A silly question: Have you been to singing school?
Not class where scales are plucked on strings,
but where we tune the heart and only admit fools.
The lesson starts when summer ends, so bring
a wrap, mountain nights alone out here are cold.
The fire of drink sometimes is needed, too,
but if you wait, time unrolls a blind review--
to let it go becomes the grace of growing old.
Some lives just don't pan out. My father worked,
but never got ahead. My roses struggle in a pot.
Just when he took his aim, the scenery jerked.
His wobbly dart fell short just like a sot.
I'm slow to say what's seen when we mature...
it's made from beyond light and dull nature.
THE STORY OF OUR DAYS
We were poor and fatherless,
so nothing went to waste,
blessed or un-blessed.
When in hunger's haste I
spilt the supper milk, mother
would spoon it up from
the oilcloth into my tumbler,
along with dust and crumbs
and say, "Now drink, that or
none," and so I shut my eyes
and drank, there was no more.
Little money, little buys.
Mother never read the poem
by Walter Ralegh where nature
washed her hands in bowls
of milk, but I can say for sure
she'd have a spoon in hand.
A poet's love may live on air,
but children fare on milk--
nature's hands be damned.
Copyright © 2014 Robert Klein
Robert Klein Engler
lives in Des Plaines, Illinois and sometimes New Orleans.
Many of Robertís poems, stories, paintings and photographs
are set in the Crescent City. His long poem, The
Accomplishment of Metaphor and the Necessity of Suffering,
set partially in New Orleans, is published by Headwaters
Press, Medusa, New York, 2004. He has received an Illinois
Arts Council award for his "Three Poems for Kabbalah." If
you google his name, then you may find his work on the
Internet. Link with him at Facebook.com to see examples of
his recent paintings and photographs. Some of his books are
available at Lulu.com and amazon.com. Visit him on the web