death

Jeff Holt

Jeff Holt is a Licensed Professional Counselor who lives in Plano, TX with his wife, Sarena, and their lovely twin daughters, Julia and Allison.  He has published poems in numerous online and print publications including Able Muse Anthology, ed. Alexander Pepple, (Able Muse Press, 2010), A Mind Apart: Poems of Melancholy, Madness and Addiction, ed.

Lullaby for the Bereaved

Lullaby for the Bereaved

Your hours of tears won’t let you follow
Those who’ve left you alone.
Tonight your head lies on a pillow,
Not beneath earth and stone.

The dead won’t be returning,
Not for all of your pleas,
Nor for all your candles burning.
Get up off your knees.

Dark Gardens

Dark Gardens

Black Wine

Black Wine

§

 

“Black Wine.”

Was she perfume or fermented liquor?

“Are you certain you want me to call you that?”

Her car door slammed shut. She rolled down its window and said, “Yes. Now get your ass in here.”

Nines

Nines

Transit

Transit

Tete Rouge Cache

Tete Rouge Cache

Had I a wooden ship
to bear my love from me,
I’d fire it at its slip,
then warp it out to sea.
Or must I strew his ashes
on wild Wyoming passes
climbed in the Seventies?
The thought of that abashes
me and my aching knees.
He’ll sleep in prairie grasses
under his apple trees.

Forty Years Later

Forty Years Later

Why bother to root for my brother Joel?
Surely, your quarterback’s body is earth’s, Joel.

You knew how to sell elaborate jokes—
seemingly, you stand at my door grinning, Joel.

Named for the prophet of locusts and kairos,
has the Lord dealt wondrously with you, Joel?

Our mother was a saver of used things
that someday would be useful; she wept, Joel.

I could not have borne following your hearse
through rain. You are buried in sunlight, Joel.

Line of Crosses

Line of Crosses

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