Writing poems and poem-like pieces has been a great pleasure, at least for me! I have published four small collections so far.
They are presented on this website www.watershedpublications.org.
Also, I have brought all my poems and such together in one place and made them available online at www.gusspeth.org/complete-poems.
I continue to write poems and similar pieces. I present here some of these efforts, unpublished as of spring 2023.
Bread and Roses
When the big sea has stopped rising
and the maps we’re through revising
and I can think of storms as friends,
I’ll go down to the beach again.
I’ll stand still there in that bright surf
and sing a song to this dear Earth.
I’ll sing climate change to its end.
I’ll sing tears for where we have been.
I’ll sing to things that we have learned -
the fossils we should not have burned
releasing the power of former suns,
bringing losses that cannot be undone.
Sad losses the children will inherit.
Species gone without much credit,
thanks to the piles of money earned
and all the corners left unturned.
I’ll sing to anger rising still.
Our leaders let firms do their will.
The people did assert control
but not before the barons stole.
Our job is now to make the best,
finding purpose in what is left.
It is a joy to live to fight
and on that beach to fly two kites.
A Long Journey
The last time he put on shoes
he wore a hospital gown.
He took the hall elevator down
and walked out to the street
into a bright early fall sun.
He got some stale cashews
at the Dollar Tree, and
he ate them as he went
across a bridge of sighs.
On the other side, he found
a familiar mossy street
with its canopy of big live oaks
more ancient even than he.
Shuffling along the shade
he passed the skating rink,
the town baseball field,
his dad’s old repair shop.
It was a journey, but then
at the county fairgrounds he
saw the Ferris wheel turning.
He went right to the booth
where his high school class was
selling Earl Dukes barbeque
to fairgoers enjoying themselves.
She was working at the booth
and she smiled, and he sat there
at the counter a very long time.
Small Waves Putter About
The tide is out and the small waves putter about.
The beach stretches away as long as life.
Fragments of great shells gather in random piles.
Gray ocean, gray sky, shades of gray today.
The beach stretches away as long as life.
A dot of red in the sand, a child’s lost shoe.
Gray ocean, gray sky, shades of gray today.
Is this the way, in all these shades of gray?
A dot of red in the sand, a child’s lost shoe.
There was a child once with a bright blue bucket.
Is this the way, in all these shades of gray?
Was he the child and the sand flakes of gold?
There was a child once with a bright blue bucket.
A shimmering beach the day he fell for her forever.
Was he the child and the sand flakes of gold?
Her amber skin glowed in the noon high sun.
A shimmering beach the day he fell for her forever.
The tide was out and the small waves puttered about.
Fragments of great shells were glistening in the sand.
The beach stretches away as long as life.
Our Jack
Through Jack’s old brain
the ideas fly,
hardly stopping
to say goodbye.
He has to talk
to a big group.
He wrote his text.
It follows soup.
He wonders did
he brush his teeth.
His teeth feel Yes,
to his relief.
He did his tie.
His shirt was white.
Ready to go!
All seemed alright.
But things came loose.
Jack was midway,
his pages were
in disarray.
He had no choice.
Keep on reading!
No one noticed.
Fears receding.
It was over
in the middle,
and no one cared,
not one piddle.
The crowd it cheered.
They loved old Jack.
He was their man
with no going back.