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Hiatus

At times, I feel the poems are done

And no more singing will occur.

I feel disconnected from everyone,

And life becomes a misty blur.

The routine tasks that I can do

Make time pass in a meaningless way,

While disparate words fail to unite, and

Significant ideas continue to stray.

But then, the key in our front door

Announces your return to home,

And like lightning, like rainstorm,

Like sunrise and joy, the poems come.

To My Brother, Date of Death, July 24, 1986

You left this world with a gunshot

that tore your structured mind apart

and ripped my heart to shreds

because I could not counter your

thinking death was lovelier than life.

The sinking feeling of that deadly news,

given in Deputy's impersonal voice

by telephone, "He killed himself,"and your despairful, loveless history

could drag me down to join you.

But then I would be you, engulfed

in fear of life and pessimism,

alone, so bitter, so self-righteous

in thoughts permitting me to take my life

with work unfinished that I should have done.

No, I am not you. However hard or pained

my life may be or may yet become,

I need to know what happening comes next,

until that final involuntary moment

when at last, I shall understand it all.

Laws Meant to be Broken

Your touch is warm and gentle;

You tell me I feel warm to you.

We break the laws of physics --

One of us ought to be cooler!

Your eyes meet mine; I melt.

My eyes meet yours; you burn.

We break the laws of physics --

Two heats melting each other.

I see you shine so brightly;

You say you reflect my light.

We break the laws of physics --

Two suns, two planets, side by side.

You hold me close and breathless;

I hold you near and blend with you.

We break the laws of physics --

Two beings occupying the same space and time.

After 60

When the fires of our youth just glow as embers

and our future, a review of mem'ries that are past;

when our bodies bend from years of working,

and years speed by, and hours only minutes last;

when you and I in meeting eyes find wonder

that happiness is framed in past tense words,and now, today, this minute is all that matters,

but planning next year's life seems too absurd,

Let us then relish our remaining time together,

enjoying how we've grown and what we are,

giving uniquely of our time and talents

and spreading the love we created near and far.

So shall the fire's embers flare anew.

I shall be happy, and so will you.

Ursula T. Gibson (UrsulaTG1@aol.com) is the Poetry Editor for Poetic Voices, an E-zine at www.poeticvoices.com which has been published for the last eight years, winning several awards in the process. Her own poetry has been published in the United States, England, India, Australia, and Canada, she has published three chapbooks and recorded one CD of her poetry, called "Spirited". Her book, "Be Prepared, Don't Mumble, Look UP! or How To Read Poetry Aloud" is available from the publisher or from her for $9.00 plus S&H of $1.30 in the USA or $2.30 elsewhere.

For the last 35 years, she has been married to "the Astronomer" and expects that the relationship may continue a little longer although she says it is mind-bending and "way out"! She lives in southern California near Los Angeles, with husband, two ginger tabby cats, a small garden, and poetry.