Poems by Gary Glauber

Haven

Something gone wrong,
an evening  failed horribly.
She lays down, fully dressed,
sobs quietly into blanket
she folds herself within.
At forty, she is old enough
to know better.
He knows to forgo
the list of questions,
to resist the urge
to sound off and offer
the kind of pedestrian wisdom
a younger man might mistake
for help.
He lets her bawl quietly,
knowing there is comfort
in solace,
given privacy and space
in which to explore depths
and find a fresh toehold
toward a new tomorrow.

Fleeting

There’s nothing left of her precious atelier,
good thoughts and forbearance did little to save her.
Now memories are tattooed on smooth stones by a riverbank,
assembled like so many confused festival attendees,
reflecting her own disorder, her lack of substance,
a diaphanous wish to be a real martyr someday.
She cries for a time, then picks up a stick to
mark up the sand, and later a piece of colored chalk.
When she lets go of pretensions that burden,
her drawings improve, a style emerges, axenic and real.
She forces a bittersweet smile as she watches
the high tide come in and wash away evidence
that on this wild and windswept morning
an artist existed, a battle was won.

 

Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, and teacher.  His works have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, as well as “Best of the Net.” He composes to obscurely melodic pop.  His first collection, Small Consolations, is due out in 2015 from The Aldrich Press.

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