Pick me up

Pick me up

Afternoon coffee,

sits in my cup but briefly
desperately gulped. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Father to Father

 Father to Father

I heard him before I saw him.
Turning, he waddled to me slowly
as if burdened by his own heartache,
and mournfully gave another honk,
sad and low.

At my fee he sat,
and stared up at me.
Was he after bread?
Answers?
The voice of a friend?
I could only offer one.
I knelt down,
showing my hands,
free of blood,
empty of bread.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Sad and slow.

He bowed his head briefly,
as if in understanding,
or perhaps his own sorrow.
I took my hat off 
and bowed my own in return.
A prayer to Juno
that he and his mate,
wherever she may be,
make it through
this heartache and pain,
whispered.
Sad and slow.

Two fathers,
one in mourning,
the other in sympathy,
sitting together
in a broken and unforgiving world,
sad and low.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Hopium

Hopium

I am an addict:
Reality cut with Hope
lets me limp along...

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

The Abyss

The Abyss

Ideas, morphed to words, 
ripped from my soul and published
to silent masses.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved  

Mining

Mining 

Open my eyes, flick on the light,
write down the dreams I had that night,
hopefully to find
or perhaps to mine
some message divine.
One of hope, no matter how slight.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Good Morning! (Or evening if you stumble across this page then...) 

This is my attempt at the Clogyrnach style poem. It is a six lined Welsh poetic style that structured as follows:

8 syllables with an A rhyme
8 syllables with an A rhyme.
5 syllables with an B rhyme.
5 syllables with an B rhyme.
5 syllables with an B rhyme.
8 syllables with an A rhyme

That being said, how do you think I did?

Hobbled

Hobbled

Trying to get home, 
stuck with a monitored car, 
unable to speed. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Sorrow

Sorrow

Empty, and stripped bare.
Momma, Papa, eggs
all gone…
save two…
shattered in the remnants
of straw, string, and feathers
that once promised a happy nest,
a happy future…
the site of 5 little goslings
lined up in a row
as momma and papa lead them on,
to the delight of those watching.
A row that will never exist,
delight that will never manifest,
all seized in the night,
dashed upon the pavement.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved