I don't believe anything has affected me as much as the loss of Dacano Arno last June 3rd. I hadn't known much about this young man, but now I know he was loved by many. This poem is to him:
I went there
for the first time
just the other day.
There was no traffic,
and the river flowed
peacefully without
beckoning me to join
the one it had claimed
as summer's warmth
was beginning that tragic
day. I wanted so
desperately to say,
" I hate you," but as
I stood at the blue tower
designed to save lives,
I could only shed a few
tears and say a prayer.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Shells of the Mind
My mind was back on the coast as my body stayed here in DF.
Trying to appreciate
the silence
was a hopeless task,
because my mind was
full of all the words
that had
once been spoken when
they had meant something.
But now, like sand-filled shells,
they only
rattled unheard as they
were swept by the rushing
tides bringing them to shore
only to exist,
But remain uncovered
until the sea breezes
would cover them completely
with sand.
Trying to appreciate
the silence
was a hopeless task,
because my mind was
full of all the words
that had
once been spoken when
they had meant something.
But now, like sand-filled shells,
they only
rattled unheard as they
were swept by the rushing
tides bringing them to shore
only to exist,
But remain uncovered
until the sea breezes
would cover them completely
with sand.
Starry Night
I have always felt a bit of magic occurs on a starry night.
It was
too early
in the day
to wish
for a
starry night.
Dreams seemed
impossible when
clouds covered
the stars
up there.
I needed
a dream
whether it
came true
or not
didn't matter
I needed
to dream.
It was
too early
in the day
to wish
for a
starry night.
Dreams seemed
impossible when
clouds covered
the stars
up there.
I needed
a dream
whether it
came true
or not
didn't matter
I needed
to dream.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Used Clothing
My family didn't have much money, but I managed to grow up.
Everyday
she stood
watching the children
going by
her house.
Some wore
the styles shown
on television
that
"Anyone
who was
anyone"
would be
wearing.
She, too,
would
go to school
in clothes
that were
clean,
but had been
in style
years ago.
The
church rummage sale
or thrift shop
was all her
parents
could afford.
Everyday
she stood
watching the children
going by
her house.
Some wore
the styles shown
on television
that
"Anyone
who was
anyone"
would be
wearing.
She, too,
would
go to school
in clothes
that were
clean,
but had been
in style
years ago.
The
church rummage sale
or thrift shop
was all her
parents
could afford.
Autumn Again
The seasons change giving us hints before they strike us hard.
Stopping
to watch
the geese flying
overhead, I couldn't
help but notice
the world changing
around me.
The once
crisp green leaves
now curled their
brown edges
waiting for the wind
to
send them
away from here.
Spears
of yellow grass
were hiding the
brown
cat--tails
by the pond.
A cool breeze
whispered that its
cold relatives were
around
the next corner,
and
soon would
be coming here
for me
to endure.
Stopping
to watch
the geese flying
overhead, I couldn't
help but notice
the world changing
around me.
The once
crisp green leaves
now curled their
brown edges
waiting for the wind
to
send them
away from here.
Spears
of yellow grass
were hiding the
brown
cat--tails
by the pond.
A cool breeze
whispered that its
cold relatives were
around
the next corner,
and
soon would
be coming here
for me
to endure.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
The Leaf and the Cat
It has always been interesting to me to watch cats and see how they are affected by various objects.
The leaf
floated down
near the
sleeping cat.
After stretching
itself awake,
it stared
at the
intruder
as if
it was
wondering about
the safety
of the
changing environment.
A breeze
made the
intruder come
alive once
more and
fly on
to occupy
another place
far away
from the
. porch.
The leaf
floated down
near the
sleeping cat.
After stretching
itself awake,
it stared
at the
intruder
as if
it was
wondering about
the safety
of the
changing environment.
A breeze
made the
intruder come
alive once
more and
fly on
to occupy
another place
far away
from the
. porch.
Scrambled Mind
This poem is one that came to me when nothing seemed to fit in place.
