miles away from town
the screen door opened for me
to gentle breeze, letting in summer
escape from those who troubled me
the lake down the slope glistened
stillness and reflection of open land
while I idled and gazed at the sky
in the place I learned to wonder and dream
and each passing cloud I named
in the place learned to wonder and dream
while I idled and gazed at the sky
stillness and reflection of open land
the lake down the slope glistened
escape from those who troubled me
to a gentle breeze, letting in summer
the screen door opened for me
miles away from town
*palindrome form
I will ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ go ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ go to ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ a small cabin ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ of clay ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ glade.
¦¦¦ I shall have some peace ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ dropping slow,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ from the veils of ¦¦¦ morning ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the cricket sings;
¦¦¦¦¦ midnight's all a glimmer, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ a purple glow,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
I will arise and go ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
I hear lake ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ with low sounds by the shore;
¦¦¦¦¦ I stand on the roadway, or on ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ gray,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the deep heart's core.
(Blackout of The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats)
Life is your harvest
purplepeninportland
The combine drones in the field
gathering corn planted in spring.
The father holds the wheel—
his son pulls the wagon
to take the corn—
efforts measured
by what they yield.
The father bears his years,
his love for family and farm.
Branches of trees dance in winds,
a day of winter they will bring
silent moments under a cover of snow
reflections of sun as the year passes
over his spread of land as it rests.
The fading moon looks upon the road
as the sun rises over a field.
Grasses dance in the wind
in a quiet place where life begins.
The first day of the week
a new place to stand
A road once torn must be rebuilt--
the weary heart bears its age.
Contrails in the sky of a jet plane
spread in the sky and disappear
another journey taken in time.
A lone worker stands in place
and a line of cars passes
people waving like friends he knew.
A breeze sings, the moon gone
never lost when remembered.
I gazed at the tree’s bare stem
alone at the end of the street.
It had aged but appeared
as a twig to me.
Alone, I thought.
an apparition
but I’d seen it before.
In place it stood where it
bore the sun, the wind
rain and snow every year.
Never quite dead
but I could not call it alive.
Burdened with a bag
of rolled up newspapers
I labored, doing what I could do
after I losing a job.
I’d grown to love the neighborhood
blocks staked out for development
when I stayed with my parents
just after college. They passed.
My chest ached and feet hurt
and I wondered how many times
I died, and how many times
I lived. Spring a poetic leap
but now long days of summer
wore upon me. I took a turn as I must
and saw line upon line of houses
that sprouted from wild grasses
and remnants of a farm
lands known when I was young.
Old Love Affair
clouds linger
outside my chamber
a gust of air
breaks silence
I bear
unfinished conversations
two years ago
of poems shared
with someone
who called me
to a grocery aisle
to clean up a spill
and she stood by me
a trial in life shared
now it looks like rain
a cool September day
first of the fall
the housecat I fed
wanders room-to-room
restless and searching
for his time and place
I suppose a shower
would do me good
but memories can never
be washed away, but I
learn to live again.
She notes how the days
have grown shorter.
A cacophony of grackles
near a cornfield fills the air.
A farmer across the road
walks along his field
checking his corn before harvest.
Leaves rustling
in the wind sing.
The construction crew
has passed her driveway.
She asks the flagger to
help her daughter across.
The school bus arrives
late afternoon. Lights flash
She rushes onto the porch
and hugs her daughter
who wears a backpack.
The mother notices
the sky is gold
as she looks out the window
and cooks supper on the stove.
Her daughter sits in a chair
hands folded on her lap.
So good to see her daughter
she thinks after letting go
in the morning and waiting
for a late afternoon embrace.
The babysitter across the hallway
lit a candle during the blackout.
Soft music played in the apartment
I checked on their place
to see the toddler asleep on the couch,
the parents away on a date.
A soft glow shared.
We left our doors open
to keep an eye on each other.
Dusk swept over a line, apartments
at the edge of town. We were left
to the resonance of our silence.
