A Tear Falls

a Mother cries
her son lost
needlessly
in war–
a futile struggle
determined by ideologies
Endorsed by many
yet
understood by few.

A vast notion of
patriotism
Fueled by power
words–duty, honor, freedom
semper fi
Revenge.
Sacrificed
for Mom & apple pie.

An emotional rage
against
Blind acceptance a
lonely cry
in the desert
Tears touching
A Mother’s heart
hardened
fallow ground.

Hope Deferred

Aside

“Hope Deferred”                 

Keith D. Sutton

I found myself struggling again

through periods I hoped I had

passed on and they had passed

through–wandered to another

hapless soul–left behind the

tormented moments, the hours,

and days, and weeks , and years. never

to return nor granting me peace. 

 

Yet here she was like a rejected p

fatal attraction forever present 

It the rear-view mirror. 

 

Perhaps she never truly walks away

or remains  silent  as she slips into

hidden crevices trap doors of

subterfuge and sleepy long

afternoon summer shadows only to 

eappear

at unexpected intervals

to torment in the name

of love

once

again.  

 

 

  

 

A List

“A List”
of my life

“The Practice of Poetry”
an external hard drive of music
160 gig,
cds,
dvds.

a canister of salt and pepper
for food eaten in the Lazy Boy
where I sit.

“Poet’s Companion”
“The Random House Thesaurus College Edition”
necessary for clarity.

“The Bedford Introduction to Literature”
a collection of short stories and poems
taught to my recalcitrant students.

Faulkner, Hemingway, Ellison,
Zora Neal, Langston, Whitman,
Beckett

all for attention beckon.

Franklin Templeton Fund folded on my left.
a future?
perhaps
a future of futility.

a new satellite system
booklet (with Tevo)
sadly beckons
as confusion reigns.

life’s simplicity
so complex.

poetry
from the masters
from me
unchanging.

modern technology
from where?
changes .. changes
and changing again.

life.

complex.
computers.
metaphors
of meaning.

reference guide
to the dish
from the roof
finding positioned
satellites flickering
floating deep in the sky

spreading signals of destruction
from Beirut,
Baghdad,
to Beijing.

keithdsutton

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“Daddy taught me”

“Dad taught me”

My brother,
dad’s desire—
waiting
in anticipation
with bated breath.

Junior
he called him
Camel’s smoke
flowing freely from
his nose
his lungs.

My sister an added
piece of the puzzle.
Galveston
Miamu

twins
us
times hard then.
We never knew.

Money made by men
who understood
the how
the why
the when.

Dad caught in the whirlwind of without.

But he saw—
he knew and
hell-bent
we would know
that which had passed him by.

second grade hauling furniture
to Kansas City
his sidekick
long nights
lonely roads.

loading trucks at the factory
soldier’s pants for ‘Nam
mom sewed.
as the irony
escaped me.

The importance of work
sweat and toil
labor
my Dad
revealed
without a word.

He never understood
simple things.

of children
of life.

He never had the expectancy
the opportunity
the hope.

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