Boston

Boston

The thunder is shaking,

splintering, eviscerating our

branded new shingles.

We all have kin in Boston.

We’re all too thunderstruck

to call.

When we hear a sparrow

chirp from a

cherry tree as

its green/red leaves unfold,

what signal do

we unlock?

What do we know, now?

Eileen Lewis-Lurin, Copyright Yesterday-4-15-13

 

 

John Finely Walks to Carl’s Park

John Finely walks to Carl’s Park

on a chilly Easter noon.

Cherry blossom buds

reflect in the Mercedes hood

parked at the corner of the park.

The bird doesn’t look up

as it digs into the buried lock,

not even as we walk by.

We walk the stairs, “Let’s go home.”

Ten tulips stick their green-tipped noses out.

copyright Easter morning and again a revision on

Eileen Lewis-Lurin 4/11/13

silent bells

Silent Bells

Sighs for silent

silver, silent

Dads. They are the pin-striped:

the silent white stripes

in the jerseys that are

all cotton and keep

us almost warm.

Sigh. Bless us. We

cannot take them with

us. They stay at home

to protect us when they or

we are gone. They are our

most protected treasures:

those who are where we

cannot take them with us…

Silent Bells

I wrote this poem for my blog readers who make me feel good about my work.

Eileen Lewis-Lurin

March 18, 2013

 

 

 

but i am on my own

to the individual who wrote to me in French.
I have forgotten all the French that Mme. Rodgers taught me, but i would like to say to your comment:
merci beaucoup.
S’amusez vous.

bui i am on my own

this is a poem about a book called A Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes.
Tony Watson is the narrator of the book. tony is filled with remorse because he sent a hurtful letter to his best friends.