Joan Pond Poetry

Good Old Days Poem by Joan Pond

by

The Good Old Days
by Joan Pond

The good old days expired
when I sat on the bed
and he said he didn’t love me
as much as I loved him.
Irrecoverable
obsolete,
I was past perfect;
incomplete without him
Once upon a time
I’d found my prince
but he turned me into something
less.
Weighed
and found wanting
I packed beggardly boxes
and left,
not wanting to lose more
than I could
afford.
Good Old Days Copyright © 1998 by Joan Pond, All rights reserved

I Turned and You Were Gone by Joan Pond

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NEEDLES OF PINE

I turned
and you were gone.

Clusters of blue hydrangea
and the scent of sweet privet,
were all that remained.
The cobblestones I’d traversed
for so many years,
seemed threatening.

A police officer asked,
‘are you okay?’

Suddenly,
a whiff of pine reminded me,
of a pillow I’d had in Vermont.
It was filled with prickly needles,
offering a certain scent
of solace.

I turned
but you were gone.

He begged me to save him from himself poem by Joan Pond

by

No Man

My client sat near the philodendron,
it’s shiny leaves receding.
Anthony said, ‘I’m concave’,
and he begged me to save him
from himself.
But he was a cavern,
a bottomless pit.
He transmogrified
as a snowman in the sun,
quickly changing from solid to gas.
He was an amorphous mass
seated on my couch.
And as an M.C. Escher print
he began spiraling in,
until coal black eyes
and a button nose
were all
that remained.
***

After She is Gone Poem by Joan Pond

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The Gardener’s Fern Book
by Joan Pond

The gardener’s fern book

was filled with clutter.

A program from a flower show

at the Mattatuck Museum,

with a special thanks from Dr. Gray.

Mom’s ‘hide and seek’ exhibit

was judged,

too sophisticated for the masses.

There was a Father’s Day card

and

A Valentine for Someone Special.

Imagine going through this book

after she was gone?

With all her belongings

falling,

as leaves

from a tree.
***