All poems
FAMILY REUNION
On the river bank
I look for you
Where the poplars bend
And our green canoe
Hangs under the eave
Of the little shed.
On the grassy heights
Of old battlefields
Where the purple knotweed
Now invades
I trace the trails
Where we once skied.
As your daughters voice
Old family songs
My heart responds:
I sing along.
MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE
Under the hydrangeas on the front lawn
I played with little dolls, the ones
You cut dresses for out of sewing scraps,
Envying my cousins their sibling
Camaraderie. Blackberries bubbled
In pastures overgrown with birches
Where no wolves loitered and rose
Again at breakfast dewy with cream.
The linoleum was cool under feet admonished
To wear sandals. Sunlight baptized
The dining room and half an acre
Of canning vegetables and cucumbers
To be salt-layered in crocks. Roosters
With a glad cry woke me on the airy
Piazza where insects ticking on screens
Had lulled me to sleep. My humpty-dumpty
Grandfather brought four daughters and
Eliza Jane down from New Brunswick
To start a new century in a new land.
A master carpenter, he built their house
Commodious with indoor plumbing. My
Youngest aunt was married in the parlor
While I, a flower girl with stage fright,
Cried on the oak stairs. By that front
Window my grandmother’s cheek
Was granite under my lips when Aunt
Pearl led me to her coffin. “Let
Your vittles shut your mouths,” Grandpa
Advised his grandchildren at the table.
Every Thanksgiving the hydrangeas were brittle
Brown cotton candy on fragile sticks.
ON A SUMMER EVENING
Atop the Exeter town hall
Our Lady of Justice
Back-lighted by sunset
Holds high her scales
And weighs the brassy
Marching strains
Of the Exeter town band
As we in our lawn chairs
Watch the frisking children
And smell the popcorn.
A pair of Mexican Hairless
Dogs parade by.
The band segues
Into a medley of waltzes.
ON DEPARTING
We should leave this life
In a burst of glory
Like a Roman candle
Or a red maple in autumn.
On fire is the way to go,
Then a handful of ashes
In the children’s flower beds.
No grieving over
Goldengrove unleaving
But the promise of spring
Buds unfolding.
Across the bay breezes
Ruffle the Caribbean waves
Sending their blessed cool
To my fifth floor outlook whence
I watch the Afro boys
Run and jump off the pier,
The sunfish sailors race
In a long leisurely line,
A huge pontoon under sail,
A ferry cargo-ing fares,
Bathers clustered in a shady
Corner of the hotel pool
And coconut palms a-sway:
It’s a “typico” Cuban day.
AT BREAKFAST
Blackbirds soar across
The al fresco cafeteria,
Alight on a plate of melon,
Dance on it, pick at it
And squabble about it
Until the diner approaches
And we consider whether
We should advise the lady
That her fruit has been pre-
Tasted and appreciated.
At last pity prevails.
We warn her of her visitors’
None too sanitary intrusions.
She settles for an espresso.
What lingers in my mind
Of my seven days in Cuba?
Flamboyant poinciana trees’
Scarlet spreadsheets overhead,
Umbrellas shading pedestrians
From the lasering tropical sun,
Smiles and shouts of “Hola!
Bienvenidos a los Americanos!”
A rainbow bridging a bay,
Skies at sunset orangey-pink,
The leisurely arcs of vultures,
A teal green, royal blue Caribbean,
Low hanging mangos and guavas,
The exuberance of syncopated song.
THOUGHTS IN THE NEWFIELDS WORD BARN
At Open Mikes
The spoken word
Is often heard, but
What of the unspoken word
The forgotten word
The belated word
The word of advice
The word of wisdom
The word of caution
In the Beginning
Was the Word.
Who will have
The last word?
Who will hear
Our last word?
A PASSING THOUGHT
Flesh of my flesh
(As well as their father’s)
Bone of my bone
(Their father’s too)
How proud they make us
These five fine siblings,
Spouses and offspring.
We are transmuted
Translated to new
And complex persons.
What more do we ask
Than to have a share
In this chain of lifetimes
On our planet Earth.
AT THE ACADEMY CONCERT
Last night we heard Beethoven’s
“War and Peace” sonata
(Or so I choose to call it):
Brief interludes of harmony
Give way to the clash of arms.
And then the “Blitzkrieg Waltz”
(Though he himself denies it):
The dimly heard Valse by Ravel
Drowned out by war’s alarums.
It seems this new generation
Of promising high school students
Does not expect peace in their time.
And those of us in our nineties
Suspect that they are right.
A GLADSOME TIME
Horse chestnuts lift white candles to the sky
A paean of celebration to the season.
Tri-colored lilacs bless us passersby
Censing their fragrance as they gently lean.
May burgeoning on every hand is seen.
Back roads are edged with phalanxes of phlox:
Mauve and pink and white they gladden the eye.
In sheltered woodlands dogwoods shyly flock
With mountain laurels blushing near the ground.
Old fashioned bleeding hearts our yards festoon
And lilies of the valley cluster round
Our feet as we with gratitude proceed
To make our way through one more riotous spring
Renewed, uplifted, consciously thanksgiving.
THE CCRC COFFEE CIRCLE
The time has come, the oldsters said,
To talk of many things:
Of presidential candidates
And whether it will rain,
Of Bobcats scooping up the yard
And the installation of drains,
Of who is in the nursing lodge
And the state of someone’s brains.
The three percent rise in annual fees
Is always food for thought.
Whoever came up with that idea
In our good books is not.
By this time the muffins are all gone
And the coffee’s no longer hot.