#gomez
for Joscephine Gomez
I quietly closed the door behind me and stepped inside
Where several souls had preceded me.
A painter stood by her easel by the south door,
There was a poet seated at her desk.
A Buddhist scholar stood before an open tome
and a lyric soprano softly hummed her warm up patterns.
Just then another soul entered the room and asked,
“Who are these people and how did they get here.”
I answered, “they are all called Joscephine
and they have come from the stars
bearing gifts to heal us, encourage us
and light our ways with kindness and wisdom.
May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
this person, who reads somehow
almost every poem here deposited,
how he does it, a secret, well kept,
but hardly hidden, for he signals
his appreciation in so many ways,
and s p o t l i g h t s those who frequent
contribute, cheerleader and coach
with keen eye and sharpness of brain,
he affectively, affectionately, injects &
infects this little expanse,
this Kingdom of York,
where lovers meet,
speaking in their own
dialect of kindness…
writes himself with a uniqueness,
dare I say in his owned style?
there is never a doubt
who has authored his work,
so many superb scripts,
but his better good works,
present in his presence here,
bringing out the best of the
multiplicities of each of us
but of whom do I speak?
Why,
Carlo C. Gomez
of course!
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 12:05 PM UTC
I am fickle. Let's face it.
I dated a lot of guys. I was
the girl in the red sweater.
Me and my saddle shoes.
I only wore Buster Brown
socks.
Look at me now. I am awash
In pink and sometimes yellow.
I don't like red and I don't like you!
Yesterday when we got married.
No 50 years ago. Was it really
that long? We pledged to love
Forever. Now Forever is a
painful scar. You were never
remotely interesting.
"so how did you like the play
Mrs. Lincoln?"
You say I can move on but
there is no place to go behind
the purple curtain.
Is this poem finished?
It would seem
that it is. I will take
my bows, shed the
years and put the
memories in the
cardboard shoebox with
the painted scenery,
(please forgive the
Feminine endings.)
close the door and
see
my next adventure
coming for me.
I get pills
in the night.
I am in
San Francisco
to see Ginsberg.
I dream of
poetry and sand,
swimming
naked in cold clear
water…
and I sing in
my
sleep.
Caroline Shank
Aug 2, 2022
Aug 2, 2022 at 5:33 PM UTC