Gary Glauber

Lost Amid Clutter


She left her frenzied passion
in a kitchen drawer
where no one would find it,
deep within the cabin
surrounded by black pine forest
hidden hard within
the far side’s mountain range.
Such wilderness proves a reckless sprawl,
overgrowth and underbrush,
vegetative rage reaching out
in spindles and filaments,
nature’s supervening force
of ferns and green forgiveness.

There it sits dormant,
unable to crush innocent hearts
or force brazen behaviors
upon unsuspecting victims,
a powerful maelstrom
that can corrupt and bewilder,
coax and wheedle and transform lives.
It waits, a genie trapped,
for some unsuspecting weekend warrior
to someday uncover, in horror and delight.

Her life now is gray and simple,
a pale reminder of
young rush and thrum,
a distant birdsong
heard on the wind.


Noon at the Palace


The neon fuchsia azalea wall
provides entry to the garden’s peacock palette,
surrounded by copper beech and hemlock shadow.

Stepping gingerly on slate teardrops,
directed by inner flames and a smirking wind,
hollow revelations are swept through imagined twilight.

Invisible planets gather in circles to discuss loss,
the emptiness of eternity,
the lean thrill of repeated orbit,
the lazy labor of gravitational pull.

Do you not see the colors fade?

We bludgeon details that signify
ancient timelines and guiding tides.
Forsaken tourists, we listen,
then quickly turn to leave.


Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) is available through Amazon, as is a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press).