OUTLOOKS
Not every opening
Is a crevasse
A crack in the ice
An earthquake fissure
Or avalanche launcher.
There are breaks in the clouds
Job opportunities
A sermon’s first words
Clearings in forests
And strokes of good luck.
Whether the gate be
Elysian or Stygian
Depends on whether
The eye looks up
Or keeps to the ground.
THE CHOICE
In autumn the golden willow weeps
While saffron leaves still cling to the beech.
In a lengthening line we’ve come to stand
For the water of life in an arid land.
As wildfires rage in southern climes
As aquifers shrink, as wells go dry
We hold our protest signs up high.
Cars honk approval as they go by.
It’s oil or water: they do not mix.
In the end the choice comes down to this:
We’ll keep the petrol in the ground
Or life on earth will no longer be found.
This morning black ice, a dusting of white
Remind us of winter’s implacable might.
WAKE UP CALLS
I heard the crows; their raucous cries
Awoke me from a restless bed.
I did not know what rude surprise
Their harsh insistence might portend.
The day was sunlit, clear and cold.
I saw no reason for alarm,
But on my neighbor’s patio
The usual bread for birds was gone.
And then it was I understood
What their complaints had been about.
No imminent evil was foretold,
Just calls to send their vittles out.
So let it be with all alarms:
False, and signaling no harm.