I Think of the Past
The night is clear as glass.
I observe a new moon
while it’s still there.
Wind rustles dead leaves
in snow-covered grass.
I think of friends
who are gone,
of joys that didn’t last.
The stars glow,
but they bring no cheer.
They surround me
like an invisible cocoon.
They remind me that I’m
another year older,
although they’ve been dead
for millions of years.
Troubled Sleep
The stars are reflected
in a pond. They seem nearby,
but that’s an illusion.
The moon goes up,
but provides small light.
A falling star
fizzles and fades.
Perhaps it was born when
dinosaurs roamed
where there are now streets.
Time passes on silent feet.
I reach the grave yard.
I place a wreath,
where my wife is laid.
Overhead, a raven
keeps watch
on her lonely grave.
What Remains
Summer’s flowers are gone.
All that’s left are
the decaying remains.
The trees have been bare
for months. I can’t remember
when leaves were there.
In my garden, a hammock,
creaks in a recalcitrant wind.
Winter draws near
like a clumsy intruder.
A lone crow looks on.
He ignores me.
I speak to my elderly cat.
I speak to the moon and stars.
As is their way, they have
nothing to say. I recall
the aroma of my roses.
It’s sweet,
but I can’t make it stay.
About the Author
George Freek’s poetry has been published in numerous Journals and Reviews. His poem “Written At Blue Lake” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His poem “Enigmatic Variations” was also recently nominated for Best of the Net. His collection “Melancholia” is published by Red Wolf Editions. His poem “Night Thoughts” was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
