Poems from 2001
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.
WEATHER REPORT
The storm descended from the north
Across the Presidential peaks,
A dense envelopment of fog.
Who knew what havoc it might wreck?
Small leaves at first began to shake.
Then tall trees bent and slowly swayed.
A thick mist swallowed every shape.
The rain came down in a raging cascade.
This storm by Zeus’s fist was hurled
But its tumult soon did pass us by.
A rainbow over the glen unfurled
And blue bits did return to the sky.
Some miles to the south another town
Was caught in the fury our vale was spared.
Trees were uprooted and power was lost.
For their well-being no deity cared.
But we for whom the rainbow shone
Know that their fate could have been our own.
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.
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.