Poetry

pixabay photo

By

Don Krieger

After Sunday Breakfast

Perched on a branch

she stares this way, that way

I open the window,

move to the other

She hops up the branch,

looks back, flies

I search online

yellow beak breast bird

She’s a robin

not quite grown, precious

Do they see such things

in Gaza?

Click here for an audio reading of the poem

Don Krieger

I have built satellites, worked in the operating room, been in a cult, …

I earn my living as part of a group which is trying to understand and treat head injury.

In my poetry and short blog pieces, I want to express ideas with unambiguous clarity and intensity.

I willingly sacrifice rhyme and meter, art, cleverness, elegance, and beauty for these.