Home » Poetry » Year 2: Day 87 – The Buoys

Year 2: Day 87 – The Buoys

I seldom am lost at sea
but occasionally
it gets rather dark
and the buoys who love me
appear when needed most.

Like a bear cub sister’s call of distress
that her brothers could hear through miles of trees,
the tears I wipe away leave streaks
that only they can see.

Then they’re library lions on either side
and the antidotes and the life preservers
thrown out from lighthouses, searching me
for hidden signs of need.

They afford me my gifts of silent nods,
of understanding, unrequested,
but all the more treasured by one who cannot
find the words to ask.


One thought on “Year 2: Day 87 – The Buoys

  1. Nice


    It’s late at night and I’m working at my computer, I like this time to do my writing my wife and kids are in bed sleeping. The house is quiet and there’s nothing to disturb me as I write.

    Well this night our tenant in the basement apartment has his girlfriend over. They’re playing like young lover’s do tickling and running around with the exuberance of youth, and I remember when Anne and I were young. How we would laugh and play and do all kinds of silly things that we never do now. I began to think about how I missed those days of living without a care in the world. This went on for about twenty minutes and I didn’t want them to wake up Anne and the kids so I went to the door to the common hallway and hollered down the stairs. “Joe! HEY JOE!”

    Joe opened the door and said, “I’m sorry about the noise.”

    “Not that,” I said, “If it hurts that much use Vaseline.”

    I didn’t hear a peep for the rest of the night.

    Josehf Lloyd Murchison

    My book Melodious verse was a little dark so I included a few things to make you laugh.


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