She didn't sleep
because her mind
was full
of events
occurring throughout
the day,
mountains didn't move
and rivers stayed
in their beds,
The chick--a--dee
called to let
his mate know
Tuesday would
come and cones
would fall
from the tree
while her mind
tried to
sort it
all out.
She didn't sleep
because her mind
was full
of events
occurring throughout
the day,
mountains didn't move
and rivers stayed
in their beds,
The chick--a--dee
called to let
his mate know
Tuesday would
come and cones
would fall
from the tree
while her mind
tried to
sort it
all out.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Waiting for the First Snowflakes
I am not a fan of snow or winter time, but, non-the-less, there is something intriguing about the first flakes of snow.
The light wind
made the night
seem colder,
But, at least, it
asked for forgiveness
by playing a tune
on the wind chimes
hanging outside my
living room window.
Most of the crops
from the garden
had been gathered
So now all we could do
was wait for the first
flakes of snow to fall.
The light wind
made the night
seem colder,
But, at least, it
asked for forgiveness
by playing a tune
on the wind chimes
hanging outside my
living room window.
Most of the crops
from the garden
had been gathered
So now all we could do
was wait for the first
flakes of snow to fall.
Stealing a View.
A poem to think about. We've all done it.
The
property
is not
mine.
I
do not
feel,
however,
that
I am
a
thief
when I
capture
the
view
to
hold
in
my mind.
The
property
is not
mine.
I
do not
feel,
however,
that
I am
a
thief
when I
capture
the
view
to
hold
in
my mind.
Rocker
I love to watch a rocking chair being used. I hope this poem shows that this statement is true.
Never
fully asleep,
yet
only marginally
awake,
the old
man
rocked his
wooden
rocking chair
causing
squeaks of
many
mice that
his
old cat
long
ago had
learned
didn't exist.
Never
fully asleep,
yet
only marginally
awake,
the old
man
rocked his
wooden
rocking chair
causing
squeaks of
many
mice that
his
old cat
long
ago had
learned
didn't exist.
Protecting Treasure
I wrote this recently from a memory that only I will understand.
About half way down
through the indented
hollow,
the shrubs and grasses
begin
to grow and show.
Continuing the journey
will bring one to a
thicker
hedge that forms a
penetrable barrier
that
keeps the treasure
protected from
being touched
by anyone not wanted
there.
About half way down
through the indented
hollow,
the shrubs and grasses
begin
to grow and show.
Continuing the journey
will bring one to a
thicker
hedge that forms a
penetrable barrier
that
keeps the treasure
protected from
being touched
by anyone not wanted
there.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Sounds, Noises, or What?
I am willing to let the reader take what each will from my poem below.
The house
is empty.
Wind rattles
the windows,
making no sounds
as no one
is there to
hear them.
Apples fall
from the
old tree.
They roll
down the
slanted roof,
again making
no sound,
for I don.t
think the ghosts
have ears.
The house,
standing there now,
however, remembers
when children
raced through,
chasing things
that were
never caught,
yet made sounds
that had
been heard
and understood.
The house
is empty.
Wind rattles
the windows,
making no sounds
as no one
is there to
hear them.
Apples fall
from the
old tree.
They roll
down the
slanted roof,
again making
no sound,
for I don.t
think the ghosts
have ears.
The house,
standing there now,
however, remembers
when children
raced through,
chasing things
that were
never caught,
yet made sounds
that had
been heard
and understood.
Long Journey
I do not like driving, but sometimes I have to go, and I just have to make the best of it. I usually find the worrying about it is the worst part..
Waiting to start
the journey
seemed to
be the worst part.
The questions
in my mind
produced the
worst possible
scenarios.
Imagination did
its best
to frighten me.
After I
got started,
the humming
of the car's
tires and the
many colored
leaves on
the trees brought
calm enough to
help me
enjoy what I
had to do.
Waiting to start
the journey
seemed to
be the worst part.
The questions
in my mind
produced the
worst possible
scenarios.
Imagination did
its best
to frighten me.
