ISSN 1556-4975

OffCourse Literary Journal

 Published by Ricardo and Isabel Nirenberg since 1998


Poems by George Freek


The moon is the head of an axe,
splitting the night in pieces.
Leaves fall in the night.
dying without a fight.
They go so gently,
it almost seems right.
When I look at the stars,
they are very small,
like bells on the cap of a fool.
Life is difficult to grasp.
Our life is brief and cruel.
But then it doesn't last.
A last leaf withers on a branch.
When I reach for it,
it crumbles in my hand.



I have many shameful habits,
of which I won't speak.
When I seek solace, the moon
is a willing priest.
He demands no penance.
Time accumulates.
I realize too late
I have wasted my life.
At my funeral, the stars
will be my mourners.
They'll look on in silence,
distant by light years,
and they will shed no tears.


IN MEMORIAM (After Mei Yao Chen)

Standing by the grave
of my wife, it's only here,
when I'm near death,
that I appreciate life.
My wife's grave is nestled
in the shadow of a tree,
a shadow which
will soon cover me.
What must be, will be.
Memories are all I have,
and they are painful.
So of what use is poetry?


George Freek's poetry has recently appeared in 'Big Windows Review'; 'The Tipton Poetry Journal; 'Torrid Literature' and 'The Adelaide Magazine'. Plays are published by Playscripts, Inc.; Lazy Bee Scripts; and Off The Wall Plays.

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