3 Short Poems

Bob, , , 
I’ve written a hundred poems underneath
The blue post office collection boxes, scribbled 
On telephone booths these tribes of words.
Counted paint peels on weathered lampposts.
Till it came down to a coin toss in a dream.

~

I know I can be disjointed, and ramblingly 
Quiet. Fragments of fragments.
And what is the point of these iterations?
If I haven’t said my ghosts outright, fair enough, 
Yet I give them the haunt of these pages.

~

Where does it go? Is a rainy question.
Why does it tumble? Out of the pure summer air.

Your leaving is like the gospel of parting. 
And cocoons are the opposite of mummies.

18 thoughts on “3 Short Poems”

  2. Just brilliant Bob. Such a pleasure to read your words frolicking along, almost like the letters are dancing in gratitude to what you’ve come up with and that ending is some up and down heaven and earth opposites but you bring it to a new place – “And cocoons are the opposite of mummies.” Great work.

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