Lazarus

Richard Alan Bunch

 

Lazarus was worth a laugh

in snow-shaved winters where

alone in echoing woods he could recite

souvenir verses and poetic snatches

from brisk evening airs.

 

Arias of summer came and went.

 

Lazarus would play in bales of hay

and listen to his radio.

Not once did he seem to mind playing

the joker at our tables.

 

Autumns rolled the way water falls;

whispers of age almost forgave him.

 

He was no Dionysus:

yes, he was old—

mountains seemed to grow at his feet.

 

He was crazy; at least

that’s what everyone thought.

             

        


Richard Alan Bunch is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee and  author of several poetry collections, including Greatest Hits; Wading the Russian River, and Running for Daybreak. His work has appeared in Coe Review, Poetry New Zealand, Red River Review, Many Mountains Moving, Slant, Dirigible, and the Oregon Review. His poems have been translated into Japanese, Hindi, and Italian. His latest work is called Hawking Moves: Plays, Poems and Stories.

  

Return