Four Bench Poems

When the cubist hand

reaches around to touch

the shadows . . .

It’s a Picasso!

*

Blush of tulips fades

Blustering breeze in the long

unfolding of spring

Empty bench, cold day

hot coffee, brief walk in sun

snowstorm on its way

Where does our journey go?

Do we look back at the shadows,

cast in fear, and above all, sorrow,

and drink of the anguish in our passing-by.

Or listen to the joyful song,

exultation to vanquish sorrow,

turn to feats of love and honor

to signify gratitude at our passing-by.

*

Thanks to friend and poet Richard Spiegel for the Cubist reference.

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