My dad had an old, dusty radio in the garage

It would play country music

And give weather reports

And deliver the news

And cause dad to whistle along sometimes

One day it said the war was over

I asked my dad, “Is the war really over?”

“No, not really,” he said.

2008 By David Jacobi

When we die young, it is a tragedy

When we die middle, it is suspicious

When we die old it is about time

2008 By David Jacobi

A Kiss

A kiss

Runs to my lips

Who is it looking for

What does it want

Does it know

Where it is going

Has it been anywhere

Is it happy

Or sad

Or some place in between

A kiss

Is ready to leave me

It might win

Or loose

It might not care

A kiss

Is coming

Are you ready

(2000) By David Jacobi

I began writing poems as a kid, and have enjoyed creating them, off and on, ever since. Poetry is hard to appreciate, or even read, because it is the jottings of people who are out of their minds. Not crazy, there is a difference. Many people can not lose themselves, get out of their minds, because the many distractions of life don’t allow them much free time. Poets make the time to wander, wonder, ponder, lose themselves and go out of their minds. I am going to share one of my poems a month. Most of them are pretty short, and they can’t compare to the works of the good poets that made a living out of writing poetry. I like to dabble here and there while occasionally going out of my mind.