A poem about a walk through a snowstorm in a city park in which the walker comes upon a corpse who asks for help to be propped up so that it would not slip and fall to the ground.
Published by Gordon
I would hope that anyone who reads my poetry understands that I write what comes to my mind and it doesn't mean I'm the reality of the words. I mean that just because I write about alcoholism does not mean I am the character in the poems. I write about those I've known and those I know and a very wide grouping that is of sinners and saints, those who know who and where they are going and those who are completely lost. I am empathic. I write in the first person because I feel the reality of what I am writing about. Like Dean Martin pretending to be drunk while performing I am not what it may seem. Just a thought as I know some out there who read what I write see the words and not the art or the understanding of the problem I am commenting on, nor do they understand that the comment is for the purpose of illustration and not my own personal reality. Married to a wonderful woman who is my best friend. Ronald Reagan Conservative Republican. Masters of Accounting-Taxation, United States Marine, taught for 10 years at the University of South Florida, held the following professional certifications: CPA, CVA, CFA. Published author, currently writing three novels and a ton of poems. View all posts by Gordon