MISSING
Every morning I rediscover
something missing when I awaken
listening to songbirds tweeting harmoniously
like we used to do.
I stare at the empty space next to me in my
bed,
and even though the tree outside my window
is not a weeping willow,
the leaves are shedding voluminous tears.
Loving ladybug of my mine, have you flown
away for good?
MY WILD WELSH EYEBROWS
Grew as big and bushy
as the black forest grove
on the face of John L. Lewis,
head of the workers union
who appeared on newsreels
of the 1930’s Great Depression.
The older I got, the more my
eyebrows took off without any
warning, resembling a hayfield
before getting baled for a barn.
While I was asleep, I could hear
the snip, snip, snip of my wife
trimming my brows— the juice of
her loving devotion that lubricates
the wheels of our harmonious bond.
THE LOVE OF ONE WOMAN
You were a catalyst
who mesmerized me
with your radiance,
and the contours of your
elegant body.
You awakened me
in ways I had never
permitted myself,
allowing me to see
everything with the
curiosity of the blind,
to see the world
with new eyes.
I was a rudderless ship.
You were a guiding compass
who sent me on an adventure
with sensations of joy alien to me.
Your love will keep me feeling alive
for as long as I live.
THEIR FRAGILE PARADISE
Tweeting lovebirds swing and sway
by fitting together tongue & groove
like old oak floors with shiny patina.
They never cease romancing
no matter how old they get.
Their songs of love echo over
the mountain top of Kilimanjaro
in Tanzania where giant tree ferns
mingle with African blood lines,
yet all these two aging birds see
are one another.
TIME DRAGS WHEN YOU’RE ALONE
A genuinely sad face remains.
Clocks have all slowed down,
even the birds remain asleep.
The world is quiet as the tomb
that is waiting nearby for me.
I row my dinghy all the way up
tears of the Yalu River wearing
my Korean War veteran’s cap,
wondering where did my life go?
All I have to offer is the steel plate
in my head, frostbitten toes and
a heart made out of solid gold.
Milton P. Ehrlich Ph.D. is a 90-year-old psychologist and a veteran of the Korean War. He has published many poems in periodicals such as the London Grip, Arc Poetry Magazine, Descant Literary Magazine, Wisconsin Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Christian Science Monitor, and the New York Times.
No comments:
Post a Comment