Lori Boulard Poems

Traveling down my usual path
I came to the end of the road.
Nothing reminiscent of Frost’s two paths.
No glorious crossroads.
...

I am
the grey that strokes your temple
the sigh of your breath
the itch in your palm
...

There I am, freshly straightened smile,
features still familiar in that academic pose-
the round cheeks, the wonder in the eyes,
the youthful bronze of leisure all obvious enough.
...

She rushes ahead, laughing
into the pouring rain
ignoring my desperate pleas
to wear a coat.
...

America the Proud stands tall
His states united under an Icarean flag
A cliché of colors flashing his creed
Snapping wildly with the motto of his men:
...

History is relative,
Fiction polished to truth by retelling.
Heroes happen every day
By accident.
...

There was a time when words did not matter
save for verbs – run, jump, stop, go…
or adjectives – hot, cool, SO mortifying.
Words snuck up like accidents,
...

I wanted to look night in the eye,
stare down the constellations
until the coolness brought sleep
and laid me heavy in defeat,
...

It is morning, as declared by my aging
feathered friend from his cage.
A wild bird echoes back, and a duet ensues
of chirps and tunes of differing dialects
...

We could learn reams from the animal world.
Fido at our feet barks wisdom at our ears.
Consider the benefits of selective memory:
Last night? Can't recall.
...