The thunder is shaking,
splintering, eviscerating our
branded new shingles.
We all have kin in Boston.
We’re all too thunderstruck
When we hear a sparrow
chirp from a
cherry tree as
its green/red leaves unfold,
what signal do
What do we know, now?
Eileen Lewis-Lurin, Copyright Yesterday-4-15-13
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
A friend of mine works for a company where she is micro=managed and yelled at. My suggestion to her is to keep her head down and pretend that she can build a glass wall of cubes. I know that is not easy to do. eileen
and “peanut butter” -that i have just revised them for everyone, today. thank you for caring, Eileen
The palms wave .
The evergreens lift their arms.
Thank you for your encouraging comments.
You keep me writing.
Sighs for 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…
I wrote this poem for my blog readers who make me feel good about my work.
March 18, 2013
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:
it is a dreary day today. but i try to write every day. your comments are encouraging. let’s all try to be creative in our own way, each of us.
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.