Month: April 2014

SPRING CLEANING

April twenty-six has been proclaimed

As Roadside Litter Cleanup Day:

Volunteer crews have arrived to obey.

Good housekeepers would feel ashamed

Not to be cleaning out cupboards today.

Lawnkeepers are raking off dead leaves,

Gardeners are turning up fresh soil,

While everyone else in the Northeast heaves

A sigh of relief that April rains

Have washed the dirty snow away.

THE COLOR YELLOW

Forsythia’s buttery bursts

Glow in  the cloudy gray

April rain, and willows’

Key lime fingers sway

In the watery atmosphere.

I’m on my outbound way,

Gladdened by hosts of daffodil

Suns on a dismal day.

A BACKWARD GLANCE

From my car radio come the slow sweet strains

Of Mozart’s First Horn Concerto, and I am

Suddenly transported into that Victorian room

Where we made music, seated on the piano stool,

Hands on the black and white keys, my girl

Standing beside me easing the smooth tones

Out of her French horn, and I am aswirl

In waves of nostalgia, longing for that ample home,

Those five ripening minds, their patient Dad.

We did not know what signal bliss we shared.

We hurried forward through a sacred time

That my heart now cries out to live again.

(April 2014)

STOP THE CLOCK

Sea shells, the exo-skeletons of pulsing flesh,

What is this fascination that they hold for us?

We search for them like treasures on the beach.

They must fulfill some kind of inner need.

I have a vase of dried flowers and reeds

That I have kept in view for many years.

The purple hyacinths that now perfume my doorway

Will droop and fade within a dozen days.

Oh let me net the butterfly of time,

Sculpture your marble presence in my mind,

Inscribe the notes of every bluebird’s song,

And keep you with me after you are gone.

(April 2014)

TIMING IS EVERYTHING

In April, driving north on Route Sixteen,

You top a hill just south of Ossipee

And in your face arise the peaks and flanks

Of Washington and the Presidential Range.

Fiercely white, they reign over the horizon,

An awesome sight you want to keep your eyes on.

But you go on and Chocorua hoves into view,

Clothed with his Sisters in somewhat mottled hues,

And they call out for climbing, but you know

The trails will still be treacherous with snow.

Black ice will subtly coat the shaded rocks,

And slow going may find you still on top

When shadows coalesce around your feet,

The sun beating an all-too-fast retreat.

Some shining prospects should be kept in sight

Until the time for venturing is just right.

(April 2014)