Poetry

‘When the World Was Silent’ and other poems

By: Jim Brosnan

When the World Was Silent

Beneath the milky
shadows of a blue moon,
I cautiously follow you
as we hopscotch
the beige boulders
of the breakwater.
We stop to watch
returning lobster boats
heading to port,
the hum of diesel engines
filling the August air
before we sit against
the Spring Point Lighthouse
anticipate the moon’s
return through cumulus—
a night I remember
like it was yesterday.

###

Vanishing Memories
for George H. Letendre (1947-2018)

Before darkness falls
we are left
with the inspiration
of Sixties songs,
melodies he played
on guitar
as a youth.
Today, we return
with fond memories
and deep sorrow
for the loss
of autumn
on this blustery
evening
where we
hear whispers
under soft streaks
of moonlight
as he examines
star maps
in this landscape
of quiet desires.
If now we met
in dark evening
dreams, we would
sing in harmony
with tomorrow’s wind.

###

A Glimpse into Memory’s Envelope

I think I am
the last one
to remember
waiting
in browning
October meadows,
noticing the last
traces of crimson
clinging to maple
boughs as I anticipate
the final flight
of hummingbirds
now heading
to warmer climates
as I push aside
an unfinished letter
realize the difficulty
of letting go.

###

The Reunion

Nightfall quickly descends
on dusty country roads
before you arrive, tired.
We meet at The Common
Man for a late dinner.
Behind the kitchen doors,
the waiter hesitant
to approach our table,
interrrupts our intimate
conversation. We smile
at his apology, order
pasta and steak tips,
and then lean into flickering
candlelight–the dancing
flame highlighting your eyes,
their sparkle like the glitter
of ocean, a landscape
we shared last summer
when we watched sailboats
glide to open ocean.

###

Faraway Memories

Like translucent shafts
of moonlight glistening
on the ocean at twilight,
a ghost-like figure
emerges in dreams
where we sit
at the Cafe Verlet
near the Lourve,
its wooden table
graced by a bouquet
of fresh flowers,
the waiter bringing
a plate of French toast
with roasted pineapple
and salted butter caramel
and two cappuccinos.
Perhaps you returned
to this place years later.

###

When the Cottonwoods Are Silent

This perfect landscape
of an unspoiled forest
belongs to my imagination—
a watermelon horizon
dissolving in the dusk
of an October afternoon
before charcoal clouds
infiltrate the countryside
as I flinch at the rumble
of distant night sounds
while marbled clouds
invade my dreams
on dark highways
since this discarded story
is part of our long history.

###

Dr. Jim Brosnan holds the rank of full professor of English at Johnson & Wales University in Providence, RI. He placed second in NEATE’s 2010 Poet of the Year competition. Jim’s publishing credits include four books of poetry and over 450 poems which have appeared most recently in the Aurorean, Mad Poet’s Review, The Leaflet, The Bridge, The Teacher As Writer, and Voices of the Poppies Anthology (UK). Since 2012 Jim has won numerous awards in the annual National Federation of Poetry Societies competition including a second-place by the Utah Poetry Society, the third place in Texas, and honorable mentions in Maine and New York. His first poetry collection, Nameless Roads, has received a silver medal in a national contest. Jim is working on his second collection, West of the Mississippi, as part of a university fellowship. He has recently been nominated for a Pushcart Award.

Categories: Poetry

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