jerry hughes Poems

Had he lived,
my dad would have been 109.
I remember our final meeting,
short though it was, with tenderness.
...

I look into your eyes
and see magic.
I touch your hand and feel
the vibration of centuries.
...

I now live in an alien land.
My country has changed
from a caring, compassionate society
to one whose people feed off each other
...

Picture this in your mind's eye
if you will because it happened
to Jews, gypsies, poets, writers,
actors, musicians, resistance
...

In the West we start the day
with breakfast, having spent
the night in a comfortable bed.
...

Is there a god?
What does he look like?
Is he that benign, long-bearded figure
artists have painted over the years.
...

I stood in summer rain watching
the pain of my city wash away.
The town hall clock that stopped
the day the soldiers came groaned
...

They're out there in their thousands.
Street kids, sleeping rough, sniffing glue,
shooting up. Out of sight, out of mind?
...

It came toward me down at wing and heel,
dirty and unkempt, mumbling incoherently.
Instinctively I reached into my pocket for some coins.
It read my action saying, 'I don't deserve your sympathy,
...