norman-e-careyWhisper

American
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The Railroad TrackOn the other side of the pumpkin patch there lies a narrow path. / Just a dent in the woods it seems, until getting closer you can see / The ground worn smooth by those who know to use it.
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A Swingset in the YardA swingset sits in the yard, starkly vacant, silent. / A chair is stationed only feet away—the watchpost of an anxious pepere. / Only days ago I sat there, watching the child of my old age
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For RachelAll I wanted was to see a smile, to hear a word that didn’t hurt, / I’d go to sleep at night thinking about how different it could be, / How happy I’d be if I could only go through the world unafraid,
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The Oxford LectureAnd so, aherem, the nano, rrmpph rmphh / Of 21st century ahem thinking will be er / En, en aham eroom neurological medicine
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DaThis poem would not let me write it. / For years it kept me looking elsewhere, / Kept me at bay with other, more seductive subjects.
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Spring in the CemeteryDuring the long winter the town cemetery is chained off, / Two thick cables across each entrance to insure / That foolhardy drivers don’t attempt the hill that divides
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QuestionA Barbie lies on the rug, limbs at impossible angles and missing a shoe. / Next to her, a truck with three wheels, a faery with only one wing, and a / Broken necklace announce the whimsical and ephemeral love of a four year-old.
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Copley Square on a Sunday AfternoonThe warmth of a spring sun / Beckons people to the Square— / Some sit or lie on the grass,
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Haiku # 1Susurrant crickets’ / Mellifluous trill thrills me / Haunting summer night
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The ChangeThe change shows soonest in the eyes, / Eyes that invited you to look at the world they saw—magical, raw, resplendent— / Now lost in the unfocused numbness of another day with alcohol.
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