MUSIC HATH CHARMS
(Inspired by the British boys’ choir Libra)
Making music is among
The least pernicious things
We humans know how to achieve.
Children’s voices raised in song
Touch our hearts with melody,
Rid us of self-centered sophistry,
Soothe our savage propensities,
Angelicize our bestiality.
While we sing we feel no greed.
No self loathing possesses us.
Conniving envy passes us by.
With ears attuned to harmony,
We open ourselves to beauty.
There’s love-light in our eyes.
BEARING UP
Arising, I open the blinds
And am blinded by oceans of white
Shrouding each tree trunk and limb,
Walkway, driveway and lawn,
Ruthlessly wet and stickily
Clinging to cars and roofs.
Hunch-shouldered firs and spruce
Bow to the merciless weight.
“Too much,” I think. “There can be
Too much of any good thing.”
But here in New England we
Have learned to survive like the trees:
Hunker down, put up with and wait
For the sun to revive us again.
ON GROWING OLD
Our latter years can be as gray
As many a tedious winter day.
The hours can be as hard to fill
As Sisyphus pushing a rock uphill.
We’ve learned what it is to love and lose.
To live this long we did not choose.
Some days it’s hard to get out of bed
And fill the empty time ahead.
On other days the sun will throw
A pink and orange sunset glow
Across the gray and gloomy skies
And we will come to realize
That like Frost’s snow-dispatching jay
Delight can come at the end of the day.
THE INN AT TAKAYAMA
Clad in our blue and white guesthouse kimonos
We sit at a low table
Where oval cups repose while tea leaves
Steep. Calm as anemones.
We have drifted in steaming baths, shed travel
Stress with western clothes.
Lemon lilies smile by the television.
From cherry tree to river
Finch notes drop with white petals.
Kneeling on the tatami mat
The innkeeper’s wife and her maid pull sheets
Smooth as just fallen snow
Tight across fiery red futons.
Later we will stroll along the shore
And cross the bridge to the three-story pagoda.