© 2009 eMuse-
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Author’s Bio
Joseph Roque, a New Englander, is busy lately in woods, seducing nature and gathering
words in glass jars. Most recently, his poetry has appeared in Silver Wings Magazine,
A Tender Touch and A Shade of Blue, online, and is forthcoming in A Long Story Short,
online; RagMag.org; Zygote in my Coffee.com, and eMuse-
Slim Pickings
The sun rises, peeks,
assesses my overweight
out of shape body,
percolates a strategy
of war against a
new day’s weight gain.
I assemble my troops—
coffee, cheese, grapes,
slim arsenal for
slim expectations. The
struggle to contain my
body’s borders continues,
unheralded, monotonous.
In need of an ally I
retreat to the comfort
of chocolate, which has
no natural enemies.
The sun sets, peeks,
assesses my overweight
out of shape body,
shakes its head
and goes to bed.
Words
I talk to my ghosts,
but I do not ask
them for words.
Sometimes,
they get angry, show
their irritability,
by making a mess
of my writing desk.
Maybe they get jealous,
anxious and impetuous,
when I find words lacking,
and don’t incline to asking
them to sit up and take notice.
Will I be less a muse, if they
choose my words for me, will
my craft hasty leave, at the
news of my impotency?
In the end, words find me,
I do not find them,
and in the mayhem
that is creativity,
it may indeed be, my
ghosts that write for me.
Redemption
I have often been in
the company of
unrepentant men,
who, sensing their
mortality, rushed
to make amends—
for mistakes they made
all along the way.
I have no such
misconception
of my life’s frail
imperfections,
nor do I despair
or dread, for while the
sinners wept and fled,
I collected memories,
reconciled mistakes instead,
wove them into tapestry
of infinite regret-
sad vignette that I will
take with me tonight, to
sort out in the afterlife.
The Apartment
He still lives in the
apartment I gave him
when he married—
I think he loves it there.
My son, when young, kept
a bit of wild inside
the child, but he always
had a good heart, does not
suffer fools or bullies—
he got that trait from me.
He’s grown now, takes pride in
his yard and personal
space, watches over this
special place he calls home.
Time does not always work
against you. Sometimes it is
kind. Sometimes rhyme does add
reason, sees you through the lean
times of immaturity.
Now, his family is
his anchor, protects him
from his bouts of
rancor and impatience.
I am happy for him.
Life does have miracles.
he works hard, pays bills,
easy drinker, no pills,
loves his family, has
not killed anyone, and
mostly, does what he should-
God is great. God is good.
© 4774344sean dreamstime.com
Subtle Hint of Promise
Patterns develop as
we gallop through life.
Questions envelop us,
far beyond our
capability, and
desperate, we offer
alms occasionally
to blind seers, in
exchange for a clue
to our identity.
Is there a finite plan, a
concrete certainty to
your path, or is there only
a subtle hint of promise,
accompanied by rules to
keep you in between the
lines, and curiosity
to drive you out.
What Is A Dream Worth?
If I sacrifice my
dreams for you, it will
mean I love you more
than dreams, that love gleams
brighter than wishes.
Some believe love’s glisten
vanishes with time,
that it fades, silent
and discreet, to nothing
more than skin-
I know dreams renew
love’s way, every time
we sleep.
I do not fear the loss
of my dreams to love, do
not believe love loses
fire to wishes that
aspire, they co-
as one-
as one my dreams
are you, and loving
you, my heart’s desire.