Easter Egg Hunting a Poem

easter eggs hunting poem
Remember the Easter eggs?
Remember running
and hunting them,
finding them,
remember the taste?
and your favorite color?
Remember finding them
under a leaf or
behind a tree
where they were
carefully hidden
lovingly hidden,
and you ran
oh you ran
and you laughed
oh how you laughed
Remember you had the bag?
or a basket?
There was always a bag
or basket,
at Christmas,
Halloween,
Easter,
and we were
always running
with our bag
and laughing
and our laughter
was the best
music of
our times.

david michael jackson

The Twitch Poem

I walked into the
room and James
was there and we were
both twitching,

same eye,

INTRAC it was called,
some name they made up,

we had t-shirts,
there was golf,
there were picnics,
there were banners,

James and I can be seen
in the pics,

you can’t see the twitch.
but the eyes do look blurry,

it started at the cheek
and went to the eye,
this twitch,
it showed up especially
after the speeches,

there was a team
there was a coach,

he didn’t have the ball,

we had the ball.

James twitched,
I twitched,
we worked,
we made it work.

One night at eleven
we were there,
the team,
the ball,

He came roaring
out of his office,

James and I looked up,
twitched,

Where is the list I gave you people?
Is this the best you can do?
I have people.
They want to know our level of confidence.
Is it really eighty percent
and how can we get to
eighty
five
?”

You can see him
in the picnic photo
with his thumbs up

……………..david michael jackson

Not Sitting Shiva A Poem by Joan Pond

NOT SITTING SHIVA

AJ was whiter than I remembered, and his lips were taut.
I reached over to fix a lock of his hair,
then stopped.
Egad! I’d almost touched a corpse.
I sat beside him, smelling Bubby’s brisket and potato kugel,
thinking of her applesauce and lemon cake.
Then, suddenly,
I started to shake inside.
I should be ashamed,
only thinking of myself.
But AJ always liked food, the gathering of family, and close friends.
This was a time to make amends,
to bury the hatchet, along with the dead.
And as Bubby came from the kitchen with a platter of chicken liver and bow ties,
I swear
I thought I saw AJ smile.

Astatine poem by Janet Kuypers

Astatine

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#085, At)
(with references to the poem “Fantastic Car Crash”, 7/3/98)

Everything shatters with you, you know.
I am left picking up the pieces
after dealing with only fractional amounts of you.

I’ve only been able to infer what you’re like
by knowing your brethren, as everyone around me
and all the gapers gawk, as the decay grows.

In your twisted way, you come from the decay
of others… And what do you leave in your wake?
More radioactive destruction, as all around you

slows down to stare, until your instability
corrodes you down to the basics in the world.
And yeah, what was left of you after you were gone

was so much more stable that you were,
but it was only after so much of your destruction
that you left blood dripping down to the street.

So, all I can think is that this continual decay
is your contribution, this radioactive
short-term flash of decay, is you.

I’ve tried to learn, I’ve tried to study these
microscopic parts of you to make sense of you…
But whether or not you ever leave enough,

well, from what you’ve shown me, I have to keep
reminding myself that despite your destruction,
despte this decay of yours, I have to keep going.

Because, when it comes to you,
when it comes to what you do…
This happens all the time.