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Thread: Chris George Birthday Poems

  1. #1
    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    Default Chris George Birthday Poems

    Oh, Balls! Tea Fleas!

    Oh, balls! My teabag breaks releasing
    a cloud of what as a child I called
    "tea fleas." I pour the steaming
    orange-brown liquid down the sink.

    New Year's Eve: Donna and I toast each
    other with dirty martini, gin and tonic.
    Mother calls my cell, dressed up waiting
    for us to take her out -- for Christmas.

    I'll drive her to show her the "duckies"
    in the A.M. Now is adult time: glitter
    and gingerbread houses in the packed,
    chatty restaurant at the Museum of Art.

    I'm days from my sixtieth birthday.
    I feel like the Australian python
    who gobbled the four golf balls,
    mistaking them for hen's eggs.

    Christopher T. George

    *****************

    Spatial Concept -- Nature

    With snowflakes floating down, I
    escape D.C.'s frigid streets to cut

    through the Hirschhorn garden and
    shelter by a glossy-leaf magnolia,

    a big bronze walnut on the lawn.
    I try to write down its details

    on an old Comcast bill; pen won't
    write, makes a hole in the paper;

    I stuff the bill in my pocket, see
    the sculptor's name is "Fontana"

    like the tricky cop in "Law and Order."

    Christopher T. George






    ******************

    Rapscallion Mood

    New Year's Day, just before my sixtieth birthday:
    in a frigid breeze, the red-berried holly sloughs

    against yews where last February I photographed
    a scatter of berries on an ice-glazed snowfield.

    Oh, fortunes in berries I will never own in my life!
    Wind chastises my cheeks; metal streetsign screams

    its protest. As white clouds race across blue skies
    beyond high rises, ice crystals glow a rainbow hue.

    Christopher T. George



    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

  2. #2
    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    The Essence of Becoming

    The dark gloss-green of a big-
    leafed winter creeper clings
    espaliered to the pebble wall;
    the new year slowly becomes.

    I stroll the curving brick path
    of the Ridley Gardens damp
    from overnight rain; white Xmas
    stars hung in the trees dangle

    above churned dark earth
    that yearns for new plantings.
    A red-veined sorrel by my foot
    reminds me of my grandfather's

    big hand pouring beet seeds
    into the black soil, willing
    them to germinate, praying
    the blood turnips to swell.

    Christopher T. George
    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

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