Pondering Walden. For my son Nathan. A Poem

Happy Birthday Nathan. I am so thankful you exist.

Gerald the Writer

We live close to the 42nd parallel.
Hitch-hiking isn’t necessary.
My son and I could walk
to the answer of the universe.

This orb wrapped and warped
in time zones in which
we are set in the illusion
of stop motion frames.

Nothing ever stops.
The rain pelts and the planets
carousel the egotistical sun.
We are under it half as much.

Is Greenland’s melted ice
coming down and overflowing
our pond’s aperture?
Such a small lens it is.

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Monday Mourning, After the Sun Went Down.

It’s been three years and you are missed. Love you Mom.

Gerald the Writer

It is another Monday.

Most of the out-of-towners

have gone back to their life.

My son and I watched

a blood orange sun

disappear beyond the edge

of the earth.

Near the end

it appeared bigger

and sunk faster.

It was like the death

of my mother.

At the end we stared.

We counted her

freckles and wrinkles

and the rise and fall of her chest.

At the time it seemed like eternity,

but now the memory is a short journal entry.

It is like taking out a granite tablet

and jotting down her life in a sentence.

The beauty was fleeting

and we wanted to touch it.

There was once a big moon

as big as a get-well balloon.

There was a big sun

as big as a farewell.

© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.

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Infinity begins

just above the tree line,


where weighted thoughts

are cast,


and ponderings fidget

through the crack.


And the bright dead

leaves curl and roll.


Let us slip our enveloped

thoughts through


the slit of heaven

and earth.


Lord, hear our prayer.

Church On

Sewn, darned.

Peace in pieces,

sole friction

frayed heel worn.

Two step tension

slide or let it ride.

Dance with unmatched

socks over the cracks

in the sanctuary floor.