Wednesday, August 17, 2011


 This is part of the August blog chain of writing by members of - please see the full list  of those involved in the right hand column and visit a few of the others.
Susan's grave


My heart pounds my skin
like a boxing glove
in round three,
though the score 120/80
is a distant memory -
we hit higher these days.
I wear my heart
on my chest.
An ancient encounter
left its mark -
a commemorative tattoo
for the day we bounced,
in mother's womb,
on the pavement
like a soggy bag of groceries.

Who won that encounter ?
Your prize was eternity,
mine was life with a sore heart -
a memory that cannot be shared
like an untransferable ticket.


Christine Henderson said...

Touching an poignant. I'm always in awe of one who can paint a poetic picture.

From Carol's Quill said...

Oh, Keith. This is filled with such pain and poignancy. Your birthday is today. I take it this was your twin sister? Very, very sweet.

Tracy Krauss said...

Very vivid imagery ...kind of disquieting, though, which I assume was the point.

Cindee Snider Re said...

Keith, I read and re-read these words, drawn in anguish to understand the story. Twins born too early? You with "broken" heart? Your twin, your sister in Heaven? Powerful poem!

lynnmosher said...

Ooo...another Keith-treat. Such heartfelt words. Deeply emotional. You always cause the heart to search the mind.

PS...happy birthday!

Terrie said...

Thank you Keith, I always enjoy your words!!!

Traci B said...

Keith, I am so sorry for your loss. This poem makes my heart ache for you.

Scott Fields said...

I must’ve read that first stanza about a dozen times, Keith. You wove a triumvirate of elements together so tightly, so completely, that I’m staggered by both its depth and its simplicity.

I’m guessing at the subject of your poem—and yet I know exactly what it is. I know, without knowing, just what you’re talking about here. That’s the wonder and the gift of good verse. Again, you sum up so much in so little space that it can’t be read just once. It has to sit like a lozenge on the mind for a while, slowly dissolving its way in.

I swear, you poets are so good at making the rest of us look like amateurs. . . .

M. L. Archer said... jolly good friend! Your poetry is good beyond description! Thanks you so much!