a single hair

i picked a hair, a dame’s, for sure

in my oatmeal this morning

as i was about to pour water

and stir with some sweetener

making my breakfast, a poem to enjoy!

i remembered, those days, for my mother

it was only i, among her five boys

somehow found her hair in my meals!

ex-spouse of 35 years too have protested!

and now, i talk to this woman, also about

what we will do in bed, but only in cyber

when via camera, she walks into my kitchen

© henry victor             07.01.2018

her loneliness

her phone springs to induce a ringing

on my lips to say hello when she is alone
and feels the absence of all that chattering
inside her home; until then i am left alone

like the garbage bin left outside freezing

in the winter night dark and very long
with an occasional racoon scratching
my side to reach inside but not too long

before abandoning me for the waiting

with hope of seeing some brighter light
natural and warmer, that un-burdening
of my soul before my death, surer light
 
henry victor      01.01.2015

remaining un-public

as dust insignificant am i, doing nothing
these days, except sitting like a rock
in middle of the stream, that public life
flowing fast without my feet walking

and unlike those with electronic equipment
seated on ground as if grounded to reality
discoursing, but beyond my senses, a living-
out in full the modernity with mere pressing

of buttons, while i amass old postage stamps,
hoping gold coins suddenly appear from sand,
a dream with no great earthly value to strengthen
a dam to collect wealth to transact, to remain public

henry victor     05.03.2013