The Poems

Happy 13th Anniversary to my wonderful husband.  A much better writer than me. I wrote the first poem to him, about him, when we met in 1989. What gall! The second poem is my husband's response. Sigh. I'm a lucky woman. This post is dedicated to our daughter.

Angry with the world he was

for spinning, as it might

He could not take it home to bed

to caress her face, or head

to let her hair fall free and untangle

the day's bitter tasks.

Instead, he stood, inside himself

moved objects with quick eyes and

a sharp tongue

His friends would wonder why 

such an intelligent man

could not tell

he was spinning and

the world was

still.

- LD

And was he angry with the world?

For spinning as it might

Or was he merely armored with

an artificial spite

He knew that revolution 

was central to it all

The earth and moon revolving

like yin and yang curveballs

Electrons orbit nuclei to hold a thing together

clouds swirl in complicated dance

—and we just call it weather

With all that motion going on

It's hard to keep perspective

It's hard to do what one must do;

obey the prime directive

There's a growing need for revolution

problems that beg solving

And one can never seem to tell

if he's revolting or revolving.

-FL