Poetry Niche – April 2024

Robert D Lopez

Profesor emeritus, California State University Sacramento

I have dedicated 45 years to my beloved field of education.

I have served as faculty, counseling psychologist, teacher, coach, athletic director, mentor and friend.

I enjoy travel, sports, music, arts, literature and writing poetry and songs.

My poetry books “Eggs Benedict,”and “Seasons of Thoughts” and my “Personal Memories,” will available soon.

“Writing the world is my personal therapeutic savior.

It allows and demands of me the freedom to express my most inner-thoughts without explanation”

A Final Romance

If I take your mind away

imagining that we have known

other songs the same way

all of everything is a romance

until at last is death

So, Spring will be here

Forming a new scene

as background

to a final theater


Beyond Thought

Needing me more than anything of life

Is music as it wells the chest and sings

Of sorrow for no other reason than a truth

Forever reminding strangers who they are

By tone clear into air freeing itself

But with such understanding it could weep

For overwhelming loneliness

Must be the companion of all beauty

Happening beyond human thought


February Ache

We will live around to Spring again

Through cold and heavy breath of winter

Something dies to be born blossoming

The most naked embarrassment of hope

A flower is the delicate thought of February

When nothing matters but an ache of Air


Freedom Is Love

The moment only will triumph

stirring at leaves fragile to a tree

The coming darkness is excited with this season

Has tumult been too long

Upon children when they must masquerade

longing as they do for better time

Could prayer arrive with actual peace

A turning of color believing new Autumn

I have touched thinness and know freedom is to love


Gift Of Life

The naked answer

Alive infall directions

Comes as quiet breeze

And blossoming thick in summer

A great caravan becomes silence

As though trouble would finally go away

I see this is the truth of faces

full of pain and longing to survive

because the only gift is life


Wedding Autumn

 The gnarled tree is desperate with a gift of leaves

Greenly singing above wooden barked limbs

All for autumn on calendars of dying days

Fast into a journal of salvation

Quicker even than a word feels

This song of motion would become

In hope of nothing less than God.

Came home the young soldier marches from home

Upon a thickening fields of continuous steps

To slice away darkness from the heavy thunder

Edges slowly the growing up mountains

Into lonely style coming leanness

Within a lofty cloud trembles one tear

Magically clear through hollow noise

A flute trickes down severing thicker notes

Fuller in light tones dripping richness

Forward to the bridge and jamming branches

Out further back to blues away chording

And the bass deeply is the base of things fierce

To melody demanding creative accord

Then freedom in its turn from confinement

Happens together with feeling trumpets

Of sadness grow mellow kindly because the flute

Had a song for thing of journey being.

January Field

Turning away from itself

Somehow toward blossoms

quiet before the guts of earth

Where vision makes me blind

traveling to another age

No longer angry with what is given

The sounding birds in fierce air

a greatness of belief in seasons

out of fragile wings into the clear

unquestionable as peace becoming day


Salvation Of Thought

The coming and going darkness

Like weight measuring time

Surely as it is with day

On the other side of night

The numberless sunrise

continues waking a heart

To beat upon the brain for hope

That we will not end without meaning

For all the brutally of our naked scars

Pitifully praying for salvation of thought



 Suddenly from somewhere

She appears in my thoughts

A beautiful person

Whose eyes I have caught

She moves with finesse

Exquisite, such grace

Her smile a Mona Lisa

Such a beautiful face

I see her a flower, a bird on a tree,

Exposing such strength, the roar of the sea

She sits on her rock, analyzing the stars

Tracing constellations from Venus to Mars

She is sensual, perceptive, sexy and bright

Can light up the dark

My God, what a sight.


Time Of Love

I have thought of love

and lived in time with people

As a traveler coming in the storm

Seeking refuge from a terrible wind

Whatever season is on the year

A force carries me through incredibly alone


The Magi

I want to tell you of the Magi

who comes into human bodies

through goldness of trumpets

turning away is most of this

from what my hand touches

into the flow of thickening prayer

Far off in a fantasy of garments

unsoiled by the funk and meaning

is for life the Magi


The Poet Got Loose

Something happened to me

That I do not understand

The Poet got loose on my life

Suffered with me and stayed

Till there is not bird

But the one who can save my life

And it could be an Eagle

But they are so common

To writers and I need a Hawk

Who gets just part of the prey

The main heart of a thing

My own self in each action

A truth against spaceness

Some wall between death.



When I have thoughts

and I need to think

I go to my favorite spot

My kitchen sink

I look out the window

dish soap on my hands

There’s no place I can’t go

There’s really no plan

I can dream of tomorrow

With no thoughts of sorrow

I can tell stories, I can sing songs

Why? Because there’s no right


Mel Goldberg
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