The Local
oak and leather corner pub
warm glow of Guinness
tensions softly fold to sighs
beyond these walls
irrelevance
Speakers
Eyes
That widen in surprise
Tear in sympathy
Smile
Pen
That writes of playful things
Whose ink spills out in flourishes
Drawing pictures in words
Laptop
That clicks with musical beat
Whose letters speak to screen
In engineered friendship
Screen
That explodes, whispers, cries
a tale I don’t want to hear
but I can’t turn off
Hands
That speak of love
With the softest caress
on the cheek
Voice
Muffled by mask
That can’t hide the smile
In the eyes
Ode to Candle Stub
Wax almost spent, wick bent and blackened
dripping life blood of self in service
sleeping old soldier
bivouacked in the back of the drawer
Ignored
found when pawing for pen or twist tie
always ready, willing to accept
the sweet kiss of fire, illumine
the great pool of dark as strong as
younger, taller, more fortified
tapering heights
Service to the end of life
Service to the depths of self
Service highly valued
to the stubby end
Cathy Hollister is an older writer whose poetry often explores the treasures embedded in age, isolation, and continual readjustments. When not writing you might find her on the dance floor enjoying the company of friends or deep in the woods basking in the peace of solitude. Her work has been in Silent Spark Press, Humans of the World Blog, Open Door Magazine, Beyond Words Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine, Poet’s Choiceanthologies, and others. She lives in middle Tennessee.
