Flash Floods | JD DeHart
driving bracing
force of rain
washes through us
and our town
carries with it
remnants of who we
were, so now we
must become again.
original poetry
Hospice | Donal Mahoney
Listen, Dad,
Mom’s dead, but
you can dance
with her again.
She’s waiting
in the sky, behind
a star, humming
to the music.
You and Mom
can waltz around
the moon forever.
She may even sing
that song you like.
I’ll comb your hair,
shine your shoes
and press your old tuxedo.
There’s no rush.
You know Mom.
She’d never dance
with anyone but you.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
At the Hop | Donal Mahoney
Two robins hopped
across the lawn
at dawn, one
behind the other.
The first one hopped
to get away.
The second hoped
to be a father.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
Philosophy 101: Who Knew? | Donal Mahoney
The gap between potency and act,
the scholar says, is demonstrated
by this anecdote:
A boy of 12, visiting a farm,
is given a glass of buttermilk
by the farmer’s wife who tells him,
“Down the hatch, young man!”
The boy drinks the buttermilk
and almost vomits.
Decades later at a County Fair
a farmer’s wife selling buttermilk
tells the boy who’s now a man,
“You’ll love my buttermilk!”
and offers him a glass.
He drinks the buttermilk
and vomits on her counter.
This demonstrates, the scholar says,
the gap between potency and act.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
After Burying a Wife | Donal Mahoney
Were she here with me now,
by the waist I would raise her,
a chalice of wonder.
I’d bellow hosannas
and whirl her around,
tell her again that I love her,
press my face moist
in the pleats of her skirt,
ask her to sprinkle
phlox on the curls
of our children
if they are with her,
ask her to stay a while longer
while I do so much more
were she here with me now.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
Puff Up, Inflate | Donal Mahoney
One kind of pigeon,
one kind of snake,
as far as I know,
puff up, inflate.
There’s the bullfrog,
of course, and
peacocks have tails
so I tell my wife
what she already knows:
Once I become
whoever I am
then will
I love you.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
Tommy Is the Man | Donal Mahoney
Tommy is the only man
for miles around who can knot a tie.
Old farmers come to town on Saturday
and wave from pickups with respect
when they see Tommy on the street
out for a walk in his black suit.
Tommy is the man they know
their families will call to knot
their ties and close their caskets.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.