Poets’ Corner

The Poets’ Corner is a new section of The Complement that will feature poems by RVM residents — poems, chants, shanties, doggerel. All submissions will be considered, with favor shown to those most touching to the heart and soul.

In Spring time, poets venture forth, along with robins, rabbits, dreamers, and entrepreneurs, seeing in spring the potential of life, all around. Here are some of the poems that have sprung from the well springs of RVM this month.

Milt Friedman

Connection

Jan Hines

I see him cross the room
A small boy in a body grown tall
He balances carefully
Struggling with each step
Told he would never walk or talk,
We watch with wonder at his effort
Acknowledging the years
It took to reach this goal
He finds his couch and lies
Pillowing his head with an arm
Raises a leg to rest upon his knee.
I call his name and he turns his head
But not to look my way.
He fixes his gaze on the ceiling above
And laughs aloud at something
He cannot share with me
I call his name once more
And, with annoyance, it seems,
He picks up a magazine
And turns the pages rapidly
A ritual he’s found to fill his days.
I watch him, and for a third time
I say his name.
He pauses, not moving and I wait
He turns his head and his blue eyes
Stare into mine
The corners of his mouth turn up
And for one brief moment
I see the boy inside

The 100 Year Old Man Who Jumped Out Of the Window

JoAnn Basin

Did you hear about the
Old man who turned 100?
That very day
He was in a home where he
Didn’t want to stay
He jumped out of the window
Landed on his feet
Then he gayly ran out to the street.
He didn’t want a party. he
Didn’t want a fuss
He did not want a treat with
Ice cream and cake to eat.
The staff ran around looking
They set off an alarm
They finally found him
He meant no harm!
He wanted peace and quiet
As if to say
I don’t need a fuss to be happy on my special day.

tic toc

Gloria Young

time, like the sea, is a force and creature all its own
we stand on the shore, watching the days become years
believing there’s time as hungry waves devour the sand
time to dance with Anna Karenina in St. Petersburg
to ride with Don Quixote, to walk Dublin’s streets in Ulysses
later, the yellow brick road over the rainbow of our dreams
time to recover from the nightmares of slavery in Beloved
still time to ask John Donne for whom are the bells tolling
There’s time for everything. There’s simply, time. Time for it all.
Until there isn’t.

Yes and No

Milt Friedman

We know by now that yes
is not always the best answer
that no is sometimes a necessary
word to speak
out loud
and to ourselves

And in nature there are plenty of nos

Yes, however,
is remarkably unique to life
rocks don’t seem to say yes
But birds do and butterflies

Outside the clouds are blown
across the sun