Fellow Lit Critters, I'm happy to announce my first book of poetry has been published and is available at Amazon.com. To all those who commented on and critiqued my poems over the past few years, I say a hardy thanks.
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The book is titled "My Other Path" and if you wish you can search by title or author, Brian Osborn.
Here is the last poem in that book, dedicated to George Jones, the possum. May he rest in peace.
Poco a Poco
Music has no color; not the old copper
Of winter-bare branches nor the heavy slate
Of November sky, an orchestra has no measure
For angular shadows bending up a wall
Music’s pulse is the beating heart.
I want my life’s end to be composed as Schumann’s
Kinderszenen; to lie back on silk ribbons of solo piano,
My tempo progressively less, rallentando, slowing –
“Softer” the conductor motions, his baton
Pointed downward, “Pianissimo”
My eyes will not quiver at death’s crescendo
But slowly fade, rendendosi – dying away
Little by little, poco a poco. My final breath
A deep, low sigh, basso profondo
In a minor key. Something you can sleep to.
The worst thing in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.
- E. W. Howe