So cliche to say
"your whole future is before you"
when we are rooted
in the soul of your childhood.
Better we should wish you
safe journey, safe home
whenever you might
find your way back.
It simply can't be already....
  Aug 11 Joel M Frye
Nat Lipstadt
3 X 5 index card poems

3 smallish poems in five minutes

honey can I make you something to eat?

no babe, you know I hate to see you cooking, frying
standing over pots and stirring sauces
trying to brush
wisps of bangs from your eyes
  while wearing kitchen mitts

What I would prefer is something leftover,
reheated served with a smiling grin from my ear
to wayover down under there,
next to you

old words are better than than new ones

hey, hi! how you doing, old friend?

“yo, out of the hospital feeling so much better;
had some kind of ‘itis’ which they cured with an ‘yisis’!”

glad to hear; impressed by all those new big scientific words;
frankly preferred your old ones,  that were rediscovered and
reoriented in new ways in your poems verses;

never better cause to hear from a man
whose optimism has yet to meet a
that he can’t best,

heals all our wounds


if you told me

that I could spend three successive rainy days in almost all silence, perfectly contented by myself,
i’d said you crazy,

isn’t that true babe?
Joel M Frye Jul 28
Steady, jagged line
paves a smoother path to a
possible future.
Joel M Frye Jul 28
A refilled flask of
creativity; open
it, it needs to breathe.
Joel M Frye Jul 28
Cane in the corner
says: You will depend on me.
I reply: For now.
Thank you all.
  Jul 1 Joel M Frye
Tonight’s moon
is like the light years
of a hermit’s ear
held to a conch

The things that can pass
through  your mind
on a night when only
the mosquitoes are biting

Splinters, clouds,
pianos, the breakwater
that goes on bruising,
five dried up minnows
like a ****’s paw,
a woman holding a guitar
made out of driftwood
and a breathing squid

Anyone that would strum
some tentacles
must have something
wrong with them

I feel the stars
with my eyes
shut, they are like
cornbread crumbs

Don’t follow me tonight,
you know I’m not going
anywhere with this writing

I can hear the dew
crawl down my neck
like a watch chain

I think it’s time now
for me to go in
and dream of the dark
shadow music played
on a driftwood guitar.
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