by Allen Plone
when he died
I thought
so did hope
then I thought
no. It died
long before
with unwanted gifts
wrapped in failure
stinking of defeat
lightless nights
thin covers
and no bed to sleep in
cold that came
as much from within
than the winter without
When he died
I was alone
in his room
crowded with ghosts
caught between love
and shame.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Born in 1947, once a San Francisco hippie, living in Haight at the height of its glory, with two MAs, one in Creative Writing and one in the History of Consciousness, but unwilling to finish my Ph.D thesis, I chose, instead, to be become a filmmaker, script writer and to live a semi-legitimate life in Los Angeles, California, USA. Happily married to my college sweetheart, who, too, is in the business of film, I’ve directed three feature films, many television shows and children’s programs. Two children’s books, Ned Smiles, and ABC For You and Me, three published short stories, the winner of the Rosebud Award For Creative Writing for the short story, “The Cowboy of My Heart, ” and four published poems, in Response, Moon and other now gone and mourned poetry journals comprise the visible part of my literary life. Despite the sadness reflected in much of my poetry, I consider myself a happy person.
Last updated April 06, 2015