A line of residences
along the street rested
on a Sunday night.
Just beyond a line of trees
a creek took in what the rain had left.
Stars to the west hid somewhere beyond.
You open early morning
to sunlight in a chamber
past the threshold.
I’ve yet to know
what the day may bring
late summer
a calling to live
live again.
The cat roams
the room
after I give it
water and food.
Someone sleeps
in the front room.
I’ve closed you
for now. I must
awaken to what
lies ahead.
The voice of someone
I’ve known calls
then another and another
a chorus of memories—
I’ve never forgotten.
Bedroom door
I’ve closed you
but dreams linger.
The branch still in bloom
waves in the wind
and a sparrow flutters
by the window
and yes
a threshold to embrace
but I can never close
passages to my many lives.
Out in the yellow ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the bee
Hums ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Spring,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sweet notes ¦¦¦¦ the larks ¦¦¦ wing,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wander ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ now? or ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ then? for now,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the larks ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ pour showers:
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ May is on the flowers,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ shadows dance ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
What's this, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ change
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the grace
Of heaven ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ earth in ¦¦¦ embrace.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ heart, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ to feel ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Look, ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ see
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the sun's decline:
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ even in death divine,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of Modern Love XI: Out in the Yellow Meadows by George Meredith)
for Wake Me Up When September Ends Contest
Sponsor: Daniel Henry Rogers
They’re in conversation
with a crisp breeze as it sings
about the summer lost.
The proud sun colors skies gold
but shadows grow long.
not much is said
but they know
something’s changing
Once young, they cling
onto branches but know
one day they will take
their last breath and fall.
a song
about passing days
lingers in the air
Frantic calls of grackles
stir the air as they land
on branches before a swirl
of them cloud the sky.
the cacophony
interrupts
tranquility of the day
the passing sun whispers
and at dusk skies bleed
leaves surrender to time
My bare feet brush the carpet
after I slip out of bed.
Words from an unknown place
resonate in my head.
I grab my car keys
wondering where
the road may lead.
This moment serenity
found in my homestead
time to myself.
Yet I recall my first love
who said it was in my head.
Day whispers
as I rest near a place
where the street ends
but past the ravine
a road with another name
in another time and place.
*off-ghazal form
Just outside Mountain, Wisconsin
the forest lies. It invites me inside
to hear the stories, it longs to tell.
Around a curve a puddle of water
from a fall of rain.
At each turn I never knew
what I would find.
A photo of a bear in the dark
is posted at the gas station.
The clerk said it is deep
within the forest when I
stopped inside for a snack.
No one can say for certain
where the forest ends.
I’m going inside to see
what it reveals. Another level
of secrets lies in undergrowth.
All trees stretch their arms
upward reaching for the sun.
I’m driving around the state
to find my time and place.
Lands once stripped, replanted
in a public works project
during the Great Depression
to give the land new life.
A glance through a crown
shows the sun as it shines on me.
Each morning asks me to start again
after I step outside the motel.
The Pensive Poet Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom
Soren Kirkegaard
I ignore the voice of someone
shouting at the television
in the living room.
His voice grates.
My hand jitters as I open
the laptop. A blank page waits
and there’s just an hour before
I must go to work.
I desire to pull lines
from the air and let
them breathe.
I take a deep breath
And sigh. There’s so little time—
I recall time lost when scurrying
through life/ Again something
tugs at my sleeve, demanding
attention. I ask for a moment.
Clouds drift through the sky
before the storm, the thunderclap
but I always wait for silence.
My worn T-shirt bears
the times that passed.
Good enough for now
I say to myself.
Sun through window
a promise
of what I don’t know.
When I take a drive
the river at my side speaks
and I let the highway
take it where it wants.
Soft conversations
I embrace as once again
my life unfolds.
Once again, I hear
the voice of someone I loved
coming back to me
in a moment of solitude.
I bought the T-shirt
on a journey out of town.
Now a sleeve has a hole
but I keep it for another day.
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