December 2017
Edmund Conti
Edmundpoet@gmail.com
Edmundpoet@gmail.com
I have been writing light verse all my life (assuming one’s life doesn’t include junior high school, elementary school and the wet diaper stage (oh, not that again!) ). I sent out a lot of light verse and when it all came back I tried my hand at free verse. I like writing bio notes my favorite being “Edmund Conti lives in Summit, NJ and divides his time between day and night.” Can’t use that anymore—I moved to Raleigh, NC. I’ve had over 500 poems published (Google “Edmund Conti” and see what comes up.)
Home Suite
This place along the road I call my home--
The house that's on the corner by the school,
The house from which I said I'd never roam,
The house that in the backyard has no pool.
The house that has more bedrooms than we need
And half as many bathrooms (clean and bright).
Where both my sons when little often peed
And as their aim got better got it right.
A fireplace that works, an eat-in kitchen,
A dining room where dining was aloud,
Our cozy porch, a glassed-in jewel, which in
Summer, spring or autumn did us proud.
Where what we saved on heating filled our coffer.
Where memories still linger. Make an offer.
Wish List
I want to make a flying tackle
I want to see a purple grackle
I want to see the sea.
I want to be a flying squirrel
I want to be considered virile
I want to be a bee.
I want to wear the latest fashion
I want to taste the fruit of passion
I want a kiwi, oui.
I want to play the o’s and x’s
I want to own a ranch in Texas
I want the Lazy Z.
I want to be the perfect person
Or, failing that, could I be her son?
I want to be that me.
Losing Battle
In a final desperate attempt
at survival, the sun sets
fire to the western sky.
Overblown, say my poet friends.
Cute, say my non-poet friends.
What does it mean? asks my neighbor.
How much will you get paid for it?
That’s from my wife.
My father’s an astronaut,
My son lies.
Home Suite
This place along the road I call my home--
The house that's on the corner by the school,
The house from which I said I'd never roam,
The house that in the backyard has no pool.
The house that has more bedrooms than we need
And half as many bathrooms (clean and bright).
Where both my sons when little often peed
And as their aim got better got it right.
A fireplace that works, an eat-in kitchen,
A dining room where dining was aloud,
Our cozy porch, a glassed-in jewel, which in
Summer, spring or autumn did us proud.
Where what we saved on heating filled our coffer.
Where memories still linger. Make an offer.
Wish List
I want to make a flying tackle
I want to see a purple grackle
I want to see the sea.
I want to be a flying squirrel
I want to be considered virile
I want to be a bee.
I want to wear the latest fashion
I want to taste the fruit of passion
I want a kiwi, oui.
I want to play the o’s and x’s
I want to own a ranch in Texas
I want the Lazy Z.
I want to be the perfect person
Or, failing that, could I be her son?
I want to be that me.
Losing Battle
In a final desperate attempt
at survival, the sun sets
fire to the western sky.
Overblown, say my poet friends.
Cute, say my non-poet friends.
What does it mean? asks my neighbor.
How much will you get paid for it?
That’s from my wife.
My father’s an astronaut,
My son lies.
© 2017 Edmund Conti
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