A Sampling of Poems from
THE ECHO OF APPLAUSE
by
Bob Birch
© 2004
Gray Tones
I walked alone,
breathing in the damp air
of a gentle midwinter rainfall.
A gray sky hangs heavy overhead,
robbing me of robust colors,
birds appear black
against a monotonic background,
barren trees, stark in this composition
pen and ink sketches of gray tones
and despair.
My moods, like the weather,
have been unpredictable.
My life colorless.
I wait for the sunshine to warm
to brighten my world.
You are my sunshine,
but today,
I walk alone.
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It Only Gets Worse
I’ve found now that I am much older,
It’s harder to sleep through the night,
I know that my hands get much colder
and to read I need twice as much light.
I’ve lost all control of my figure,
regardless of what I might eat,
if my tummy gets very much bigger,
I’ll never again see my feet.
It’s hard now to hear on the phone,
my hearing is pretty much shot,
I’ve lost half the teeth that I own,
and I’ll even lose those that I’ve still got.
My moods are more down than they’re up,
I worry of some things mundane,
and dribble when using a cup,
Thank God, I am still somewhat sane.
But could be you’ll think this is wrong,
that I still think of playtime in bed,
these thoughts are quite vivid and strong,
although now they’re confined to my head.
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Too Much
You ask me to be your friend,
but my love exceeds friendship.
You want me to be just a friend
and I must, then,
cherish mere minutes
between days you spend
with your lover.
You value me as your friend,
but your time and energy
do not belong to me
and I feel of little worth.
You touch me as a friend,
the touch impersonal,
there are no kisses I can claim,
your passion is not mine.
I am but a friend,
and that does not hurt you.
You hurry off to see your lover
so easy to leave me,
and my heart bleeds.
You do not know my pain,
for I love you much too much
to be but your friend.
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Winter
Seems summer is my favorite time
when I am feeling at my prime
and all my poetry will rhyme,
but most of life is winter.
It’s when the sun is at its peak
and I forget when it was bleak
my verse to everyone will speak,
but I am mute in winter.
It really will be cold today,
the sky above is very gray
and I have many things to say,
but words get lost in winter.
And so I’ll write some silly verse
that’s trite or dumb or even worse.
I think this is the poet’s curse,
but spring soon follows winter.
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