CRY ERTIA, a poem

          Ertia

          my new word

          my new cry

          to stir me   

          from my easy chair

          I often sat

          in the tight grip

          of my inertia

          unable to stir

          from my easy chair

          Like a comic book hero

          I needed a magic word

          to shout aloud

          to propel me

          from my easy chair

          Ertia

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THE POISED WOMAN, a poem

          She was poised and thoughtful

          was she thinking of me?

          Were her thoughts to be free?

          Woman of mystery

          The connubial bond

          held our lives together

          in fun and excitement

          even stormy weather

          Yet a free-thinking mind

          can break any tether.

          The weight of her fealty

          was light as a feather

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TIME, a poem

          What do people do

          with their unused time

          not eaten by work

          leaden or sublime

          Some strive to be creative

          Most merely spend or enjoy

          insignificant pursuits

          consuming their precious days

         

          Whatever the endeavor

          Time’s sands certainly swallow

          all but rare celebrations

          of somebodies and some bards

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GRIEVING, a poem

          Real men don’t cry

          tell that to my eyes

          filling with tears

          when I speak her name

          I loved her so much

          Fire consumed the shell

          that contained her spirit

          Mix my ashes with hers

          around the rock and path

          I loved her so much

          Perhaps soulmates

          are earthly fantasies

          that disappear in death

          There is this certainty

          I loved her so much

         

           ====

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MOURNING, a poem

          I should have mourned her

          when she fell into the abyss

          three torturous years ago

          leaving only forlorn cries

          for a life that once was hers

          I want to go home

          Why am I like this

          Did I do something wrong

          Nobody likes me

          Don’t kill me

          Don’t leave me

          Her sad pleas are silenced

          my heart forever torn

          the time has come to mourn

          she remains in my mind

          lovely, caring, refined

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BEN CONNOLLY in the PARIS COMMUNE

BEN CONNOLLY in the PARIS COMMUNE by Kenneth C. Crowe, will be available for free downloads from Kindle for the next five days, from Saturday (Nov. 2, 2019) through Wednesday (Nov. 6, 2019).

The novel was inspired by the exploits of war correspondent Januarius MacGahan, during the uprising by the Parisian working class, led by left wing intellectuals, in the spring of 1871.

Gen. Jaroslaw Dombrowski and Louise Michel are major figures in the novel, as in real life.

AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN, a poem

An independent woman

willing to experiment

wading into the lake without me

to skinny dip with another

feeling his slippery skin

sensuously magic

unforgettable forever

Then before her lips

turn blue wading ashore

where I doze in the sun

alone no longer

she with me

her memories with her

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FLESH to ASHES

         The photos of the woman

          I loved and still do

          are arrayed on a table

          by the bed we shared

          Her flesh has turned to ashes

          Her flesh in that bed

          was a silky warmth

          addictively wonderful

          nightly available until

          her flesh was turned to ashes

          My memory of her in life

          is welded in my consciousness

          Her talk, her touch, her presence

          living with me still, although

          her flesh has turned to ashes

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LASTING LOVE, a poem

          Infatuation is easy

          like whipped cream

          a sweet taste of love

          a joy to the senses

          a passing sensation

         

          Lust evolves into love

          a mysterious change

          a touch of magic

          making the ephemeral 

          an enduring connection

          Unless often nourished

          by sexual delight

          the flame of true love

          fades into a staid

          dull companionship  

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DANCING BLISS, a poem

She danced

on ice skates

on wooden floors

all smiles

all laughter

She was a vision

of graceful movement

the music was

her inspiration

to joyfully dance

On the stage

of her life

her performances

were a pleasure

to behold

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SIDE by SIDE, a poem

         To walk across

          that bridge again

          side by side

          in youthful love

          a sweet memory

          To sit on the bench

          by the flowing river

          side by side

          through the night

          a sweet memory

          To sleep the night

          in our lovers’ bed

          side by side

          through the years

          a sweet memory

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THE LOOK of LOVE, a poem

         

          The comfortable look

          of connubial bliss

          plays across her lovely face

          a familiar enticement

          to love again

          Her sweet eyes reflect

          my craving for her

          an unquenchable thirst

          echoing my desire

          to love again

          Can our intense love

          last beyond the flesh

          to break the limits

          of this mortal coil

          to love again

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THE PICNIC, a poem

         The blanket was spread

          on a farmer’s field

          off a country road

          one hot August day

          for my love and me

          The buffet of marriage

          to part or continue

          was laid before us

          the choice was easy

          for my love and me

          Selected each other

          for a prolonged banquet

          spiced by an ecstasy

          that lasted a lifetime

          for my love and me

          (Aug. 24, 2019)  

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THE SEPTEMBER BRIDE, a poem

          

          The September Bride

           an independent woman

           glowing with intelligence

           and contagiously happy

           I loved her so much 

           

            The loving Mother

             a dream is fulfilled

             love unparalleled

             then cherishing four

             I loved her so much

             The woman’s departure

              from a life well lived

              a remembrance of joy

              clouded by sadness

              I loved her so much

          (Ginger and I were married in September of 1956. Nine months later our son, Kenny, was born to her delight. She had wanted children from the time she was a little girl. We had three more: Roy, Danny and Carol. Ginger died in August of 2019.)

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