woke up this morning feeling excellent,
picked up the telephone
dialed the number of my
equal opportunity employer
to inform him I will not be into work today
Are you feeling sick?
the boss asked me
No Sir I replied:
I am feeling too good to report to work today,
if I feel sick tomorrow I will come in early.
Poems for Yashna — 07/31/23
“Telephone Booth Number 905/2”, Pedro Pietri
The Dead
The dead are always looking down on us, they say, while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich, they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven, as they row themselves slowly through eternity.
They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth, and when we lie down in a field or on a couch, drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon, they think we are looking back at them,
which makes them lift their oars and fall silent and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
Poems for Yashna — 07/30/23
“The Dead”, Billy Collins
The Dream Keeper
Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamers,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.
Poems for Yashna — 07/28/23
“The Dream Keeper”, Langston Hughes
I Worried
I worried a lot.
Will the garden grow,
will the rivers flow in the right direction,
will the earth turn as it was taught,
and if not, how shall I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong,
will I be forgiven, can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing,
even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning, and sang.
Poems for Yashna — 07/27/23
“I Worried”, Mary Oliver
Grief
Grief will come to you.
Grip and cling all you want,
It makes no difference.
Catastrophe? It’s just waiting to happen.
Loss? You can be certain of it.
Flow and swirl of the world.
Carried along as if by a dark current.
All you can do is keep swimming;
All you can do is keep singing.
Poems for Yashna — 07/26/23
“Grief”, Gregory Orr
The Abandoned Valley
Can you understand being alone
so long you would I go out
in the middle of the night
and put a bucket into the well
so you could feel something
down there tug at the other end of the rope?
Poems for Yashna — 07/25/23
“The Abandoned Valley”, Jack Gilbert
Eating Fried Chicken
I hate to admit this, brother, but there are times
When I’m eating fried chicken
When I think about nothing else but eating fried chicken,
When I utterly forget about my family, honor and country,
The various blood debts you owe me,
My past humiliations and my future crimes- Everything, in short, but the crispy skin on my fried chicken.
But I’m not altogether evil, there are also times
When I will refuse to lick or swallow anything
That’s not generally available to mankind.
(Which is, when you think about it, absolutely nothing at all.)
And no doubt that’s why apples can cause riots,
And meat brings humiliation,
And each gasp of air
Will fill one’s lungs with gun powder and smoke.
Poems for Yashna — 07/24/23
“Eating Fried Chicken”, Linh Dinh
Anything That Matters
Anything that matters is here.
Anything that will continue to matter in the next several thousand years will continue to be here. Approaching in the distance is the child you were some years ago. See her laughing as she chases
a white butterfly.
Poems for Yashna — 07/20/23
“Anything That Matters”, Joy Harjo
‘A thousand years, you said’
A thousand years, you said,
As our two hearts melted.
I look at the hand you held
And the ache is too hard to bear.
Poems for Yashna — 07/19/23
‘A thousand years, you said’, Lady Heguri
Bloody Men
Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You’re trying to read the destinations,
You haven’t much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
Poems for Yashna — 07/18/23
“Bloody Men”, Wendy Cope
Reflections: The World and Beyond 