Eric A. Lohman
Eric A. Lohman lives in Powder Springs, GA. He is a psychiatric social worker, composer, avid cyclist and poet. He works in the emergency department of a large urban medical center, evaluating and assisting the homeless, the chemically dependent and the chronically mentally ill. Much of his poetry reflects his response to and efforts to cope with that reality. He also composes music for orchestra as well as smaller ensembles and solo performance, toward similar ends. He has been active in performing and written arts for 35 years and holds a bachelor’s degree in musical theory and composition from Jacksonville University, Jacksonville, FL.
five beheaded cinderellas after Christmas sale
Failed Haiku #37 January, 2019
country dark...
the stars appear
to twangle
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
even the stars have losers brown dwarf
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
bits of paper blown by the wind white flutterbys
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
touch screen -
the eyes of a child
in juvie
Failed Haiku #32 August, 2018
frozen lake -
I hesitate to break the ice
between us
Failed Haiku #32 August, 2018
smell of the barn at dawn
she nuzzles my hair
as I stoop over her shit
the occasional impatient tap
of a hoof
and the first rays through the crack
as I unfasten the latch and begin
to pull the door aside
she is right beside me
then gathering ourselves
all at once, we heave together -
I pulling back,
she surging forward
faster than light bulbs burst into bloom
Failed Haiku #30 June, 2018
stainless steel
my knife
without sin
Failed Haiku #23 November, 2017
moon shot
another testosterone
injection
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
far apart —
it's still the same
moon
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
smell of trench foot losing another war
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
poetry class I sit on my assonance
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
welfare office -
on the waiting room walls
trickle down lights
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
last waltz -
this roach I'm flushing
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
from tree to tree to tree
the black birds'
p u b
cr aw l
Prune Juice #23, November, 2017
cooking together
on opposite sides
of the sink -
things are strained
between us
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
bugs in amber -
the long line to turn into
Volkswagen service
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
ginger root
in the family bible a lock
of grandmother's hair
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
shift change –
handing off false
hope
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
fake news -
the mockingbird
sings
Failed Haiku #19 July 1, 2017
sakura zensen -
first one daughter, then another
schedules her wedding
Failed Haiku #19 July 1, 2017
nude beach we air our differences
Prune Juice #22 July, 2017
sharp grief
cutting yourself
on her name
Failed Haiku #10 Oct. 2016
punch drunk . . .
he hits a few more
hors-de-oeuvres
Failed Haiku #10 Oct. 2016