Ron Kilgore

Two old men together
In a small cafe downtown
Near the corner talked
About good old days.
...

Vibrant rays of sun rain down,
Splash and cover all around -
Resplendent colors, yellow, green
Of crocuses and mown grass sheen.
...

Standing by the water's edge, I think
Of her and cinch my collar close to void
The chilling breeze. She said...........
...

This poem was written for an elderly lady, Haydee Cansada. She was born into position and wealth in Cuba, but had to leave when Castro came to power. She lived in a small apartment in our town to be near her brother, her closest remaining relative. I took Spanish lessons from her and the reference to an owl comes from a discussion we had about why the owl is a symbol of wisdom. She longed for the chance to see Cuba again but it never happened. I wrote this for her as a present while she was still alive.

Caribbean Blue
...

The clock’s illuminated eye
Portrays in numerated scheme,
As notes, in song, pass on once heard,
A pulse inclined so not to dwell
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Water on the moonlit lake is smooth.
So smooth, surface ripples swirl
In diverse directions from an invisible hand
Of the breeze which I neither hear nor feel.
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Every man in a life
Should know the love of a woman,
A love with passion sustained beyond the night,
A love more devoted than to its own breath,
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Lift your eyes, modest lady.
Reticent, sidelong
glances faintly reflect
the direction of your
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Love's lofty ambition
And the measure of Heaven,
More sought than gold,
Though through golden means,
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Eons stretching beyond belief
Now mean nothing but what we see,
With none more precious than this day
To him, knowing so few remained,
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Why glamorize a shooting star
Stealing swiftly through the darkened night,
Fleet and silent as a craven thief
Streaking so to cheat the dawning light?
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Have you ever seen a gentlewoman
Having sex with a man,
Flat on his back with a broken leg
In a cast, confined to bed,
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If death were as peaceful slumber
Sailing on a gentle sea
With cooling warmth from summer breezes
And drifting there were she with me
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You, leaf, lying wilted and wasted,
You, blissful child, too soon taken
From a life you never tasted.
...