7 Poems by Nolo Segundo
Missing Nana
I’m in the decade before the decade
she left the world, and my world.
The world did not mark it,
the world did not miss her
(any more than it will miss me)
but my world of lost childhood does—
my world of sun-gold and ocean-blue,
my own little world reading book after book
whilst sitting like a happy little king on
the porch of my grandparents’ old
house on the bay in Ocean City….
I read in gentle sunshine, I read
while breathing pure ocean air
and sometimes smelling a cake
baking in Nana’s kitchen and
knowing I was safe, sure, alive….
I’m in the decade before the decade
my Nana left the world, and as I near
the time when—God willing—I’ll be
with her again, the 40 odd years since
she left my world compress, smaller and
smaller Time itself becomes, and freer
and freer is my once lost soul….
In My Grandmother’s Day
Nana told me once
How she and Pop-pop
Went courting in a
Horse and buggy.
How quaint I thought,
And was a just a bit
Amazed how far we
Humans have gone—
From a smelly plodding
Horse to crossing a vast
Ocean in an afternoon
While six miles high.
Then Grandma told me
Something shocking:
She said they went out
In that carriage to make
Love! Nana! I gasped to
Myself, until I saw she
Meant the words literally.
My grandparents went
Courting to make the
Love that would hold
Them together for
Sixty-three years…
And I am here
Because two young
People took long
Buggy rides behind a
Tired, smelly horse.
Ode To Mrs. Miller
I did not know how brave she was—
Ninety-two and I, seventy less,
So young that old age
Was textbook stuff:
A fact of life,
But not mine.
I was alive and free
To stride the world,
A colossus of youth—
Whereas she had ate
Almost a century.
And all her friends
And all her family
Lay dead somewhere—
Except in her mind,
Still crisp, poignant
In its memories
Of a wealthy husband,
A daughter dead young.
Her own youth and beauty
Remaining lonely in a
Silver-framed photo.
She never complained,
This old lady—
Never once did I hear
Lamentations, a bewailing
For the richness of life:
The ripe fullness she once felt
As a wife, a mother, a woman
Of grace and beauty.
She lived alone
In a basement flat,
Barely five feet tall—
Yet I’ve never known
Any being braver—
Yet it is only now,
When I am become old,
I envy such courage.
WHEN A WIFE FLIES HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD
When my wife flew halfway round the world
to see her father in Asia,
I thought, well, only for two weeks —
piece of cake.
Then something strange happened--
the house got twice as big,
and felt empty, oh, so empty,
as though abandoned by life….
Then time itself slowed, sooo slow
that days passed leaden, like
boring speeches that went on and on,
sooo slow I could hear
old man Time dragging his feet
and I wanted to scream….
I hadn’t realized-- after 40 years
she is a part of me, not, repeat,
not figuratively, not a metaphor,
but a part of me, if not body,
then certainly soul….
And when she returned,
after 15 hours in the belly of a big bird,
my house shrunk back to its normal size,
and old man Time again began
marching briskly, and my soul?
My soul was whole once more….
A Passing Glance
The other day
as I turned the corner
onto my quiet street
I saw a woman so perfect,
she snatched my breath away
as she waited to cross the road.
It was like seeing a movie star
or a beauty queen close up—
my heart ached a bit, I confess,
when I thought, once, a long time
ago, I might have had a chance….
But now I’m just an old man
driving an old car to an old house.
I drove slowly and could see
her gracefully crossing the street
in my rear-view mirror, much
like a dream fading quickly away …
suddenly, from somewhere far
beyond my mind, I realized
the truth of what I saw: that
it was all just stupid illusion—
she was young and beautiful,
I, old and lame, but those were
just markers on the wheel of time.
The wheel would turn,
my body would die, hers would age,
no longer enrapturing men—in truth
she was already an old woman which
I could not see, nor could I see the
sweet child still playing within her.
When there are no more days left,
our souls will be free of the wheel,
and all the world’s illusions will
seem as distant, fading dreams….
TO A FORMER LOVER
Unlike you,
I will not renounce
The passion of my youth—
Now I am old
And the fire burns low.
I do regret my sins,
Mostly of omission:
Failing to tell of love,
And sharing of love.
The women I’ve known
Could fill a ballroom.
Glad I am I danced
With each in turn, yet
I wished I had held her
Tighter, lifted her higher,
Given joy to get joy.
I wish I could love
Each of my loves again—
Playing with her toes,
Caressing her calves,
Sliding my hands along
Her tense, waiting thighs.
Then kissing the nape of her
Neck while bathing in her hair,
And finally, finally, seeing
The smile behind her eyes.
WHEN THE WARM DAY DIES
When the warm day dies
And the cool night sets in,
Then I’ll be there, beside
You my love, feeling the
Heat of a beating heart,
My arms wrapped round
Your empty shoulders as
I whisper silent words of
Love and longing in your
Lonely, unadorned ear….
Nolo Segundo, much to his astonishment, became a published poet in his 70s in over 220 literary journals in 18 countries and 3 collections in paperback released on Amazon by Cyberwit.net: THE ENORMITY OF EXISTENCE; OF ETHER AND EARTH; and SOUL SONGS. He has an essay, “The Day I Remembered My Soul,” and several other pages of poetry, published on the site elsewhere.
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