Poems by George Freek
I HEAR A MOCKINGBIRD
Time flows into a nothingness
that we call eternity,
but like an insidious disease,
time destroys unseen.
Was it for nothing
the Chinese sat beside
their venerable rivers,
studying ancient philosophies,
while gazing at the stars,
the stars which saw the pyramids built,
and empires fall like a house of cards?
Unconcerned, time flows over me,
as it has flowed for centuries.
From the passions of twenty-one
to the sorrows of sixty-three
is a short time
in the history of mankind.
It seems even shorter to me.
AT THE END OF A SHORT LIFE
Coming to its end, the year
is like a snake crawling
into a hole through
a rain-soaked field.
Years swiftly pass like winds,
as they appear to descend,
unnoticed, from the sky.
Clouds like trucks roll by
as if on an invisible assembly line.
Stars explode like cosmic firecrackers,
when they finally die.
Writing a poem for me,
is like climbing a tree.
In the mirror my face is
as ravaged as the Yellow River,
and only a month ago,
I felt like twenty-five,
when my wife was still alive.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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