The Shirts

These shirts show signs of wear and tear,
The collars frayed, the cuffs rubbed bare.
I see the signals everywhere.

I see them in my mind like doom.
They float like ghosts upon the loom.
I slip them on like skin, perfume.

I'll have the collars turned before
I fold them neatly in the drawer.
Perhaps they'll look like new once more.

© Glen Fisher

Clouds – A Poem

A boy lies on his back
looking at clouds. Only
he is not looking, he is
up there with them, up
where they slide and collide
mysterious as fate
insubstantial as air.

I have not seen clouds
in sixty years, until
today - there, overhead, in the blue
sky that scrolls and unfolds -
there, where they always were.


A Poem for my Dad

The Saw

Hold this, my father said,
Meaning the board he was cutting
For another project he would never finish.
The silver-toothed saw snickered and whined.

It was his way, I guess,
Of reaching out. I saw nothing at all,
A small boy who wanted only
To go out and play.

© Glen Fisher

Lost Poetry Project – Two Pomes

The Road We Travel

I think about the road we travelled,
How it all seemed so serene -
The sun shone down, like no tomorrow,
On timeless hills and fields of shimmering green.

Yet there was work to do, and cares to manage,
Your sick child never really out of mind.
This journey too would end, no matter -
We understood, and still the world seemed kind.

This was forever - as if we knew
Nothing could harm us, there'd be no blame;
The love we shared, whatever happened,
Be unconsumed by flood or flame.

Your sleeping spirit, trusting, still,
Lay in my care throughout that night.
Thankful, when the morning brightened,
I saw you turn toward the light.
Speaking of Love

I say these words
In place of touch,
For things unsaid
Or dreamed too much:

For finding love
And learning 'wait',
And knowing words
Like love, are fate.

Did I know then it was over?

That long-ago moment
in a hotel corridor –
a woman’s soft mews and a man’s
blunt panting. My own life
suddenly unraveled,
undone by this happiness.
Or by no more than a mutually
satisfactory encounter, a moment
stolen behind a thin painted door.
Until the couple stopped
whatever they were doing.
A sudden silence
and I moved quickly on.