Michael Bruce Foster was born and raised in California. A retired veteran of the US Air Force, he has been writing poetry for over 47 years. He has been published in numerous publications, including Record Magazine, Mobius The Poetry Magazine, Bear Creek Haiku, and Pasque Petals. His first book of poetry, "Violin Memories", was published in Sep 2010, by Publish America. He lives in Rapid City, SD, with his wife Ruth and two youngest daughters, Kamerra and Kolleen.

Skin

Old Age covers me,
like a snake ready
to shed its skin.
The only way I can
shed mine, is die.



Gargling Light

For a long moment
I listened to the window
gargling light, and I
thought the sun would
burst out laughing.
But the window stopped,
and the sun went on
to more important things.



You, at 29

(For Ruth)

I remember you sitting
in that square in Munich,
the one with the Glockenspiel clock.
Your face turned towards
me, those big sunglasses
and beautiful lips. Your
long brown hair in love
with the light.



Absurdity

On a street corner in
Rapid City, SD
Richard Nixon sits on
a high backed chair, his head
and shoulders covered with snow,
his metal finger tips touching,
as though he is contemplating
the absurdity of it all.



Last Waltz

In the park an old couple
waltz barefooted in the summer
grass. She, leading tenderly,
he, unable to remember her name.
Their smiles the only memories
that matter.



A Single Snowflake Fell

A single snowflake
fell last winter.
It landed on the
face of a dead
girl, missing in
the woods. She was
found in February,
the snowflake still
keeping watch.