Poetry

By Adrian Robert Ford

dawn

morning mist
a sponge that wipes
blackboard night
the chalk end sun
slides from the box
and starts to write




God

dog
spelled backward
drops the ball
the question
of why we are here
at our feet--
what can we do
but toss it
watch Him repeat
retrieving it over and over?




diva

now comes September, diva
to center stage
and on a hidden cue
the scrim of summer
silkscreen green and blue
rolls shimmering up to memory--
first one clear note
then few
of an aria we had forgot we knew
first heard
on gramophones of pink and pastel blue



Adrian Robert Ford is a charter member of NewTown Writers. He retired from the Department of Human Services in 2002. He collects prints and lives in Rogers Park.