Today it’s still next year on Chicago’s South Side.
Hostas (after the rain)
Broad leaves, raindrops pooled,
funneling later to roots
thirsty in the sun
Thunderstorms puddle
watery lakes on broad leaves,
Nature’s reservoirs
Deep throats open to
botanical champagne flutes
drink a dewy toast
Somewhere a fox
The scene a suburban lawn
a row of geese
waddling slowly across the grass
all suddenly freeze
and time stops. Continue reading
April in the rearview mirror
April – what a month. I ushered it in with my annual April 1 (bunny bunny) reading of T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” then spent almost the entire remainder of the month reading and listening (and reading and listening, and reading and listening) to Leonard Cohen’s last book, The Flame. At month’s end, I had read the tactile book twice and listened to it on CD at least four times, if not five (starting in March). It was worth every minute. In between, I got to see Andrea Gibson perform, and read a lot of other poetry by a wide range of authors. I read poetry every single day of April, and it was a blessing. I also wrote poetry every day, although not all of it got published here. Here are all the pieces that did. There also were pieces I started and am still working on, pieces I discarded, and little snippets that found life only on my Twitter stream. Case in point:
April Sunrise when even the treetops don Easter bonnets and parade their new finery for all to see, dazzling yellow-green spring foliage glowing high against the western sky
— Kim Kishbaugh (@kkish) April 27, 2019