Poems by J.R. Solonche

Driving by a Group of Cows in the Rain

Thunderstorm.
Cows under an oak tree.

Suddenly, I feel compelled to stop,
jump out and cover them.

I want to throw my linen jacket over one.
I want to cut a branch for another.

I want to take the tarp off the tractor for a third.
I want to nail those old boards together for three more.

What am I thinking?
What things, what things we weep over.

 

I Envy People Who Know All The Names

I envy people who know all the names of trees
and those who know all the names of insects.
Or all the names of flowers.
Or dinosaurs.
Or seashells.

I once wanted to study geology, not for the sake
of knowing geology, but so I could know
all the names of rocks,
and of rock-forming processes,
and of rock-eroding processes.

For the same reason, I once memorized
the names of all of Napoleon's twenty-six marshals,
which I have since forgotten,
except for Bernadotte, and Murat, and Ney.

 

I Wrote on the Board the Word Success

I wrote on the board the word SUCCESS.
What does this word mean? I asked.
I pointed at one in the first row.
What does this word mean? I asked.
He made a face. It looked like a frown.
A big house, he answered. I pointed at
one in the last row. What does this word
mean? I asked. She did not hesitate.
A good job, she said. I pointed at one
in the middle of the class. What does
this word mean? I asked. He shrugged
and said, My own business. So it went.
A lot of money. Sports cars.  Rich lawyer.
Rich CPA. Finally someone said, What 
does it mean to you, Mr. S.? I smiled,
for I was prepared for this. Yet before
I could say, To be a better than average
person, then die without being a bother,
I blurted out, To win the Pulitzer Prize
for Poetry, and I dismissed the class.