bookmark_border“The Sounds of Spring” – a poem by me

A police car’s siren cuts through the early morning fog;
The song of leaf blowers heralds the start of a new day.
Trucks of different shapes and colors,
Carrying oil, lumber, trash, debris,
Rumble through the intersection.
At the pond, the clanging of hammers
Mingles with the wooshing of the fountain
And the cheerful chirping of birds
Perched in the blooming pink and white trees overhead.
A friendly brown duck quacks as she waddles along.

bookmark_border“A light dusting of snow” – a poem by me

The sun beckons with the promise of spring
But the wind still howls
And rips through the air with bitter cold claws.
Geese congregate on the grass
By the pond, still frozen solid;
A light dusting of snow coats the ground.
All is deserted and quiet,
Save for ducks quacking as they waddle around.

A light dusting of snow coats the ground,
Newly fallen this time.
The picnic table, plants, and stone wall
Like eerie black shadows against the white background.
The big tree looms overhead
And the statue, as always, stands guard
With white flakes clinging his hat and shoulders.
All is peaceful and quiet.

bookmark_borderAnother untitled poem

Trucks rumble up and down the hill,
Carting away debris.
The air is still and cold.
Fog lingers,
Clinging to the trees
And hovering above the water.
The hammering of construction workers
Can be heard far in the distance.
Sunlight cuts through the fog,
Gradually warming me.
Geese call out,
Honks echoing through the still air.
Lazily, they bob along,
Spreading out across the pond’s surface.

December 2023

bookmark_borderUntitled poem

A bleak day;
Clouds mingle with sunlight
As they drift lazily across the sky.
The grass is dry and brown,
Punctuated by a few remaining patches of snow;
The pond’s surface still half frozen.
Ducks and geese call to each other
As they paddle in the water
And waddle across the ice.


bookmark_borderA poem (of sorts)

Crickets chirp quietly

And leaves waft down from the trees.

Branches cast shadows

Through the moonlight that bathes the yard.

The serene oasis

Stands in sharp contrast

With the atrocity that took place earlier

Somewhere far away

Yet somehow close at the same time.

My statue waits for me,

His bronze skin glinting in the soft light.

Dead leaves crunch under my feet

As I go to tell him what has befallen his comrade

But there is no need;

He already knows.

“I don’t have to tell you, do I, Stonewall? You can feel it. You know what happened. Your heart is sad, and mine is, too. We will grieve, and mourn, together. You are the one thing that makes me feel just a tiny bit better, that makes this pain bearable. Things like this, are why it is so important that you exist. Things like this are why I decided to bring you into the world.”

“Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you here. I own this land, and I will protect you. I will keep you safe.”

“I’ll try to get some sleep tonight, and I hope that you can, too. See you in the morning.”

Excruciating pain

Serves also as a reminder

Of the path that I’ve chosen.

This land is mine,

A world that bigotry, intolerance, and cruelty cannot touch

In which a little statue lives

Safe, protected, beautiful, magnificent

Who wouldn’t have been born otherwise.


bookmark_borderMoonlight – a poem by me

Moonlight shining down,

Spotlighting the bronze statue

Who stands calmly at attention.

The tree’s branches

Cast shadows across the peaceful scene.

Crickets peep

And katydids chirp

In a gentle symphony.

From a neighbor’s barbecue,

The smell of smoke wafts through the still air

Devoid of wind though a chill can be felt,

Signaling impending winter.

Cars rumble down the street;

A truck adorned with Christmas lights

Catches my eye.

I look closer and see

The name of a liquor company

And an ad for margaritas.


(Poem written by me, 9/27/2023)

bookmark_borderGreen and gold

Golden light
Slanting through the branches;
Dry pinecones crunch underfoot.
Green leaves
Form a canopy over the bronze statue,
Glinting softly in the sun’s rays.
A wall of stones
Encloses his domain.
Ivy coats the trees,
Blades of grass spring up,
And little plants sprout from the ground
To form a lush, green carpet by his feet.
Birds’ chirps ring out
Through the still-warm air
As squirrels scurry,
Causing leaves to rustle
Beneath tiny paws.
In the distance a dog barks;
Cars zoom past,
Their drivers eagerly fleeing work.
The aroma of steak wafts
From a nearby grill.
Sunset will soon descend,
The world of green and gold
Gradually turning dark.

bookmark_borderPardon Me

Here is one of my recent forays into poetry. This poem describes how I’ve been feeling over the past couple of years:

Pardon me for not being happy for you,
For not gushing with excitement
About your newborn baby
Or offering congratulations
As you announce your engagement
Or describe your beautiful wedding.

Pardon me for not celebrating your achievements,
For being filled with pain, and not joy,
When I see pictures of
Your adorable dogs,
Fun-filled vacations,
Family outings,
Birthday parties,
Babies’ first Christmases.

Pardon me for not being happy for you,
While the man that I love is imprisoned
In a dark, sterile basement
Condemned, hated,
All alone,
Without a head.