Author: Makar

The old man sits
His accomplishments
In his lap

A bag of
Memories and triumphs
Moments and epiphanies

He is alone
Now, sometimes unable to
Make sense of the bundle

He opens it
Rummages for one
To abate his longing

No longer relevant
All of his virile impressions
Are now gathered here

A wish to silence
The depression, the anger
With one last victory

And, if some passerby
May find him here
He would always share

For the stories
Of these deeds
Were all he has left
…to give…

Another year has passed
And Autumn comes again
at last
To usher in memories
of my poetic dreams

I’ve stalled time and again this year
Not completing themes I fear

Lost my way in the anger
Of the body politic, a danger

To my own mental peace of mind
In due time perhaps I will find

My way back home to discover
The fruits of Garden Psalms, a labor

To harvest fruits much greater
Than the hatred that blooms

A simpler time I pine for
Where neighbors still knock at the door

To share their lives and times
before the Covid grind where

Hate and isolation define
This once tolerable nation.

The Fall Casts
False shadows
That last
A little longer
Than the one before

And
At the
Door
Knocks Autumn

But
You’re still dressed for Summer
And you’ll catch the death
of cold
“Don’t cha know?”
Yet she still shows
her flowers
Burgeoning
after showers
Surging in the morning light

Yes, Autumn bright and
warm in
the afternoon
of our farewells
(to Summer).

Rolling breeze
Drifts past my understanding
Blowing away the seeds
Of my awareness
Into new soils
Filling unprecedented moments
With growth
On New Minds