1988
Watching the thick smoke
billow out from the entrance
to Victoria Station
I had just exited
I remembered the news story
of weapons and explosives
found buried on the grounds
of Buckingham Palace.
Later that night listening
to the low hum
of quiet conversation
over illegal pints
and hand-rolled fags
blinds closed
lights off in a smokey pub
short sentences in Irish accents
discussing the days’ events
punctuated
by the sharp clicks
of colliding snooker balls.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Happy Birthday K
4-17-17
my daughter spends most of her time
away with friends, her boyfriend
I see her everyday
but not for long
hellos and goodbyes
a hug and a quick kiss
sometimes we have movie night
the scarier the better
and I can rest assured
when I realize I can still
poke her in her side
and elicit a giggle.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
did your heart skip a beat?
did your skin tingle and pop?
when the lightning
split the sky
and the thunder
broke the earth
dark clouds
full of dark promise
weapons in the winds.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
the wind lifts and lowers
the boughs of the cedars
like hands waving
in greeting
in farewell
silent steps through the thick
moss blanket of the ground
a mourning dove’s
sad question
hides in the shadows
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, outdoors, Poetry, Writing
the water is cold and quick
the bend in the brook
reveals the undercut bank
the gold brown sand and stones
the miniature log jam
causes the spring current
to eddy
iridescent bubbles in the foam
glisten in the late morning light
while the speckled side of a trout
reveals itself briefly
and is gone
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, outdoors, Poetry, Writing
a soft breeze
blows the remnants of winter
about the daffodils and narcissus
green leaves and flower spikes
stretching towards
a warming sun
ever higher in the sky
while a chorus of native birds
urges you to put away your tools
for another day
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Spending Saturday speculating
Colorful chimeras carousing
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
I used to watch her
move through her kitchen
Mendelssohn’s “Hebrides Overture”
rolling over the countertops
from a crackly, gold, tube radio
set to a single AM station
the aroma of macaroni and cheese
and ham, homemade
setting my mouth to water
snacking on Ritz crackers
she doled out
crushing the rest
for the topping
sunlight streaming through
the casement windows
causing her daffodils in the vase
on the table to glow.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
wounds that heal
leave scars
wounds that don’t heal
are our responsibility
treat your wounds
administer the proper care
perform the inside job
tend to it
and when the scar forms
you’ll see it
touch it
and remember its lesson.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
the steepness of the hill
leaves you out of breath
hands on knees
then clasped on top
your sweaty head
steam rising off and around you
mingling with the ground fog
breath of earth
beneath the oaks
the fox that watched
your ascent
slips quickly through
the underbrush in silence.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Edges 