Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Gone Missing’ and other poems

By: Carl Papa Palmer

Gone Missing

As the new day awaits its morning sun,
the blank page for my poem also waits.

In stillness I listen for an inner voice,
only to hear a deep silence in my ears.

Ends end from where beginnings begin,
but before I can end it I have to begin it.

All I need is that one elusive key word
to massage this pain of self-made hell,

this page containing only a promise of
what may be worthy to be called poetry.

As the sun sets, my page and I sit,
still waiting for what’s gone missing.


When I want to go someplace
my two friends take me there,
but I never talk to them,
they must think that I don’t care.

My two friends both have children,
five kids in a row.
Some people call my friends a foot
and call each child a toe.

When I want to feel something,
my two pals let me touch,
but I never talk to them,
they must not like me much.

My two pals both have children,
all stand by one another.
My pals are hands, my fingers,kids
four sisters and one brother.

I never really gave much thought,
I guess it’s quite a shame,
to have these friends and pals and kids
and not even know their name.

Cemetery Police

Ceremonial cults of martyred widows
commemorate grief with daily pilgrimage
gladly bearing burden of grave site visits
as self-appointed auditors assessing all
burial plots for familial survivor upkeep.

Headstone birthdays and death dates
to be celebrated, observed, bear tribute
with physical evidence the anniversary
of the interred had not been forgotten.

An unattended, unadorned memorial
is a fate worse than the occupant’s death.

Cordially Yours

Sitting on her couch,
Mom has forgotten who I am,
greets me like a stranger,
treats this stranger better
than she ever treated me.

I yearn for her glower,
that glint of disgust,
the biting sneer,
refusal to say anything
nice to me at all.

Drawing a Blank

I’ve found that back when I was young
more room for words on the tip of my tongue

it isn’t really that I forgot
I’ve just lost my train of thought

the words have all refused to stay
I can’t recall what I was going to say

that well known phrase so hard to find
now once again has slipped my mind

I can’t quite figure where to begin
please tell me what’s your name again


  1. Dear Carl,

    Thank you for sharing these creative poems with reader. I can really relate to “Drawing a Blank.” Keep on writing, my friend.


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