March 9, 2013

Two poems by William Fraker

Night Life

The moon is magnetic.
It pulls old men out of bed,
to wander in nightshirts or half their pajamas. 
Beams beckon to navigate halls,
with hidden compasses,
pointing to unseen fantasies and traumas.

Unresolved conflicts from the day before hold hands.
They dance through dreams;
childhood beatings,
awkward parties,
shy first kisses,
backyard tackles.
forgotten  lines.
Without touching the banisters,  
sleepwalkers stumble on the horizon,
kitchen floor linoleum,
hours before the sun.

 No Closings Announced

January is hard to take
              without snow.

Where are the flakes falling,
  both day and night;
               cold leading to wood fires and cocoa?

Schools remain open and children fail
               to slide down long hills
  into a thrill of flying;

 Only gray,
   not pregnant
   with a blinding new beauty.

William Fraker, author of Nostalgia Resides in the Marrow and Winner of Aquillrelle Poetry Contest, 4, Silver, has poetry in several on-line journals and contributed to Muscadine Lines: A Southern Anthology (KHR Ventures, 2006). He is a member of the Midlothian Writers’ Workshop and lives near Richmond, VA, USA. 

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