Author's Note: My granddaughter Ellen is taking Latin, so I texted her that I was going to tell her a joke about Latin nouns, but then I declined. She texted back “Oh grandpa! Aut insanit homo aut versus facit.” (Either the man is crazy, or he’s writing poetry.)
Out of Sync
Nothing moved, not the leafless branches of the red maple nor light from the street lamp. Everything froze, and in that no time, I stepped past your shadow as it clung to the wall. Then everything moved again, clock hands spinning wildly, crows pecking at the grass between patches of dirty snow, the mail truck weaving slowly up the hill. It was nearly dinner time. I could hear pots and pans singing merrily on the stove. And there you were, juggling knives, spoons and serving plates, your fine wrists snapping each item into the air like a practiced diva, a circus wonder, there in our kitchen, with its luscious scents of food.
Silent in the Dark
I pushed open the back door, stepped out into the cold There was the moon and a sprinkling of icy stars. You followed, crunching through the snow in your new black boots. Our neighbor’s dog whined a little, then settled down to sleep. We walked past the river birch, past the little stand of pines. Maybe we were wondering what was buried there, beside the pond. Maybe we were making sure the roof would hold. These small adventures never fail to mystify, why we find ourselves in such odd places. Always in the wind., often in the snow or rain. How do we stay so silent in the dark, we who love to talk, who flap our hands like enormous tongues as words tumble from our frozen lips?
©2022 Steve Klepetar
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL