Vern Fein is a retired special ed teacher who started writing poetry three years ago and, with help from poetry groups and friends, has had some success publishing, but really just loves the experience and learning in his golden years.
Leave-Taking
Does the mother bird rue
when her fledgling leaves the nest,
drop the worm while the
father squawks and squawks,
soothes her ruffled feathers?
We humans though scratch and claw
when one of ours moves far away
sad over
the very reason
we raised them.
“But I am not a bird,”
my wife cries,
as she nests in my arms.
Rising
Early in the morning
your mind a carousel
riding thoughts, memories
up, down,
round and round
on, off,
giraffes, unicorns, lambs
or
gargoyles, serpents, dragons
you must choose
hang on tight
face the day.
Exhilaration
That summer, a newly licensed teen
eager to drive anytime,
my Step-Mother remembered
what she forgot at the store,
a green pepper, sour cream.
Sometimes, on purpose,
I forgot some of her items,
anxious to drive back
when she beckoned,
handed over the shiny keys.
Years later, my wife and I retired,
after we drive together
on our little shopping trips,
she forgets more and more,
sends me back,
a green pepper, sour cream.
I am delighted to drive.