Cj Heck Poems

His hands should have
their own identity,
a name perhaps,
befitting each vocation
...

St. Peter met her at heaven’s huge gate,
asking who was she and why had she come.
“Why should I let such as ‘you’ enter in?
I’m busy and there’s such a long line.”
...

My daddy calls me Will-dog.
PaPa calls me chief.
I’m always baby brother
to my sister - oh, good grief!
...

Fuzzy caterpillar
with your million-jillion feet,
how do you know which foot should go
as you're walking on that leaf?
...

Hush now, barking spiders,
please don’t make a sound.
I’m at my birthday party.
I don’t need you guys around.
...

Today I found some scissors
by my Mommy's sewing chair.
I learned scissors can cut paper
and scissors can cut hair...
...

holding her in the afterglow
where words were
never really needed,
he was fond of whispering
...

You don't always know
how you know.
It comes slowly, the awareness.
With the certainty and final resignation
...

While sitting on a park bench reading
I overheard a man nearby
talking with his grandson.
...

My friend, Sherla, was hard to see
for Mom and Dad, not me.
My imaginary friend was all I had.
I’m an only child, you see.
...