All poems
THE SCENE AT SWASEY PARKWAY
See how the shifting wind
Caresses the marsh grasses
Across the Squamscott River,
Bending them this way and that,
Scaring up little brown birds
Chased by the shadowy wave,
While unconcerned, on the water,
Dozens of ducklings circle
Around their mallard dams,
And cormorants sleekly swim,
Slip below the surface,
And bill up wriggling fish,
Eliciting jealous squawks
From two competing ring bills.
THE SUPER MOON
On August tenth the full moon rose
As close to earth as it ever comes
And lit the sky with a rosy glow,
An aspect as rare as it is handsome.
On that same day a minister came,
Newly invited to our pulpit,
And said that he was not so vain
As to be guided by fateful signs,
But that he hoped to bring some light
To help us define our destinations.
Let us hope that propitious moon
Illumines the journey we are on.
COLLAGE
Pieces of our shared past
Drift softly in my mind,
Flutter like shaking aspen
Leaves in the autumn wind:
Otters on the French River,
Haleakala’s silver swords,
Sea anemones aquiver,
Beaver woodcutters at work,
Red spires in Bryce Canyon,
Deer on a frozen lake,
A herd of honking sea lions,
Phosphorescence in our wake.
Shifting images coalesce,
Merge in a misty scene:
Bright moments of our happiness
Weave in a fading dream.
HANDS
They all called him handsome,
But it was not his face
I loved, though he was comely,
And his smile could erase
Any hint of gloom
That ever lingered on
In any darkened room.
It was his hands I loved,
Strong and long-fingered,
Hands that gripped an axe
With purpose and affection
To cut our yearly firewood,
Hands that drew the hoe
Between the beans and cornstalks
And arrowed our canoe
Around the foaming rocks
To where we had to go
To reach our evening campsite,
Hands that pounded tent stakes
To secure us for the night,
Loving hands that gave me
Memories of sweet delight.
THE AGING BRAIN
I don’t recall your face
And yet you know my name:
This is a frequent lapse
In my senescent brain.
A “stranger” smiles at me
And waits expectantly.
What will my answer be?
I smile effusively.
Or I will make two dates
For the same calendar hour
When a single destination
Is all that’s in my power.
Or the “crossword” that I know
May still remain a blank,
So tantalizingly close
Outside my memory bank.
I fear the day will come
When I forget my name,
Forget to return home
Because I’ve lost my way.
But I will brightly smile
And answer eagerly,
Remembering all the while
That once you smiled at me.
ENCOUNTER
We dip our paddles stealthily.
The heron eyes us warily.
Too young to have acquired fear,
He wonders why we have come here.
Water lilies are his rug.
He elegantly gives a shrug
And makes his graceful ballet jete
To move away some fifteen feet,
Then settles down to keep a watch
On strange intruders drifting past.
We paddle onward carefully,
Happy this water nymph to see.
EARTHLY DELIGHTS
Those who have waked to the loon’s querulous cries
And listened to the wind in the white pines sigh,
Watched the gray fox walk his casual way
And moose shake the water weeds out of the lake,
Startled wild turkeys into sheltering trees,
Waited for the bear and her cubs to leave,
Lain in the field to applaud the borealis,
Savored the syrup of Northeast sugar maples,
Chatted with the chittering young porcupines,
Admired beaver families’ dam designs,
These happy few have enjoyed our earth’s delights:
They will exit smiling into the infinite night.
(July 2014)
WISH YOU WERE HERE
I’ve gotten used to
The empty chair,
The unwrinkled pillow,
And one place at the table
Without you,
But how can I watch
The moon tangled in black branches,
The sun rise over Carter Notch,
Or the first flakes of new snowfall
Without you?
SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES
How many campfires did you lay,
Birchbark, twigs and slender sticks,
To tempt the creeping tongue of flame
And feed its fiery appetite?
You learned to build the pyramid
With tinder arching over bark:
A single match would serve to wick
The pyre construed with boy scout art.
How many trees did you cut down
And split and stack for winter fuel
In the Franklin stove that kept us warm
And gave us cheerful hearts as well?
Now as I feed my grandson’s blaze
Constructed with his sage advice,
I think of your consistent ways
And feel the smoke tear up my eyes.
(July 2014)
THE MATING GAME
Two people in a chess match:
One sets forth a cautious pawn.
The other counters her halfway.
They both look for another play.
Perhaps the bishop should approach
The queen quite deferentially,
Or a bold knight might gallop forth
To look for opportunity.
One good turn deserves another:
Pieces freely are exchanged,
Adversaries overtaken,
For the climax, clear the board.
Finally the king stands naked.
Queenie has him in her sights.
He will finally be mated.
She will claim her sovereign rights.
THE HIDDEN FOLK
Land of falling waters,
Land of ice and fire
Where the Hidden People
Have chosen to retire,
They say Eve’s unwashed children
Were forced to hide from God
And so they fled beneath the earth
To shelter from His rod.
They will do you favors
If you spare their homes,
But woe will surely follow
If you disturb their domes.
Boulders scattered in the fields,
Seastacks on the shore,
Six-sided basalt columns,
Jagged lava flows:
All the work of Hidden Folk
Who can become your friends
Or who can do you mischief
If you defeat their ends.
Land of falling waters,
Land of ice and fire,
There is much in Iceland
To gaze at and admire.
(June 2014)
STILL MISSING YOU
I say I’ve shifted gears,
Embarked on new affairs,
Traveled to foreign ports,
Shrugged off all my cares.
But then a memory
Will catch me unaware
And I will start to weep
Because you are not here.
Because you are not here,
My love, because you are not there:
No matter where I look for you
You are not anywhere.