When He Died

by Allen Plone

when he died
I thought
so did hope

then I thought
no. It died
long before

with unwanted gifts
wrapped in failure
stinking of defeat

lightless nights
thin covers
and no bed to sleep in

cold that came
as much from within
than the winter without

When he died
I was alone
in his room

crowded with ghosts
caught between love
and shame.

Allen Plone's picture

Born in 1947, once a San Francisco hippie, living in Haight at the height of its glory, with two MAs, one in Creative Writing and one in the History of Consciousness, but unwilling to finish my Ph.D thesis, I chose, instead, to be become a filmmaker, script writer and to live a semi-legitimate life in Los Angeles, California, USA. Happily married to my college sweetheart, who, too, is in the business of film, I’ve directed three feature films, many television shows and children’s programs. Two children’s books, Ned Smiles, and ABC For You and Me, three published short stories, the winner of the Rosebud Award For Creative Writing for the short story, “The Cowboy of My Heart, ” and four published poems, in Response, Moon and other now gone and mourned poetry journals comprise the visible part of my literary life. Despite the sadness reflected in much of my poetry, I consider myself a happy person.

Last updated April 06, 2015