October 2015
Born in New York City (in Elmhurst), I lived in several different places there but have memories only of The Bronx (off Fordham Road). Then my family moved out "on The Island"—to Lynbrook, where we stayed till I graduated from Hofstra (then a College). Several years after my wife, Pat, and I married, we, plus our two children, settled in the Boston area and have remained there (except for my daughter, Kate, who has lived in Manhattan for quite a while). I have been writing poetry since I was twelve (many moons ago).
What Stays
When we were forced to tear our lives
apart from each other, I knew
pain would come, grip me fist-tight
and knock me down again and again.
But I did not know
that when at last the pain
backed off and lumbered away,
I would look up from the ground
and discover I, though alone,
was back in the garden
that bloomed all around us
on our first days together,
a garden
still glistening with lush flowers
and sunlit bushes and an air
as hushed as love.
After All These Decades
(for my brother)
Now that the hour has come
for you and me to end
our day's visit together—for me
to walk to my car, and you
to watch me drive away,
we find there is no need
for more words.
The long moment
we linger at your front door
says everything.
(first published in BAGELS WITH THE BARDS)
Though All the Years
No matter what bewilderment
I end up stranded in
or what heavy disappointment
pulls me down to my shoes
or what sorrow rushes at me
like black water that overwhelms
my thrashing arms,
always
a forest's solitary cottage
waits for me
and somewhere in its rooms
is a pen or pencil
containing all the words I need
to heal myself again.
(first published in MUDDY RIVER POETRY REVIEW)
When we were forced to tear our lives
apart from each other, I knew
pain would come, grip me fist-tight
and knock me down again and again.
But I did not know
that when at last the pain
backed off and lumbered away,
I would look up from the ground
and discover I, though alone,
was back in the garden
that bloomed all around us
on our first days together,
a garden
still glistening with lush flowers
and sunlit bushes and an air
as hushed as love.
After All These Decades
(for my brother)
Now that the hour has come
for you and me to end
our day's visit together—for me
to walk to my car, and you
to watch me drive away,
we find there is no need
for more words.
The long moment
we linger at your front door
says everything.
(first published in BAGELS WITH THE BARDS)
Though All the Years
No matter what bewilderment
I end up stranded in
or what heavy disappointment
pulls me down to my shoes
or what sorrow rushes at me
like black water that overwhelms
my thrashing arms,
always
a forest's solitary cottage
waits for me
and somewhere in its rooms
is a pen or pencil
containing all the words I need
to heal myself again.
(first published in MUDDY RIVER POETRY REVIEW)
©2015 Robert K. Johnson