A Man Crying or Stones

A poem about me.

He cannot cry with conviction.

He turns towards walls or hides behind newspapers,

or wipes his face as if sweating.

Empty before hospitals or as brittle

as a cake man at a funeral.

Stones without amber, only tar.

Stones that ringless and skimless

plop into the ebb.

The frozen bells of the sea.

Nightly under neon he scribbles

on the edges of newspapers.

He faces the debris of a breakfast table.

He will parcel his sorrow.

He will make his apologies and leave.

Reviews

[Art Sun]

interestingly written...creative in content...an enjoyable work...re-read...and re-read...finding the emotion from within...nice

[Coyote Poetry]

Watching people can make us think. I searched for story from people all my life. The most sad people gave the best tales of life and experiences. I like the places you took me with your words. I like the ending to the excellent poem.
Coyote

[Joiedevivre]

This is a good poem indeed. I can see and feel the imagery. Well edited to its essence.

[Lina Grey]

You have such an unusual style. I love your abstract language and metaphorical ideas. This poem has great imagery and is very intense. Thank you.

[Allen Smuckler]

very intense and passionate write, Leslie
Great command of language and cadence
I enjoyed this immensely
allen

[Emily B]

when our words meet metal, we can change the world

it is good to meet you

[Emily B]

oh, wow!

you are my favorite kind of poet