poems by Milton P. Ehrlich

With a name like Lily, she had to endure


Bullets flew all around her

like swarms of stinging bees

since the day she was born.

Lily learned early on to make

use of her musical disposition

and began each day with a song.

The guns of war became the

drums of the songs she sang.

She grew flowers in the snow,

and no one knew how she grew

ruby-red pomegranates in winter.

A living flower herself with some

marvelous radiance that glowed.

All her friends ran for their lives

between the war-torn countries

of Bosnian Herzegovina, Serbo-

Croatia and Montenegro.

Lily never stopped smiling as she

witnessed courageous journalists

document the war crimes of those

monsters who would eventually be

brought to justice and spend the

rest of their lives in prison.




Sweet loneliness


Is what I feel every day

since you passed away.

Your loving energy

keeps me company

as I remember you

dancing for me like

a flower unfolding

in your quivering body.

You moved to the sound

of the whirring wings of

a flock of hummingbirds

drinking nectar from dahlias

and forget-me-nots

we planted in our garden.

There was nothing

more certain than

our love for each other

that will comfort me

until the day I join you

in the world beyond.




Memories drenched in sunlight


An old guy enjoys lunch

of yesterday’s seafood salad

on his sunny front porch

watching cars roll by as he

wonders where they’re all going.

He focuses on the tasty warm

linguini leftover reminding

him of the tender parts of his

deceased wife’s entire body.

He remembers how much

it pleased him to please her

over and over again on long

sunny afternoons when they

went for walks in the woods.




Listening for you


When I call you these days

you’re not there anymore.

There is no you or there

there the way it used to be.

We used to spend hours

on the phone discussing

why you weren’t ready

to marry me as we listened

to our favorite mucisians.

I keep leaving a message

for you to call me, but

you never return my calls

Please call me back.

I will keep waiting.




An artist all the time


The whole wide world is her canvas,

paying attention to every moment

of sensation with curiosity and awe.

She exploits an endless imagination

to create what has never been seen

or heard before.

Every stick in a pick-up-sticks become

a note in a musical composition.

Every scent in a garden of roses

becomes a perfume sought

by the most elegant women.

Anything touched with tender finger-

tips is stored in a library of sensations

to be included in the finest poems of

every poet Laureate.  And don’t forget

olfactory discoveries from foreign nations

that are included in the best recipes known

in the finest restaurants in every country.

This artist is alive like no other artist.

Those who make her friendship are enriched

with a fierce awakening they could not have anticipated.


poems by Milton P. Ehrlich

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