Impromptu short poems by me (postings ephemeral)

​"Flight Path" (Aug 29, 2020, the day of my father's death. 2nd & final draft.)

A grasshopper landed
At the edge of the open screen window,
And, in the near distance,
A plane engine whined and cried.

Yesterday was Friday.
In the shadow of a courtyard I held my phone, 
Pointing the speaker toward the small gaps
In the screen window made by the filaments.
For you I played Supremes and Sam Cooke.
Four Tops and Three Dog Night.
Earth, Wind and Fire.
And the Brothers: Blues and Doobie--
    while texting my own.

Overhead the Cessna soared.
It left from the private airport you used.
Sharing a flight path. Chasing freedom.
   As you had to.

Some must fly solo.
Some equipment outfitted only for one.
I have always known.

I remember your leaving.

This morning I stood in the predawn.
Staring again into the sterile room.
Again through the meshed screen,
In COVID-protocol.
A fighter. A soldier. 
A now quieted body.

They lifted you from bed to stretcher,
Like you had carried me outside,
When I was a boy,
To share with me the night sky
From the cement front porch still hugging
The warmth of the previous day's summer sun.

Were you able to turn your head,
To open your eyes,
Would you have seen me--
What with Mars,
The God of War
--the light chip--
Marching across the horizon,
My shoulder?

Behind me. Behind us. 

(​RIP, Pop)

​UNTITLED (Oct. 24, 2020)

 I care for no witch, outside of Eastwick.
     To this day, there are times when I smell smoke,
    And I am reminded of a cello.
      Something ignites--
    Shame or
   Guilt--
   And "I" am
​   burned.

I know at least a dozen, maybe more, people who visit this site regularly who self-describe as "I don't read poetry" -- a clarifying note offered in goodwill: representational shape of poem above intended to convey only the following meaning: firepower of past thoughts or feelings we can & do (at times) use against ourselves in the present.