Poetry: Selections From John Yamrus

you

can’t

die yet,

 

she said,

 

you

haven’t 

finished your work.

 

     but,

          the moon.

what about the moon?

 

 

 

who needs heaven

 

when

i already have

 

this 

book

 

this 

room

 

this 

dog

 

and you.

 

 

 

he was

 

an unconscious 

lyric poet

and

 

a 

mean old 

motherfucker

 

with

his brains

all down his neck.

 

he

liked

old Soul music,

jelly beans, wet grass

 

and

the sound

the birds make

when they just get up.

 

 

 

he dreamed

 

he

was a god,

 

but

the dead dog

on the side of the road

 

knew better.

first

 

Rooney died,

then Belmonte, 

 

and now,

the only ones left

 

are 

me and you

and a hawk and a mouse.

 

 

 

at 74

 

i forget

almost all of it,

 

but,

i never 

will forget 

 

you.

Stella-dog,

 

on 

the couch,

 

in the

morning sun.

 

you

already

know it all,

 

don’t you?

we had

 

what 

all the others

 

hope 

to have.

 

we

still do.

 

the last thing

 

he 

said to me:

 

don’t

ever be

the knot...

 

always

be the rope.

 

 

 

the road

 

is not

the path.

 

 

 

 

 

John Yamrus has been a working writer for over 50 years, publishing 35 books, including 29 poetry collections, 2 novels, and 3 volumes of non-fiction. His work has appeared in nearly 3,000 magazines and anthologies worldwide. Recently, The Street and Present Tense were released by Anxiety Press.