A poem dedicated to a friend of mine, Philip H. Branagan, who passed away 6 years ago this fall. This is an old one but was hard to write.
I sit and wait for time to pass
looking at pictures of the past
and as I glance up I see
a guy as tall as six foot three
Full of life he seemed to be
joking as he did with me
I asked him if he knew my brother
their sleeping habits matched the other
I asked him what his plans were
he said he was seeing friends
but was otherwise not sure
Never foresaw the end
It's been two years since that day
and now I would just like to say
that for his family and friends
I will always be here
Have I made myself perfectly clear?
Robyn,
ReplyDeleteThis is a touching poem. I enjoyed meeting you at the John C. Campbell Folk School. Keep up the good work.
Robyn, I remember this poem from the class you took a few years ago. I don't recall if you wrote it in the class but you read it at the school-wide poetry class reading. Yes, you make yourself clear.
ReplyDeleteYour feelings come through although you have not said one sad soppy tear-jerking thing. The reader is the one left with a tear in the eye.
You are doing well, growing, growing as a poet. I hope you can see that as clearly as I see it. Keep practiing. I say that humbly, as one who also is a"practicing poet."
One thing we have to say about this busiess of "practicing" is that poetry is one sure way to learn more about life and how to live life, or how to endure it when the going gets tough.
Thanks for this post of "The Last Time."