A Poem Yet to be Entitled

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Well, I normally don’t post my poems on my blog, but this one is probably more therapy than poetry anyway. And if I do ever submit it for publication it will have gone through multiple edits by then and have been removed from this page and hopefully from google’s memory. Sigh…

In the meantime, it’s only fair for you to see a glimpse of my work, especially as it relates to the recent changes in my life that I talked about in the last post the other day.

It still needs a title. I’m curious what your suggestions might be.

This yellow, three quarter moon
feels familiar, so bloated
and heavy it cannot stay afloat,
slowly slumps behind
the garden of our old home.

This glass of chardonnay
hanging from my hand,
half full and swirling,
is dry and cold, but rich
as our history.

I stand here in the dying light
empty yet full of memory,
sinking, with the wine
in my glass, with the moon
behind your house.

I too have lost some part
of me, or find it darkened
as a passing decade blocks
reflections, and the wine fails
to show the sparkle of even a single star.

Unlike the moon’s memory,
your absence is not a phase.
Unlike the wine there are no more
bottles of your vintage left
to fill me. I let the wine go
and stars reflect in the shattered glass.

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Filed under Poetry