Category Archives: Ghazal

2023, Ghazal, Ohio River Valley Literature, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

against the coming day

she sleeps against the coming day
and I lay here grateful for the passing rain

these moments, like a passing rain
in an early, unforgiving August

so few and far between like a late summer rain
we soak them up like starved dust

desperate for more, starving for one another
praying for relief against the coming day

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2023, Ghazal, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

Ghazal no. 2

No. 2

Today, Sunday morning when downtown first comes into view.
The air crisp and cool and the sun in nearly awake.

Every drive changes with the light, its dwindling, its absence.
Even on a swing shift schedule I only ever see the streetlights nearly awake.

Tall buildings pepper the skyline, a planned garden of driftwood.
In the late afternoon, downtown workers lumber, jaywalk, and scattered, barely awake.

I always look forward to the sunset – the river, the day’s close,
feeling left behind by the hum and thrum world
less interested in being awake.

The shadows at midnight play against the cityscape, uncovering spirits hid during daylight
lumbering under the same moon watching me, asking why I bother to stay awake.

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2023, Ghazal, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, Poetry Month 2023, Working Class Literature

Ghazal no. 1


High winds and rain haven’t erased us yet.
The coffee is hot and good.

This old house sings with the wind like my old man hip
but I am grateful for coffee that is hot and good.

My old dog Barleycorn hates the high winds and finds no comfort
panting like it is too hot and there is nothing good.

I never saw myself being this person, worrying about a roof
but more some ignored bit of rock on the road, hot and good

so it feels ungrateful (I know) to scream I am weary and my hip hurts
while I am blessed with you and coffee that is hot and good.

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