Category: Tamworth Poems

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)

WAKE UP CALL

Death is the surprise

Life springs on us

When we are not looking.

Even when we see it coming,

We’re never ready.

It takes us unawares.

Suddenly our dear one 

Is not here,

Is not there,

Is nowhere.

Death does not care.

We care.

THE COLOR YELLOW

Forsythia’s buttery bursts

Glow in  the cloudy gray

April rain, and willows’

Key lime fingers sway

In the watery atmosphere.

I’m on my outbound way,

Gladdened by hosts of daffodil

Suns on a dismal day.

TIMING IS EVERYTHING

In April, driving north on Route Sixteen,

You top a hill just south of Ossipee

And in your face arise the peaks and flanks

Of Washington and the Presidential Range.

Fiercely white, they reign over the horizon,

An awesome sight you want to keep your eyes on.

But you go on and Chocorua hoves into view,

Clothed with his Sisters in somewhat mottled hues,

And they call out for climbing, but you know

The trails will still be treacherous with snow.

Black ice will subtly coat the shaded rocks,

And slow going may find you still on top

When shadows coalesce around your feet,

The sun beating an all-too-fast retreat.

Some shining prospects should be kept in sight

Until the time for venturing is just right.

(April 2014)

LEARNING HOW TO LET GO

The child’s umbilical cord

Is the first binding tie

Which has to be broken.

And then our nurslings must

Be weaned from the breast.

Nestlings have to learn to fly.

The yellow school buses

Take them from our doors.

We share an empty house

With an aging partner or spouse,

Who one day is no more.

Comrades wave their goodbyes.

We all go on our ways,

Turning into memories.

So let us raise a parting glass

To all the loved ones of our pasts.

THE TRAIL NOT TAKEN

(With apologies to R. Frost)

I followed the Great Hill Road,

Heavily sanded on melting ice,

To where it diverged to the wood

And found a parking space.

I took out my snowshoes and poles,

Tightened the bindings twice,

Set out down the trail,

And then I felt the rain.

The mountain had sent forth clouds

Which blotted out the sun.

Much as I longed to go on,

I knew I had to run.

Oh I will remember the way

To that white unblemished path.

I’ll come back on a better day

To trace its beckoning track.