Tuesday, November 05, 2013



When I talk a block of wood
comes out of my mouth.
Something whittles it down,
something slowly rocking.
It sits now in the square
overlooking a few benches,
a gentle. quiet reminder of
what I said.


A few debate what the design says.
It speaks to some
and holds its tongue
for others.


I sit on one of the benches,
positioned to the left
of what I said.
The sun reaches down
caressing the texture of it.
Traffic slows.
"It deserves more," I think.


What I said has moved on.
Was it my comment, my reaching?
A light rain is falling on the square.
From the coffee shop where I sit
I notice the green impression
is still there.


I can't seem to remember
if I could have carried it.
I conclude it was enough
that what I said
stood alone for a while,
outside my
somewhat restless,
lighter,  blue,  self.


Kathleen said...

I love it. I love "positioned to the left / of what I said." I love the moving on, the green impression, and the blue self. I love the progression of the whole poem. Sigh...

ron hardy said...

Thanks, Kathy.I like it too. Smile.