Poetry
My Dreams
​
Keep your racing rats
Stop the clocks
Their Ticks and Chimes
Let me lie
In Thought
unencumbered
And unaware
Of measured time
Leave me
To my dreams
Of the eternal
And divine.
​
August 28, 2019
Simple Things
​
I can see across the street
which isn't very far.
I can see the Moon at night
when I can't see the stars.
I can see my cat asleep;
my dog's trusting I can see.
Too much is too uncertain -
these simple things
a certainty.
​
August 11, 2019
My Son's Little Shirt
​
On the clothesline next to mine
hangs my son's little shirt;
the size of his little chest.
Seemingly too small for his loving heart.
Snap Dragons
​
I have traveled in cities
of vaulted roofs
castled walls
and cathedral spires
but geraniums in the yard
still move me,
and traveling in my garden -
where snap dragons
spit their fire.
​
August 2, 2019
Water Falling
​
These great white sheets
these hoary curtains
thin flowing fingers and mist twirling
rushing whispering to ground
of splashing pools swirling
scattered leaves dancing,
twirling round and round.
The wet black rock
carved smooth
well-worn with wear
its blanket slick and green
of constant water falling
rushing hard from where
unknown, unseen.
But the water up top knows its course
from mountain, river and stream
and the oaks and maples
know this place
where the forest lies in dreams.
Night
lays her black blanket down
soft and warm
covering the day
with whispered sounds;
quietly she spreads herself over
the talk
the goings-and-comings
the concerns
the big and small
the important and mundane
and does her best
to offer comfort and rest-
for a new day
will soon come up again.
The Wind
​
The wind wandered
through the night,
restless
and uncertain;
chasing something
or running from it,
combing back the leaves
and then tousling them
with a gusty hand.
Neighbors
​
Hold firm the post,
hold sure the nail-
Pull hard the steel braid wire.
Neighbors hold fast the boundaries
other neighbors have conspired.
Make right the chart,
Make true the measure-
Know well the boundary and line.
Neighbors make sure the separation
when fence replaces twine.
​
Fingers
​
The shadows spread
Their fingers intertwined
Carefully and slow
Reaching downhill
In the white morning
To the valley
Lying whiter
In new laid snow.
Their cautious travel
Feels its way
For the valley
Spread below.
Forest Song
​
The forest song-
singer disguised
in shadow, branch and leaf;
unseen yet realized
by logic or belief.
At dusk's falling hour
birds take rest from flight.
The jay?
The lark?
But, as light flickers to dark-
as day yields to night?
There, again!
Nightingale?
A voice, a song sublime.
I hear but can't see.
Remind me of this
whenever I doubt the Divine.
Greener Grass
​
Would that all the grass
were greener
in fact
on the other side
and that fenced-in
space between
were more watered
and not so wide;
or at least there were
some treed or rocky stations
where an uncertain traveler
could rest or, even, hide;
but it is not so
or at least we don't know
and the trampled grass
and that not walked
both seem ignored,
if not denied.
Butterfly
One afternoon
walking near the beach
I saw a butterfly
just beyond my reach.
It fluttered by;
went up
gently up
up gently against the sky.
And I would have given the rest
of my life
if for only then
to fly.
​
Grasses Green
Lay me down
in grasses green
where yellow flowers grow
and where I’m put
put a white cross there
‘midst the white crosses
row-on-row.
Of the tales to tell
tell that tale
that I myself would tell:
here lies he
who as a privilege fought--
in duty served and honor fell.
Driftwood
Driftwood knows but the drift.
The bird doesn’t study
its beating wing,
riding the rising lift.
Could rain
be less concerned
in being wet?
Would it find greater purpose
in being dry?
Does Fall look to Spring
with some regret—
as dark does
the light in sky?
My Son’s Little Shirt
On the clothesline next to mine
hangs my son’s little shirt;
the size of his little chest.
Seemingly too small for his loving heart.