Category: Poems

BEACONS

                                 (For Judith, with apologies for poetic liberties taken)

Each night as on our bed we lay

I saw three lights across the bay,

Three glimmers on the darkening sea

That seemed to call and beckon me,

And as we settled into sleep

They seemed a silent watch to keep.

Now that dear cot no longer sits

Atop the fast eroding cliff.

Only the low rock wall and gate

And a flagpole mark our nesting place.

Victorian, loosely built and frail,

It was not destined for repair.

But still each night alone I dream

Of three clear beams across the sea.

IN MEMORIAM

We saw what it was to labor with love

Everywhere his hands had worked.

He girded us with cedar logs

And sheltered us with sturdy trusses.

He paved a path around the pond

And cleared a loop trail through the brush.

Hie gardens fed us healthy food.

Colorful blooms were harmonious.

Patient, quiet, steadfast and good,

A listener whom we could trust,

At ease in the role of fatherhood,

Not the type to make a fuss,

He was taken from us all too soon.

How we wish he were still with us.

NEW BEGINNINGS

Unpruned, forsythia explodes

Golden shafts in tangled glory

Glistening with April’s raindrops.

They catch our eye and then we see

A pink profusion, a panoply

Of petals bedecking cherry trees.

Daffodils also have suddenly sprung

Up.  Their white and yellow trumpets

Herald the tulips soon to come.

Hyacinths too are blossoming blue

And in the woods hepaticas strew

Vines of pale lilac ground cover.

Spring is busting out all over.

STRAWBERRY BEGONIA

It has such an alien look

My curly-edged-velvet-leaved plant

That hangs on a window hook.

Overnight it has shot up wands

Where perch tiny white dragonflies

Long-tailed, short-winged, each

With a round yellow body.  Meanwhile

Under the pot hang long delicate

Red threads bearing widely spaced

Baby versions of the mother leaves.

The flowers are greeting the spring

Equinox or enacting a resurrection

Or else they are beckoning bees.

I call it my mystery plant.

ON THE CUSP OF SPRING

It’s snowing again and yet

The yellow crocus has bloomed

On the lawn, the finches are back

To their nest in the blue spruce.

Flocks of robins have landed

Each to claim his purlieu

His own particular tract

In which to cock his head

And listen for worms.  The bands

Of redwings have returned

To the pond.  We hear their chirr.

A bevy of female mallards

Was seen on the tidal river

Along with a Canada gang

Of geese heading north.  The cardinal

“Cheer cheer”s his mating call.

And yet it is snowing again.

CHOICES

The wintry wind whipped at our cheeks

Teared our eyes and misted our glasses.

Before the end of the driveway we meekly

Turned in submission to its lashes.

It’s no day to venture onto the slopes:

Lifts won’t run be running in these blasts.

So much for our high school senior’s hopes

Of trying the Notch’s challenge at last.

Instead we head for the nearest mall

Load up on soda, popcorn and nachos

And find a film agreeable to all

Where the weather is less ferocious.

Sometimes it’s better not to try

Against all odds to do or die.

THE LAST WEEK OF FEBRUARY

We hear a cardinal’s nesting call,

Pussy willows raise furry paws,

Canada geese take a southern tack,

Syrup buckets are hung out for sap,

In soaring sweeps three vultures arc,

Peepers are piping in the marsh,

Forsythia’s buttery blossoms bloom:

Who knew that spring would come so soon?

Tropical storms move up the coast.

In balmy breezes we’ve doffed our coats.

Ash Wednesday, heralding Lent, is here.

We think that a verdant spring is near,

Although in New England we never know:

There’s always the chance of an April snow.

A SYMPATHY SONNET

They briefly grace our lives.  We know

One year for them is seven of ours.

When we have barely aged at all,

It will be time for them to go.

In parting from our pets we learn

How hard it is to love and lose.

Happiness is not meant to be eternal:

This is the destiny we did not choose.

And when in latter years our friends,

Our partners and our pets depart,

They leave us aimless, wondering, at loose ends,

How to go on with broken hearts.

Our saving grace is comrades in despair.

Such grief our neighbors have cause to share.

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.