After I
got started,
the humming
of the car's
tires and the
many colored
leaves on
the trees brought
calm enough to
help me
enjoy what I
had to do.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
The Evening Meal
After reading this poem, many of you will see that I am not a hunter, although I do not object to those who are.
Silently watching,
and intently listening,
the doe and fawn
munched on the nearly frozen
apples beneath the
naked branches of the only
tree left in the field.
Waiting in the firs
surrounding the field,
the hunter stood with
finger on the trigger,
thankful he had no one
armed and waiting
next to his dining room
where he would soon be
eating his next evening meal.
Silently watching,
and intently listening,
the doe and fawn
munched on the nearly frozen
apples beneath the
naked branches of the only
tree left in the field.
Waiting in the firs
surrounding the field,
the hunter stood with
finger on the trigger,
thankful he had no one
armed and waiting
next to his dining room
where he would soon be
eating his next evening meal.
Harvest Moon
The moon outside my home has been so splendidly bright and round the few nights, I just had to write about it.
Last night
was the harvest
moon.
It shined
ever so brightly
that
nothing could
be hidden from
view.
Even I
was aware that
a
reflection would
not last forever,
although
the moon
said differently.
Last night
was the harvest
moon.
It shined
ever so brightly
that
nothing could
be hidden from
view.
Even I
was aware that
a
reflection would
not last forever,
although
the moon
said differently.
Sea Wind
As I have reported before, I grew up on the coast of Maine....A place I still feel is the most beautiful pace to see.
The wind
coming off
the sea
used its
mournful mourning
to call
me to
the shore
and watch
the seabirds
searching for
food or
a place
to land
and rest
their wings
that had
been struggling
to keep
them
aloft.
The wind
coming off
the sea
used its
mournful mourning
to call
me to
the shore
and watch
the seabirds
searching for
food or
a place
to land
and rest
their wings
that had
been struggling
to keep
them
aloft.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Rainbow, a Picture?
I have often thought about what really happens when a picture is taken. This poem addresses this:
Seeing a rainbow
was so important
to her,
but she couldn't
always be there
when it
appeared. One could
snap a picture
of it
which would be
nice, yet a
bit like
eating chocolate cake
and having no
taste buds.
Seeing a rainbow
was so important
to her,
but she couldn't
always be there
when it
appeared. One could
snap a picture
of it
which would be
nice, yet a
bit like
eating chocolate cake
and having no
taste buds.
The Sound........
This is one of my lonely confused times:
I heard the noise
several times before
I knew that it
was only the sound
of my own weeping.
Strange as it
may have seemed then,
I knew it wasn't
because the clouds
covered the stars,
or that the wind
blew the tree branches
in the directi9on that
I knew I should
have been going.
I heard the noise
several times before
I knew that it
was only the sound
of my own weeping.
Strange as it
may have seemed then,
I knew it wasn't
because the clouds
covered the stars,
or that the wind
blew the tree branches
in the directi9on that
I knew I should
have been going.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Going Home Again?
I recently took account of the Now and Then of my hometown:
the kids
The old drug store is now
a gift shop where a few
antiques are being sold.
The barber shop houses
an information center
where one can find places
of interest in my old home town.
Getting across Main Street
was the objective for many of
the kids because Sid's was
always the place to go to
pick up candy or soda.
That, too, is gone; replaced by
a real estate office
which completely erases any
need for taking a chance.
I guess it's true that you
never can go home again.
the kids
The old drug store is now
a gift shop where a few
antiques are being sold.
The barber shop houses
an information center
where one can find places
of interest in my old home town.
Getting across Main Street
was the objective for many of
the kids because Sid's was
always the place to go to
pick up candy or soda.
That, too, is gone; replaced by
a real estate office
which completely erases any
need for taking a chance.
I guess it's true that you
never can go home again.
Policing the Rain
I composed this the other day after discussing rain with a friend:
Driving out
of the storm
and into sunlight
made me
think that perhaps
a silent policeman
had held
up his hand,
had blown his
powerful whistle,
stopping the rain
in its tracks.
