Vigil On A Winter Night
I was ten, my little sister eight.
She was irreplaceable. I could not
Do without her.
Excited, we were looking out
The living room window
For a bus bringing our grandparents.
It was snowing, flakes as big as moths.
Slush was spreading on the pavement.
Exultant bells rang in the streets.
How glorious Christmas Eve
When you are a child or an old man
Like me with a child’s heart.
Her
Crimson trees of another autumn dazzle me.
Sunlight reflects like a mirror off the calm lake
Where ducks and geese swim smoothly as boats.
Could I have one hour peace of mind and heart
I would choose to spend this hour here with her
She is so central to my life.
A curative southerly wind fresh as a flower befriends
Us. Gulls in the sky hover like clouds.
The odors of frying fish make us hungry and fishermen
Wearing hooks in caps contribute “’Good day for fishing.”
We drop our perplexities in a conversation on a park
Bench as if to agree to confront them another less- lovely day.
She ties her scarf against a chilly breeze. Her green eyes,
Her voice, so soft, her kindness…Her every rare quality
Overwhelms me.
Judy Wazorick
We were in grammar school together.
She had a blue eye and a brown
And sat in the last seat of the last row.
She was very shy, but when I looked at her
She smiled at me.
Now I see she won’t be at the reunion,
And I am so sad because Judy Wazorick
Has passed away.
Sappho Poem
Sappho wrote her poems 3,000 years ago. They are considered the greatest Greek lyric poems ever written, and Sappho is heralded as the greatest Greek poet. Here is a poem of mine in tribute to Sappho.
Atthis, you ask what is more desirable,
Wealth or romantic love.
A woman in my arms is all in all,
Her eyes that contain me, the perfumed
Scent of her, her hands firm on my thighs,
Her lips on my lips wet, soft, the golden flowers
Adorning her hair, missing her when she leaves,
Longing for her, calling her name, thinking
Only of her from the rising sun that lights the world
To memories of her that I know will never forsake me.
Wealth is a false substitute for deep feelings
Between lovers, the sweet sensations of romance.
Little Friends
My dog and cats have died
But the squirrel who loved them
Comes every morning to sit on the fence
Waiting for their return.
Spring Break
I took the train in spring from college
To visit my Great Uncle
And pushed him in his wheel chair.
His spirits were high, our being together.
His friend said, “Good looking boy, Charlie”
It was my last brief visit before his death.
How mournful his life was, the loneliness
For a human presence in his sick room and the hardships
Of a sad and old widower hobbled on an amputated leg.
Why didn’t I stay with him longer? Why did I hurry
When I had so much time to spare in my young, selfish life?
A Writer Waking Up
They are there in me when I wake
In the morning after a sleepless night–
The feelings of misery that need
Medicine to dispel them, and two cups
Of coffee to waken the heart so that
I might write as I am conditioned to–
Always, however unwell.
Beautiful Lady At The Fair
At the history museum today
I saw that life-size photograph of you
Turning a corner
In the rain
Carrying a parasol
At the World’s Fair
A century ago.
What do you mean to me?
What do your long lace gloves,
Flowing gown,
Plumed hat, and gentle face
Signify to me?
Why does the memory of you move me
And puzzle me so?
What were you like?
Where were you going after the fair?
Were you meeting someone for dinner?
What had you not told anyone
That you might have told me
Had we met,
Had I known you?
Why do I feel such deep
Friendship with you
And wish I too at that moment
Was turning that corner
Under those rain clouds
Talking and laughing with you
That day long ago?
Persistence of Memories
I didn’t think that memories of that day
When we inhabited our bodies with inexpressible
Emotions, though intangible, would persist through
All the successive years, nothing as real, everything
Else vanishing in comparison, or that our lives would
Change as had waves splashing on a beach.
A Day As Flat as Illinois
A day as flat as Illinois–nothing
To look forward to, nothing to
Remember or forget; a typical day–
Waiting for something to happen.
Ernest Hemingway and Friend
At a family get together I told my mother’s cousin
From somewhere out west that I had read in a
Hemingway biography that he and Hemingway
Were close friends as boys, that both aspired to
Be writers, both contributed features to the
School literary journal, and that Hemingway
Said that in their youth his friend was
The better writer. His friend smiled at me
Modestly and replied,” I don’t know about
That. Ernie was very good.”
© 2026 David J. Rogers
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Successful artists and writers–perhaps you–make conflict-free habitual use of a dominant faculty in an art form. That is, if they are painters they wish to paint without interference–conflict free. They are confident. Hockey goalies need confidence. People in the arts need confidence just as much. They paint or write, they chisel in stone. They author books. They produce beautiful works and that is the ultimate goal of art–to add to the store of works that have beauty. Art and beauty are synonymous.
Every flaw is correctible. Once we are aware that flaws in ourselves that could sabotage our creativity do exist, we can set out to rid ourselves of them, beginning with taking action–doing something productive before another moment passes, not griping, not pitying yourself, not worrying, and not putting off. Then we will feel a burst of wellness in our minds and spirits.
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