Poems from 2001
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.
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.
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?
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.
LIFE IS A FARMERS’ MARKET
May brings the seedlings: parsley, sage
Thyme and rosemary frail and green,
Eggs of all sizes, turkey to quail,
Ruby red radishes crunchy and sweet,
The wild curled fronds of fiddlehead ferns,
Lambs’ quarters, dandelion leaves.
For rhubarb’s tangy sauce we yearn,
New peas, garlic, onions, chives.
Summer’s bounty is succulent corn,
Heritage tomatoes and summer squash.
Young carrots, beets and broccoli are borne
To the growing family’s midday repast.
New potatoes, yams and turnips appear.
With the sweetness of berries the meal is crowned
Before the table is finally cleared,
The dishes washed, the family gone.
The produce of fall is all about
Preparing for frost: sweet or hard cider,
Local beer, ales and stout,
Grapes and berries transmuted to wines.
Ripened root vegetables are stored.
Preserves, pickles and relishes keep
The taste of summer in our mouths
Throughout the winter’s long cold sleep.
OUR BLACKBERRY YEAR
One year the blackberry blooms
Burgeoned so fulsome and rank,
With the weight of their fragrant fruit
The bushes bowed and bent.
We picked our fingers black
And filled our freezer full,
Then had to refer to a book
On concocting blackberry cordial.
This potent purple brew,
The perfect campfire quaff,
We transported in our canoe
For a day’s end toast and laugh.
LEAVE TAKING
The week before you left,
The ghost pear bloomed
Beyond our window. Perhaps
It beckoned to you, since
You could no longer pack
Your wetbag for the Allegash,
Guide us down the Chase Rips,
Or gaze at the Long Lake rainbow.
It pleasures me to think
That you are chasing rainbows.
(RiverWoods poems: May 11, 2014)
A NOTE OF THANKS TO MY MAYFLOWER GIRL
Was it in the Sixties that I first heard
The doorbell ring on the first of May
And found your wildflowers at the door
Of that hillside house your father girded
With cedar logs and sturdy fieldstones
To keep our family sound and safe?
Fifty years later your “Free Spirit”
Roses arrive (I love the concept)
At my apartment, accompanied
By purple and orange tulips and green
Cymbidium orchids, as always on the First
Day of May, their Andean-colored cheer
Brightening up a rainy day
And warming my heart with a memory.
ON THE SECOND DAY OF APRIL
This morning as I drove down our street
(No April fool!) I saw a real bald eagle
Perched high up in a leafless tree,
Feathers held close in the frosty air,
Keeping his eagle eye fixed upon
The newly black surface of Brickyard Pond
So recently rid of its lid of ice.
I’m sure he was thinking it would be nice
To spot a fishy shape moving there
Or a careless robin along the shore.
At breakfast I had been pleased to see
A house finch in the blue spruce tree
Below my window, ready to hop
Back into the sheltered nest in its top-
Most branches, last year’s nestling,
No doubt on the lookout for a mate,
Thinking of making a tentative date
As soon as the sun warms up the air
To check out the housing situation
And get some eggs ready to sit on.
At last, when I had got back home,
Ready to close the garage door,
A cardinal bugled his announcement calls:
“I’m here! I’m here! Don’t come near!”
I got the message loud and clear:
Elusive spring is finally here!
A CHANGE OF MOOD
(With thanks, as always, to R. Frost)
I know how Hester must have stood,
Branded with shamed ignominy,
And why she took to the woods.
Public humiliation can be hard
To take, but on the other hand,
I have found sympathetic friends
And shared my woes with them:
“I didn’t expect to see YOU here!”
“Well you can leave if you want to!”
Their laughter dissolved my embarrassment.
I now can tell myself, “Get over it!”
(3/30/14)
A REMINDER
This morning while the sun
Shone brightly on my breakfast,
I was surprised by one
Flake of snow, then half
A dozen in a swirl,
A billowing, a crazy maze,
A blinding white, while still
The sun lit up the haze
And shortly chased away
The errant bit of storm
Back to whatever place
It had migrated from,
Leaving me to ponder
How often the unexpected
Causes one to wonder,
Warns me to be prepared.
THE PILLARS
(ON A PROPOSED LOBBY RENOVATION)
THE PILLARS ARE APPALLING:
SIGHT-IMPEDING,
WALK-BLOCKING,
TALK-DEFEATING,
SPACE-CONSUMING,
HOTEL-LOOKING,
STRICT AND LOOMING,
IF THERE’S ONE THING WE DON’T NEED,
IT’S THINGS THAT COME BETWEEN.