I have been writing light verse all my life (assuming one’s life doesn’t include junior high school, elementary school and the wet diaper stage (oh, not that again!) ). I sent out a lot of light verse and when it all came back I tried my hand at free verse. I like writing bio notes my favorite being “Edmund Conti lives in Summit, NJ and divides his time between day and night.” Can’t use that anymore—I moved to Raleigh, NC. I’ve had over 500 poems published (Google “Edmund Conti” and see what comes up.)
Grieving for Forms
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again?
Grieving for forms now departed long ago...
-Stephen Collins Foster
Now departed. Some long ago and some
more recently. Bill—a victim of his own
exuberance. Larry—AIDS. A surprise
for some of us. Patty—no surprise--
drugs and a need for them. Phil--
always looking for short cuts. He
found one. Cynthia—who came into
our lives last year. Left this year.
No regrets. That’s what Sammy said.
Didn’t ask us. George? No, not
George too. Yes, and Tom who’s alive.
In a hospital. In a coma. Who’s left?
Mitch? Was. Isn’t. Harry. A freak
accident. He would have loved that.
John who said he would laugh at cancer.
He had the last laugh. Last week.
I hear them calling.
All those gentle voices.
A siren’s song. "Grieving for forms Now departed long ago?" -Old Black Joe by Stephen Foster"Grieving for forms Now departed long ago?" -Old Black Joe by Stephen Foster
© 2018 Edmund Conti
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