Randy Smith
by Randy Smith
Syrian Cat
A soldier shares so a cat can be fed.
At first, the photo appears black and white
But the cat is orange, the man’s headscarf red.
The grime of battle has made hues less bright.
How many wars have in Aleppo waged?
And how often, in this city made bleak,
Has this exact performance been restaged
By Hittite, Turk, Persian, Roman, or Greek?
Speaking of this act seems a waste of breath.
That a sad man and lost cat should have met
Among such destruction, despair, and death
Is an encounter without sense. And yet.
Two creatures communing contentedly
Is like a glimpse of what the world should be.
Far Ahead
The bright sunmade the beach an immense spread
Of blindingwhiteness and oppressive heat.
But with scoop andpail, the child trudged ahead
While hot sandstung his tiny, tender feet.
Parents andbrothers, specks along the shore,
Called for him tojoin them in the sea spray.
But each ebbing tidepool tempted him more
And whispered heshould stop and with them play.
In one pool, hecooled his toes and giggled,
Then saw nearby a giantseaweed strand,
A lurking monster thatshook and wiggled.
Scared, he stoodand on his little legs ran.
The hourglass has oftenturned. Light’s grown dim.
And those whocalled to him from that far shore
Now beckon him inother waves to swim.
He knows that oftime there is not much more.
But in dreams, he stillsees that white, wide band.
Of seaweedmonsters, tempting pools, and sand.
Surprised Lover
What’s in thisword love that used without thought
Conjures itselffrom seeming emptiness,
Used as tender forsomething to be bought,
Refunds buyer withgreater kindliness?
On the night I sawyou, I wanted you.
And acted a part,to that role giving
All the attributesthat lovers do,
Never dreaming mylie I’d start living.
For when our nakedbodies were enrapt,
I feigned passionsthat were not truly felt,
Then found myselfwithin those passions trapped.
The firm linebetween truth and lie did melt.
In the doing, Ifound false become true,
And ne’er feltbefore what I felt for you.
When lovers becomestrangers
What moment werewe sure our love was past,
Our good-byessimply a matter of time?
Was it on thebeach that day overcast,
That day your handfelt light and dry in mine?
Lovers, youngerlovers, kissed and made out
Right there on thesand. What light hearts had they!
Mentioned not byus, but envied, no doubt
For their warmlove on that cold, cloudy day.
Tired, you triednapping. I tried a book.
But its pagesflipped and from my hand hung.
I felt lonely, butto you could not look.
Even your namefelt foreign on my tongue.
And mixed with thepain I knew would follow,
From that dayforth all things became hollow.
