May 2024
Peter Witt
pwitt46@gmail.com
Bio Note:  I am a Texas poet and a retired university professor. Besides poetry I am a birder, photographer, and family history researcher, with a book about my aunt published by the Texas A&M Press. My poetry has been published on various sites including The Wise Owl, The Blue Bird Word and Beatnik Cowboy. I live in a retirement community with my wife and the memory of our beloved dog, Quigley.

Daybreak

In the last frost of retreating March
dawn's first whispers froze on my 
wakening lips, mute 
as the spray of the rising sun, 

while a northern mockingbird 
sang its stolen song, a waft
of white chimney smoke talked
to the pastel painted sky.

Keeping Things in Order

Mother was a drill sergeant, she liked to keep things neat,

in the first glow of dawn she'd sweep out
the tent when our family went camping,
insisted we line up our shoes in the closet
like soldiers on a parade ground,
scrutinized all the silverware on the table
to make sure tines and spoons were perfectly
arranged before we sat down for a meal,

we each had an assigned seat, mother
at one end of the table, father at the other,
three boys on one side, two girls on the other,
dog assigned to his bed.

Her closet was a symphony of order,
each item in its designated space,
blouses hung by color, skirts and dresses,
ordered by season, the sock drawer
was arranged by style, jewelry was a museum
of memories, each item tagged with
a story of its origin.

Mother's eccentricity was like a sturdy frame,
holding our family together in a tapestry of neatness
and order,

when camping we'd even sweep out
the tent for her when she was busy arranging
the bacon in perfectly horizontal lines,
it's sizzle and smoky scent filling the air.

©2024 Peter Witt
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