Poems from 2001
Snow Cover
The falling snow’s benevolent.
It blankets all our sins,
Bestows a clean environment
In which we can begin
To walk with tar-free tread,
To rid the air of soot,
To leave no trash that spreads
Like excrement in the woods,
A whiteboard on which we can write
With a pen in invisible ink,
A foretaste of heaven’s delight
Or so we would like to think
Til the wind begins to blow,
Dissipates the cloak of snow.
COLD WEATHER FRIENDS
The juncos are back.
It feels like winter.
They’re sheltering in
The bushy blue spruce
Where finches have nested
In balmier weather.
They won’t fly south
In retreat from the cold
But keep on the move
Seeking out seeds
In sizable flocks
Giving us hope
Bringing us cheer
For another new year.
ECLIPSE MOMENT
(A Sonnet for Mark and Sarah)
We watched the moon consume the sun,
Its ebony circle slowly dim
The light, but darkness did not come
Until the black blot reached the rim
Where only a halo of shine leaked out
And pale pink bled on every horizon.
It was then we felt the fearsome clout
Of nothingness to put our eyes on:
No crickets chirped, the birds were still.
All energy, spirit seemed to leave us.
Our batteries were drained of will
Luna, moon goddess, of life bereaved us.
How we all cheered when light returned.
The sun our gratitude had earned.
KING KONG
A killer ape is loose
On the Capitol steps.
He pounds his chest and hoots
Enigmatical threats
As yet no one dares to cage
This hysterical beast
Who seems determined to wage
Full scale war in the East.
We are mesmerized by his show
Of hyperbolic menace,
Too lacking in foresight to know
We may later do penance
When millions of lives are consumed
In nuclear blasts
And our habitat is ruined
By radiant aftermath.
“JUST SPRING” IN NORTHERN MAINE
Mid -May we’ve paddled north down the Allegash.
Some snow still lies in mounds on the shaded banks
Though bobolinks will lilt in the Ranger’s patch
Near where we’ll pitch our tents at Long Lake camp.
A tiny bear cub paces on a fallen tree
Mewling for his no doubt nearby dam.
Ahead a heron flaps up frenziedly
Thinking to flee in needless panic from
Our curious but unmolesting gaze.
Among the reeds two moose lift dripping heads
To watch us while they chomp on watery hay.
Behind them a sly muskrat keeps to the edge.
The evening brings a misty rain and then
A rainbow arches at the river’s bend.
A PARTING WORD
(In Memory of JB)
At first the heart does not remark
The passing of another friend.
The aging brain makes routine note
That all good things must come to an end.
The list of those who’ve gone beyond
Outnumbers now those who remain.
But then the funeral brings to mind
A cache of memories bitter sweet:
Saturday evening cheese and wine
Trail clearing bouts with fallen trees
The underlined article under the door
With questions: What do you think of this?
Do you agree? And furthermore
What do you think the answer is?
And then the heart begins to crack.
That kindred spirit will not be back.
A MAGIC MOMENT IN PRESCOTT PARK
The two kites are hovering over the river
The whale kite idly flipping its tail
As we watch grimy Bert in his cheerful endeavors
And pert Mary Poppins to chimney tops sails.
The children are everywhere darting and dancing.
We oldsters are finally starting to get it.
The message emerges, its meaning enchanting:
Anything can happen if only we let it.
Smiling, we make our way out of the park.
The sun’s eclipse is foreboding but brief.
We need not be afraid of the dark.
Delight can follow after grief.
ON THE MOVE
We are not deeply rooted trees.
We are not meant to age in place,
Sentinels for centuries.
Descendants of nomadic tribes,
Our feet were made for trekking.
Our path to the horizon lies.
And when of Planet Earth we tire
We’ll launch ourselves in outer space.
To wider vistas we’ll aspire.
Until that cure for wanderlust
Comes with its promise of peace:
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
ADVICE TO GRADUATES
Fling open the shutters.
Pull up the blinds.
Look out the window
With wide open minds.
Reach for the stars.
Worship the moon.
Banish the darkness
From shadowy rooms.
Harness the sun
To flourish and grow.
We live but an hour
And then comes the snow.
REFLECTIONS
The lambent sun burnishes Cannon’s cliffs
As we draw near Franconia Notch and then
The rock slide screes are sparkling as if
A Titan’s eyes are focusing on them.
Past the verdant vacant ski slopes, Echo
Lake, the “Old Man-Reimagined” park,
Over the top of the notch we gladly go
To reach our destination before dark.
Would that all our trails might emerge into light
And not be dangerous or fraught with gloom.
Let all our journeys be to mountain heights
Ever toward the heavens, not the tombs.
Then might our little lives be richly blessed
Unfettered by fear and warmed with happiness.
ONE FOR THE AUDIENCE
More credit should be given
To brooders, to mother hens.
Surely the gates of heaven
Must be open to them
Whose warm breasts shepherd the young.
And those should be commended
To whom the song is sung,
Who put their hands together
And give their welcome tongue.
Appreciation is due
To all receptive ears,
The openhearted who
Say yes to balladeers
And sponsor new careers.
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.