Poems from 2001
THE SOUND OF POETRY
(Inspired by the Concord Inn Open Mike Program)
A song is meant to be sung.
A poem is meant to be said:
Here are the ways I’ve gone,
Here are the thoughts I’ve had.
Vignettes along the road,
Bits of scenes remembered,
Sightings from my window:
A poem is meant to be read.
Music of assonant words
Strung like the notes of a bird,
Joined in a measured tread:
A poem is meant to be heard.
(October, 2014)
WILDFIRE SEASON
As summer ends we keep our eyes
On the ground for signs of fire.
Blueberry bushes blush unseen,
Sumac turns to red from green.
Scarlet ivies start to wreathe
Tongues of flame around the trees.
In the bogs swamp maples flare
Showing off their autumn wear.
Corner woodlots then ignite,
Captivate us with their light.
Yellow beech and tawny oak:
In morning mists they seem to smoke.
In the end we lift our eyes
To blazing hills and mountain heights.
WE ARE NOT ON THE LEVEL
Clambering up slippery slopes,
Avoiding obstreperous rocks,
Teetering on edgy brinks
On this over-the-hill hike,
We’ve summited our local Everest,
Mounted steep fire tower steps
And gazed with a mild surprise
Over hills and lakes and skies.
Now sprawled on boulder benches
We eat our ten o’clock lunches.
A mild breeze stirs our hair
While Nancy sketches us there.
Wind-bent pines lean toward us.
A redtail circles over us.
THE SCENE AT SWASEY PARKWAY
See how the shifting wind
Caresses the marsh grasses
Across the Squamscott River,
Bending them this way and that,
Scaring up little brown birds
Chased by the shadowy wave,
While unconcerned, on the water,
Dozens of ducklings circle
Around their mallard dams,
And cormorants sleekly swim,
Slip below the surface,
And bill up wriggling fish,
Eliciting jealous squawks
From two competing ring bills.
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.
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.
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.
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.
THE ENDLESS QUEST
(Thoughts on hearing Marcelo Gleiser, author of “Life in an Imperfect Universe”)
Let us cease our fruitless search
For a unified theory of the universe.
The force that drives the stars away
Drives our brief forms of energy
To question, search, adapt, evolve:
The mystery is not meant to be resolved.
Perfection is a false and fatal lure:
The wily fox outlived the dinosaur.
The journey is not meant to have an end.
There’s no one answer out there to be found.
Natural selection steadily proceeds.
Only that goes onward which succeeds.