by Richard Fein
Now it’s called a chronograph.
No longer will grandpa pull a golden circle from his pocket,
flip the lid open, softly pat my head and tell me it’s time for bed.
Time is more precise today.
Moments are measured in flashes,
each flash a second, and always the present second.
Gone, like grandpa,
is that familiar round face
and hands that open and close by minute degrees.
Only the now pulses before my eyes.
And this change is:
realistic, for new does quickly replace old;
deceptive, for my time really does pass in circles
and winds down.
RIME OF THE OFFCOURSE NAVIGATOR
by Richard Fein
Sweep clean this closet of reminiscence,
these photo albums lying under hanging clothes,
these dark-recess snapshots of ex friends, lovers, wives,
and even the ones of dad, mom, and baby me.
Keep the baby shots but packrat them away.
Ex the exes, empty each album,
in fact trash altogether these albums of regret??
these photo photons, these captured sequestered lights,
these one-time stars of my ever dimming heaven,
these long since reshuffled constellations
that I’ve been following in circles, leading myself nowhere.
Richard Fein was a finalist in The 2004 New York Center for Book Arts Chapbook Competition A Chapbook of his poems was published by Parallel Press, University of Wisconsin, Madison. He has been published in many web and print journals such as Reed,Southern Review, Roanoke Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Mississippi Review, Paris/atlantic, Canadian Dimension, Black Swan Review, Exquisite Corpse, Bad Penny Review and many, many others.
He also has an interest in digital photography and many poetry magazines have published many of my photos. Samples Of His Photography Can Be Found On http://www.Pbase.Com/Bardofbyte