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| DESSERTS Here's a few poems from Old Friends. Grab a cup of coffee, relax. Enjoy. |
At least I Don't Smoke Cigars
I hear that you're fat, bald and smoking cigars
and Florida now is your home.
Remember the nights in the back of the car
where bodies and libidos roamed?
You said if ever you walked down the aisle
it most likely would be with me,
then wandered away with your Irish eyes smile
leaving me lonely and free.
Marriage to whats-her-name didn't last long
and the scar on my heart healed as well.
You Irish/Pole bastard, you sure done me wrong
but I think now, "Oh, what the hell."
By Barbara Reiher-Meyers
(Editor's note: Barb is a friend of ours from Long Island,
N.Y., where she sends out a poetry newsletter via E-mail
once a week, and compiles a calendar of poetry
happenings on the Island. We recommend getting her
weekly e-mail even if you're located nowhere near the
Island, it includes some great tips on poetry contests,
etc. E-mail her at: REIHERPOET@aol.com.
I hear that you're fat, bald and smoking cigars
and Florida now is your home.
Remember the nights in the back of the car
where bodies and libidos roamed?
You said if ever you walked down the aisle
it most likely would be with me,
then wandered away with your Irish eyes smile
leaving me lonely and free.
Marriage to whats-her-name didn't last long
and the scar on my heart healed as well.
You Irish/Pole bastard, you sure done me wrong
but I think now, "Oh, what the hell."
By Barbara Reiher-Meyers
(Editor's note: Barb is a friend of ours from Long Island,
N.Y., where she sends out a poetry newsletter via E-mail
once a week, and compiles a calendar of poetry
happenings on the Island. We recommend getting her
weekly e-mail even if you're located nowhere near the
Island, it includes some great tips on poetry contests,
etc. E-mail her at: REIHERPOET@aol.com.
"Mamina"
A child cries in the early morn,
A fatherless child; love torn
tormented, a problem child.
Mother defeated; young mother,
broken hearted soul, looking for love
to fill the one true love that anger consumed.
Preoccupied. Dreams lost. Never to be again.
She doesn't hear the child's cries amidst her tears.
A sad and lonely woman answers the child's call
her husband barely in the grave,
broken hearted soul, looking for love
in the babe.
Child and woman cling
To each other.
A love of neverending depth is born. It burns eternal.
By Paola Hornbuckle
(This poem is dedicated to my grandmother:
Paula Andrea Jaime Gismero)
____________________________________
(Editor's Note: Paola is an old friend of ours who used to work
for a weekly magazine on Okinawa. She now lives in San Diego
and is a beautiful Mom and screenwriter. Here's what she says
about herself on Facebook: "Love theatre, to act in, write for,
direct, study, be in, help in, organize, dream about.
Want to work in humanitarian organizations in third world
countries.")
A child cries in the early morn,
A fatherless child; love torn
tormented, a problem child.
Mother defeated; young mother,
broken hearted soul, looking for love
to fill the one true love that anger consumed.
Preoccupied. Dreams lost. Never to be again.
She doesn't hear the child's cries amidst her tears.
A sad and lonely woman answers the child's call
her husband barely in the grave,
broken hearted soul, looking for love
in the babe.
Child and woman cling
To each other.
A love of neverending depth is born. It burns eternal.
By Paola Hornbuckle
(This poem is dedicated to my grandmother:
Paula Andrea Jaime Gismero)
____________________________________
(Editor's Note: Paola is an old friend of ours who used to work
for a weekly magazine on Okinawa. She now lives in San Diego
and is a beautiful Mom and screenwriter. Here's what she says
about herself on Facebook: "Love theatre, to act in, write for,
direct, study, be in, help in, organize, dream about.
Want to work in humanitarian organizations in third world
countries.")
| Come Back Drew All I can really do is cry I can’t utter the words that I think should be said That your kid shouldn’t go to camp Because I failed you once again All I can really do is cry and promise I will do my best The Drews of the world should be able to go to camp Just like all the other kids Trying my best hasn’t gotten me far And my failures are mounting up quick The tears in my eyes will say it all The next time little Drew winds up on the pool deck By Jordan Krais (Editor's Note: Jordan is a college student on Long Island and was working as a senior counselor at a day camp last summer when Drew, an 8 year-old boy with autism kept wandering away. "The first time he wandered away on his own he wound up in the girls changing tent, which was more comical than serious," Jordan said. "But today he wandered away on his own and wound up all the way by the pool deck while we were playing basketball. Needless to say I was little upset explaining to his mom at the end of the day when she picked him up what had happened. Losing a kid is the ultimate failure.") |
The Return to the Eat Write
It’s been quite awhile,
traveled many miles;
Michigan to the Caribbean
a bit of a change.
A lifestyle used
to being rearranged.
Now here I am in a whole new life
But it’s all made easier
with the love of my new wife.
Her first time at the café,
to see what it’s about.
You think she’ll like it?
I have no doubt…
By Jason Miller
(Editor's Note: Jason is a young Coast
Guard boatswain's mate whose career has
stretched from saving people too dumb to
stay off Lake Michigan waters in the winter
to chasing down smugglers and illegal
Cuban immigrants in the Caribbean. He
shares a love for Guinness stout, first
introduced to him by his aunt and uncle on
Okinawa's shore.)
It’s been quite awhile,
traveled many miles;
Michigan to the Caribbean
a bit of a change.
A lifestyle used
to being rearranged.
Now here I am in a whole new life
But it’s all made easier
with the love of my new wife.
Her first time at the café,
to see what it’s about.
You think she’ll like it?
I have no doubt…
By Jason Miller
(Editor's Note: Jason is a young Coast
Guard boatswain's mate whose career has
stretched from saving people too dumb to
stay off Lake Michigan waters in the winter
to chasing down smugglers and illegal
Cuban immigrants in the Caribbean. He
shares a love for Guinness stout, first
introduced to him by his aunt and uncle on
Okinawa's shore.)
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EWC No. 7 December 2008