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Bob Sterry Sep 2014
A photographer stands
Shutter cable in hand.
An image is beating
On his camera door
Not demanding entrance
Light, energy is indifferent
But continually present
And changing.
He thinks he saw something
His machine can capture
On a thin reactive pellicule.
But chemistry only keeps
A part of the whole
Pulsing available spectrum,
And the image emerging
Later in a darkened room
Is, of course,
A fraction.
Bob Sterry Aug 2014
In the dark
Glance up to see
In the mirror
A following bulk
With a single head light
Its cyclopean beam
Is tracking me
Driving alone
On this dark route
And I shiver
In my seat
Sensing a monocular malevolence
Almost animal
A robo-creature
Stalking me in my tin box
For miles the lone yellow shaft
And its anonymous source
Sweep an unnamed fear into me
And when the road widens
And it passes me
I am genuinely surprised to see
That its driver has a head.
People..! Get your headlights fixed!
Bob Sterry Aug 2014
Run away my pale sister
Sink safely below the rim
Else my rays will burn your face
As my strength explodes over the earth

But, then savor these minutes
When we share the sky
And your lovely illumination
Yields always to my blaze.

And through the day
As I burn the landscape
I forget you, until,
You appear again, behind me.

Hard and soft, hard and soft
Warm and cool, warm and cool
We soak this planet in our own cycle
Using the same light. Mine!
I am a Leo. No other words necessary
Bob Sterry Aug 2014
I got this body from some people I knew,
For a while, at least,
And all of its shortcomings
Including shortness
Were presaged, previewed and
More than adequately demonstrated
Over the years we lived together.
In the years I ignored that, listening
Rather to their voices
Which illustrated another prophesy less physical
And am now stunned to welcome
Both my Mother and Father
In the shaving mirror everyday.
How far from the tree can an acorn really drop?
Bob Sterry Jul 2014
I saw a little guy being born
I cut the cord that tied him
I held him in my arms
With his dark damp hair
Wetting my hospital gown

And his dark eyes looking up
Looked right through me
And saw something I could not
And perhaps it’s best that way

Even then he was serene
And had the knack of sleep
A skill he has preserved
Lying so neatly in his bed
A lovable length of boy

I saw a little guy grow
Into a lovely boy
Who spoke quietly
And was always gentle.

I saw a lovely boy grow
Into a slender young man
And felt all his wounds
Like my own, once again
Deep and full of rage

I can sense his young anger
And his musical desire
Waiting for an unknown muse
To strike him and lead him

I see a slender young man
I cut the cord that ties him
And watch his dark hair
Disappear from my view
From my damp eyes.
Of all the pains in the world we have to endure those inflicted unconsciously by our children are some of the hardest to bear.
Bob Sterry Jul 2014
You’re my duct tape baby
I’m just stuck on you
Duct tape Baby
Only cloth and glue.
When my world falls apart
And nothing will hold true
I call my duct tape baby
I’m really stuck; on you
Yup...a workshop product. One minute to write a poem about duct tape.
Bob Sterry Jul 2014
It was about six in the evening
Six in the evening when juvenile lust is tumescent
And Anne McKilroy made her lips available
To mine
In the back of the choir outing charabanc
She did not mind the smell of corn beef
Lingering from my lunch time sandwich
At Wordstock in Portland some years ago I stopped by the Oregon Poetry Assoc. booth and was challenged to write a poem containing the words corn and I think it was evening. Here is the result.
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