Category: Tamworth Poems

THE WORKS OF JAYS

As autumn leaves begin to fall,

Blue jays suddenly appear.

Although we do not hear them call

They fitfully flit here and there.

All summer they have silently

Flown about their busy-ness.

Some say that they’ve been stealthily

Stealing from their neighbors’ nests.

In spring we heard them constantly

Sounding their rude and raucous cries,

Warning their fellow flyers away

From male-selected nesting sites.

But now it is the acorn crop

That they are fiercely focused on,

Interring nuts in shallow tombs

For winter harvest under snow.

It’s said, without their ministries

Our oaks would not be so widespread:

And so it is that minor deeds

Have wide and weighty consequence.

HIS EYE IS ON THE SPARROW

This morning before the service began,

With caution and care and celerity

Lyn captured a bee on the coffee stand

And carefully gave it its liberty,

Freeing it from its glass enclosure

Over the rail of the little back porch.

Though fearful of bee stings and fatal reactions,

She practiced Schweitzer’s reverence for life,

Which later proved an apt introduction

To the blessings of the animals rite:

A concept which folks would do well to extend

To all of their dealings with fellow men.

ON WATER

What can we say,

What can we not say,

About water?

Water, water everywhere.

As foetuses

Afloat in the uterus,

Cradled and comforted

By water

We are in our element.

It is our only element.

Seawater runs in our veins.

Not wine but water

Is the elixir of life,

Adam’s ale,

Without which we mummify

Into leathery dried sticks.

Without water

Our blue planet

Becomes a desert.

And water transports us.

It floats our boats.

We see it flow

From our mountains to our seas

And we know

That we are on a journey.

We are on life’s journey

Back to the sea our mother,

Back to the single cells

That merged into our selves,

Becoming one with the universe,

Becoming one with the water.

 

SEPTEMBER SATURDAY

Misty hills on the horizon,

Woolly clouds spread overhead,

At the Bearcamp, black-eyed Susans

Glow along the river’s edge.

 

Farmers’ market up the street,

Ripe tomatoes still for sale:

I will sip a robust coffee,

Listen to the guitar wail.

 

Wild blueberries for my freezer

From the hilltop we once picked

Will bring a taste of yesteryear

Through the coming winter’s drifts.

THE SUPER MOON

On August tenth the full moon rose

As close to earth as it ever comes

And lit the sky with a rosy glow,

An aspect as rare as it is handsome.

On that same day a minister came,

Newly invited to our pulpit,

And said that he was not so vain

As to be guided by fateful signs,

But that he hoped to bring some light

To help us define our destinations.

Let us hope that propitious moon

Illumines the journey we are on.

HANDS

They all called him handsome,

But it was not his face

I loved, though he was comely,

And his smile could erase

Any hint of gloom

That ever lingered on

In any darkened room.

It was his hands I loved,

Strong and long-fingered,

Hands that gripped an axe

With purpose and affection

To cut our yearly firewood,

Hands that drew the hoe

Between the beans and cornstalks

And arrowed our canoe

Around the foaming rocks

To where we had to go

To reach our evening campsite,

Hands that pounded tent stakes

To secure us for the night,

Loving hands that gave me

Memories of sweet delight.

 

THE AGING BRAIN

I don’t recall your face

And yet you know my name:

This is a frequent lapse

In my senescent brain.

A “stranger” smiles at me

And waits expectantly.

What will my answer be?

I smile effusively.

Or I will make two dates

For the same calendar hour

When a single destination

Is all that’s in my power.

Or the “crossword” that I know

May still remain a blank,

So tantalizingly close

Outside my memory bank.

I fear the day will come

When I forget my name,

Forget to return home

Because I’ve lost my way.

But I will brightly smile

And answer eagerly,

Remembering all the while

That once you smiled at me.

EARTHLY DELIGHTS

Those who have waked to the loon’s querulous cries

And listened to the wind in the white pines sigh,

Watched the gray fox walk his casual way

And moose shake the water weeds out of the lake,

Startled wild turkeys into sheltering trees,

Waited for the bear and her cubs to leave,

Lain in the field to applaud the borealis,

Savored the syrup of Northeast sugar maples,

Chatted with the chittering young porcupines,

Admired beaver families’ dam designs,

These happy few have enjoyed our earth’s delights:

They will exit smiling into the infinite night.

(July 2014)

SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

How many campfires did you lay,
Birchbark, twigs and slender sticks,
To tempt the creeping tongue of flame
And feed its fiery appetite?
You learned to build the pyramid
With tinder arching over bark:
A single match would serve to wick
The pyre construed with boy scout art.
How many trees did you cut down
And split and stack for winter fuel
In the Franklin stove that kept us warm
And gave us cheerful hearts as well?
Now as I feed my grandson’s blaze
Constructed with his sage advice,
I think of your consistent ways
And feel the smoke tear up my eyes.
(July 2014)

THE MATING GAME

Two people in a chess match:
One sets forth a cautious pawn.
The other counters her halfway.
They both look for another play.
Perhaps the bishop should approach
The queen quite deferentially,
Or a bold knight might gallop forth
To look for opportunity.
One good turn deserves another:
Pieces freely are exchanged,
Adversaries overtaken,
For the climax, clear the board.
Finally the king stands naked.
Queenie has him in her sights.
He will finally be mated.
She will claim her sovereign rights.

RIVERSIDE LILACS

Lilac’s sweet scent

And the Bearcamp’s sluicing song

Give my heart ease

Now that you are gone.

Give my heart ease,

But do not quell the pain

Of knowing that I’ll never

Walk with you again

Except in memory’s bittersweet

Though comforting afterglow:

The luminous husk of happiness

My heart will now know.

(June, 2014)