A Poem – Gudrun Mouw

Published April 21, 2020 by Gudrun

April 2020 Poem

So sorry readers., I rushed to post

forgetting that: “A poem is never finished,

only abandoned.”

—Gudrun

…

FROZEN SOULS Update

At 5:00 pm

guards would start collecting women;

children looked through bombed out eaves

to see stars, sometimes the moon.

Once there was a different kind of light—

something conscious.

A child inhaled the essence

like food she was not getting.

…

Rachel stretches. This 70 years old memory,

she thinks, and now another dangerous era.

The pandemic needs drastic measures.

And the horse porch hearth glows;

new beams mix with old.

We watch home movies.

The hitching post stands idle.

…

April, 2020

A Poem

April Poem Poetry quarantine poetry

October poem

October

1)
I look at the month
of forgiveness—when rains
come down, when the land expands
with relief, and I forgive myself
for every complaint against heat,

though I still save dish water
for the courtyard
as a hot, dry climate
and fading sun
slowly relent.

2)
I do not forget:
The Drought Years
That Year of Fighting Bucks
Coyote Years
The Year of Fawns

That Skunk Family Year
Mountain Lion Years
Bobcat Years

and Years When I Don’t Know
What to Expect.

October 6, 2019
Gudrun Mouw (c)

A Poem

One Comment

Published August 14, 2019 by Gudrun

“August represents pure love,” my teacher’s teacher said;
then, why does hatred pull hatred to the mark?
After two national massacres, today looks
unreal. Hardly a bloom in the courtyard under cold fog
followed by wind over brown, dead grass.

I finish reading another bad book, sip lemon water.
Two friends connect by phone; I am willing to help.
We look for ways to heal, to engage, to find once again
joy hiding among the decades.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
August 7, 2019

A Poem

current events Mass Shooting Poem Poetry