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Dead Poets

Author Biography
Poetry By
  Ron Singer

Published on: 8/27/2015
Union Square Park, March 20, 2015

After a harsh winter with ample snow,
semi-spring arrives in Union Square Park.
Birds -common grackles--light on dark branches,
the tips of which have just begun to bud.

Still bundled up, on a bench facing north,
I watch the electric scrum of children
in the playground, colorful as peacocks,
in contrast to the muted blue, black, brown
and yellow of the grackles (lovely word).

Above the children loom tall, old buildings,
whose graying mansards and water towers
punctuate the sky, while wispy clouds scud by.
Miming the high-altitude winds, a breeze

Published on: 1/13/2015
Where's the Poet (Now)?

Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him.
&emdash; Keats

A young woman in a yellow dress
feeds a red potato chip
to a squirrel &emdash;brown, white, gray &emdash;
on a wide expanse of emerald lawn.
Is the potato chip nourishing
for the squirrel? woman? lawn?
Is this a poem? Am I included,
seated on a bench, old, blue, gray?

Dogs, bikes, cigarettes,
coffee, litter, buzz tops
in the East Village
where I wait at a bus stop,
standing beside a bench marked
"For customers only."
Shall I sit? Blue again, still old,
gray again, am I occluded?

Take a bite, take a cup.
Take a poem, and scarf it up!

Published on: 11/15/2013
The Old Boy Lunch Club

rarely convenes. It's a matter of time.
Although there are only four of us,
the others' lives are as busy as mine.

Our wards are feline, avian, canine,
plus grandchildren we babysit and fuss
over. All these wards eat up our time.

We do good works, as well; our souls are fine.
We ride the volunteer omnibus.
Our motto is, "The world's problems are mine."

"I was less busy before I retired,"
a mot, apropos of the four of us,
a cliché that ages like fine old wine.

Still, we manage to meet from time to time,
sharing coal-fired pizza, noodles with sauce.
We pass the food around: no "yours," no "mine."

As I enjoy the meal, I study their eyes.
A certain far-away look I notice.
I'm sure they see the same look in mine.
The meaning is obvious: "So little time."

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