Driving out
of the storm
and into sunlight
made me
think that perhaps
a silent policeman
had held
up his hand,
had blown his
powerful whistle,
stopping the rain
in its tracks.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
On the Farm
Growing up on a small farm didn't always offer the glitz of city life, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything.
The path started in a mowed field,
and it was clear except for the middle
where no steps had trod down the taller grasses
It was easy enough to follow to get to
the garden and the two plum trees.
Hours were spent planting,
weeding, and eventually harvesting.
The hot sun parched our lips
and throat making the
appearance of mother with her
bucket of iced-cold lemonade
a very welcomed sight.
Late afternoon brought a time
for fishing and swishing
in the deeper part of the brook
that bordered our land on the west.
Tall pines, firs, and spruce kept guard
of our secret places to find
the biggest trout. A blast from
a shrill whistle called us home
for evening chores, supper,
and an early bedtime
that prepared us for
the same routine tomorrow.
The path started in a mowed field,
and it was clear except for the middle
where no steps had trod down the taller grasses
It was easy enough to follow to get to
the garden and the two plum trees.
Hours were spent planting,
weeding, and eventually harvesting.
The hot sun parched our lips
and throat making the
appearance of mother with her
bucket of iced-cold lemonade
a very welcomed sight.
Late afternoon brought a time
for fishing and swishing
in the deeper part of the brook
that bordered our land on the west.
Tall pines, firs, and spruce kept guard
of our secret places to find
the biggest trout. A blast from
a shrill whistle called us home
for evening chores, supper,
and an early bedtime
that prepared us for
the same routine tomorrow.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Her Eyes.....My Eyes
This poem was written after my daughter had left home, and I realized how much I had really missed that was there to see as I had been trying to make the "Almighty Dollar."
Her eyes saw the piglet
with curled tail and shrill squeal
crowding its way in to get its
share of the old sow's milk.
My eyes saw twenty-five dollars
or meals provided when the
cold months of winter made it
difficult to let the land supply.
Her eyes saw the shadows crawling
spider--like across her bedroom walls
bringing with them every hideous
monster her mind could construct.
My eyes saw the coming of evening when
I could rest from the labors of the day--warm
shadows that brought sleep and caressed my
my mind, wiping away worries.
Her eyes saw the yellow crowns of dandelions
begging her to make a bouquet which would
be destined to become a wilted mass of
blooms on the bulkhead of the cellar.
My eyes saw the weeds that were choking the green
grass of my lawn--an enemy bent on destroying--
worthless plants that were
disguised in a golden allure.
Her eyes saw the falling snowflakes as crystals
of magic promising a snowman and playing a
a tune that only a child
could fully understand.
My eyes saw the coldness
of a snowplow bill, or the backache
coming from lifting mounds
of the horrid white stuff.
Her eyes saw the rainbow arching across
the gray sky framed by summer leaves and
drops of rain. My eyes saw this, too,
And, at last, our eyes had met.
Her eyes saw the piglet
with curled tail and shrill squeal
crowding its way in to get its
share of the old sow's milk.
My eyes saw twenty-five dollars
or meals provided when the
cold months of winter made it
difficult to let the land supply.
Her eyes saw the shadows crawling
spider--like across her bedroom walls
bringing with them every hideous
monster her mind could construct.
My eyes saw the coming of evening when
I could rest from the labors of the day--warm
shadows that brought sleep and caressed my
my mind, wiping away worries.
Her eyes saw the yellow crowns of dandelions
begging her to make a bouquet which would
be destined to become a wilted mass of
blooms on the bulkhead of the cellar.
My eyes saw the weeds that were choking the green
grass of my lawn--an enemy bent on destroying--
worthless plants that were
disguised in a golden allure.
Her eyes saw the falling snowflakes as crystals
of magic promising a snowman and playing a
a tune that only a child
could fully understand.
My eyes saw the coldness
of a snowplow bill, or the backache
coming from lifting mounds
of the horrid white stuff.
Her eyes saw the rainbow arching across
the gray sky framed by summer leaves and
drops of rain. My eyes saw this, too,
And, at last, our eyes had met.
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