meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2020 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   352411 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
<< [Previous]

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

A Man Of The Clouds

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn



Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

A Smattering Of Mattering (How Do You Matter)

NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)

WHAT WILL YOU THINK GENTLE READER, AFTER YOU'VE FINISHED READING THIS?...We Are All Star Children

Not My Season

I Will Return

Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)

Belle Du Jovan

The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Informed Through Pain

All Too Clearly Now

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

Shrine

Silver-Tongued Devil

TONIGHT

The Factory of Resentments

Expect Yourself

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

One Which Brings Me Unending Release

Where The Weird Actually Tried To Turn Pro

Accountants

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Open Lines

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

Max on the max


me and my love
are riding the max
its near midnight
a sunkist-orange lunar eclipse is peering in
through open windows
a prescient wind is rifling through our hair

across the way
the Eastbounder passes slowly creaking
a man glides through our open window...

its Max

oh my God
Max on the max
long-dead Max
our friend
the poet the playwright
the lover of America's national past-time

hello he greets us
its me,
Max on the max

we gape open-mouthed
almost not believing our eyes

not so polite to look
so surprised
ask THE question
he says...

well, is there baseball in
heaven
dear Maximillian?

yes there is
and I watch my son
playing ball
every chance I can get
he says

we pause
caught in the tangle of the wind
caught in the tangle of his words
caught in the tangle of our memory
of so much baseball

the baseball of our youth
the penant races of our former town
and Max's final season

and now the endless one
up in heaven
with all the boys of summer


Copyright October 12 2015 2:11 pm PST
All Legal Copyrights Are Reserved By This Author/Writer
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World and DREAMS
Legal Copyright to this site title as well

dearest Max...father, friend, baseball lover,
 teacher and all around
wise counselor...how you are missed and not replaceable.


This is the Eastbound Max Train going across the Steel Bridge.





Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem

Comments

 Email Address

 

Vote for this poem