Fred Wilbur

  • Learning the Names of Flowers

    Each day, when my wife reaches inside
    the mailbox,
    her eyes catch on the bright morning
    glories, whose vines have twirled up the post
    with glad faces. Somehow they know, […]

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    Measurement is ubiquitous in human endeavor throughout time and across cultures, and one could argue throughout the totality of existence. Anything cyclical contains a measurement for sure: orbits of […]

  • On highway 10 – high risk – no space to fall
    cars come so close at high speeds,
    their wind moves us in the wrong direction.
    On interstate 10’s entrance ramp, there’s
    8 inches of clearance between the wal […]

  • I am like that now, a green stem that will
    bend, not stay ground. Push my head into
    the down, blind me dirtily, put a heel on
    the back, rub the reject in, confound the chances,
    step on, dance the […]

  • I bought black flowers today.
    Black Satin petunias.
    And they really are black.
    Like the shadows of petunias.
    My wife says I bought them
    because I’m in love with death.
    I say I bought them b […]

  • Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

    Many readers may feel that the disrupting Covid-19 pandemic has changed poetry and more broadly the arts, forever. This may be true as many activities are now on-line and […]

  • The Day His Dad Died
                         for PK

    The phone rings and the news
    swells and pitches like a sleeper
    tossing on his thin mattress
    of goodbyes. Your father
    lay down, jabbed his pale finger
    in […]

  • Duck prints score the pond,
    the one out my window,
    the one where an egret
    roosts come spring,
    the one where a blue heron
    fishes in summer,
    the one where nuthatches
    sip drips on the […]

  • First Sonogram
    Seen from your upper
    window, down the block
    at some remove,
    an Edward Hopper black and white
    and grainy through the screen,
    a street lamp’s cone
    shines down. There,
    you notice a f […]

  • There is a perfection
    to the mockingbird’s song
    dropped from a black wire,
    to the white slashes
    of his spread tail feathers
    against this deep, clean blue.
    The choral repertoire
    of his hopes is […]

  • Revolution
    He watches the tail lights of her car
    disappear down the rutted driveway,
    throws a hammer after her
    yells don’t come back

    He turns towards his trailer
    weeds pushing through the metal s […]

  • During the months of our restricted movements, my wife and I have continued our nearly daily walking. Although we had developed the habit pre-Covid for the health of our bodies and minds, the pandemic has […]

  • Alone, timeworn—but still
    standing, even if its paint-scuffed radiators
    give no heat and its window frames
    leak and its doors don’t
    shut tight, everything foundering
    since its elder kee […]

  • “I was most grievously undone
    when I lost my footing on the shelf
    and swan dived to the floor
    splayed and back broken”,
    says the complete works of Shakespeare
    who now leans against the cash reg […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 6 years ago

    Building rituals out of nothingness,
    I’m sitting on a park bench, reading
    Wallace Stevens on a sunny day
    when the flashing shadow of a crow
    darkens my library book.
    Perfect, I think.
    Where are the t […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 6 years ago

    Christmas Eve Parable
    Phoebe, my five-year-old granddaughter adores the tiny
    wax Jesus who lies in the cradle of the creche that came
    down to us from now dead great grandparents. Wise men,
    Mary and Joseph, two […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 6 years ago

    CHOPIN’S HEART
    A brief apocalypse has taken possession of my person.
    The streets are full of melancholy.

    Yesterday I fell asleep on the bus.
    The sound of someone crying woke me.

    Was it the woman slumped i […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 6 years ago

    after Marie Howe
    It doesn’t matter that the sugar maple is leaning
    closer to the house, that the cluster of seeds
    I planted yesterday will wash away.

    Something doesn’t add up.
    The dishwasher sti […]

  • At university, I lived on A Cappella Lane, which dead-ended at the railroad tracks. Elm cool, the house had ivy as a front ‘lawn’ chaperoned by a short picket fence. The landlady had a walk-in basement apa […]

  • A STUDY IN RED AND WHITE

    Perhaps a poinsettia-shaped arrow,
    aimed perfectly by the mischievous son of Venus,
    brought pomegranate seed mayhem
    to this soul of mine.
    A red velvet cake secret
    snowballed […]

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