g emil reutter- Three Poems

Old Neighborhood

I make the left into the old neighborhood. The houses all look the same

some with new doors or driveways, and some with new windows and

roofing yet there is something different on this visit to where you and

I last called home.

And in this place where I grew up and watched as the two of you departed

there is something different.

And in this place where I once knew the names of everyone I realize I know

no one.

And as I drive the neighborhood past your old home, past the old ball fields

that are now overgrown.

And as I look out upon the greenbelt and the woods of Frosty Hollow the

once familiar is unfamiliar. 

And in this place that memories live inside of me I know for the first time

I am not from here anymore.

In Rhythm with You

You share the good news of a

another heart moving rhythmically

with yours. You now nurturing

the small life within.

Pulsating, the inaudible drum beat

of thump, thump, throb, of this

new life, this new generation. 

In this time of jubilation I watch

radiant faces of you and your

husband, cheerful eyes, knowing

glances, soft touches.

In Parts

Fame

For every poet remembered

a million dead poets are forgotten

and for those who desire fame

name the last ten Vice-Presidents

fame is not fame at all.

Lost

A man full of cracks and flaws sits

on a black bench under colorless sky

next to dim light counting his fingers

to make sure they are there.

Time

Buses run over trolley tracks abandoned

in macadam where horses once trotted

cars speed in running lanes. Buildings

rise and fall and for each of the wealthy

there are thousands who eat dust.

Colorless

In the camp gray walls on dirt floor he sits

silent repose, studies light that bleeds

between cracks in cinderblock walls. His

body blends into the dirt floor, dreams

gone astray, hope vanquished. Broken

spirit.

Reclamation

Foundations rot in the pastures of the farm

periwinkle, clubmoss, fern and carpets of

clover cover trails and roads, ivy climbs over

and up dead stumps of poplar, birch. sycamore.

Crumbling schist scattered on ground.

g emil reutter is a writer of poems and stories. Ten collections of his poetry and fiction have been published. He can be found at https://gereutter.wordpress.com/about/