Poem in February

***

Leave the door open
and
the smell
will fade faster
in the cold.


With no light
in the cold
we could not
see
the darkness.

***

The Faded Wheelbarrow (poem)

***


so little depends
upon

a faded wheel
barrow

marked with dust
veins

beside the quiet
coop

***

Prime (poem)

                                                                                                                                       ***


Prime

Some of you will remember

The eccentric schoolteacher who

Liked to speak of the prime of life.

The prime, she would say, or

One’s prime or my prime or yours.

And to us and the children, it may have seemed

She herself was passed what

May have been called her prime,

Passed and on the declining side, down

From the apex, the summit, the mountaintop...

But who’s to say she was not right

And that was in fact
Her prime, after one or more

Aborted lift-offs, scrubbed missions,

Abandoned dreams.

Or even that

Any time or every time has

A prime, if we can see it or sense it

Or be it or live it? Who

Could say that, for sure?

Heading what may seem to some

Down, or just starting up

Or upward,

Who’s to say?

From this little hollow, this quaint

Modest valley or dale or depression only,

Looking ahead, up I suppose,

I have entered, let me say, the prime

Of my old age.  Yes, Miss?

                                                                                                                                          ***

A Man and His Work

***

A Man and His Work

 

I saw him

Not Engage
Not hold
His Audience.

He dominated

Intimidated.
I hated him.

Even now

Forty years
Distant, safe

I hate him.

My stomach
Twists
Remembering.

I don’t read

His poems
Others do.

 I hate it.

They are
Very good
Poems.


***

“Good Boy” (poem)

***

Good job!

She says.
Why not, I wonder,
Good boy!

As you say to a dog,
Having mastered
How to
“SIT”?

 Only this time

At home from surgery
Ms Therapist says it
To me,

Having successfully

Tied
My shoe.

***

...And Much (Poem)

***

... and too

much depends
upon

fingers punching
tan keys

made of hard
plastic

above the black
spacebar

***

Poem: July Twilight

***

Violet
Glowing
Glowing violet
Blossoms
          violet glowing from tiny hill blooms

Dust
          thick air
Rolling down
And
And rolling down through dust and thick, filled air

Rocks
Stones
          pink
Grass
Grasses

Across pink-purple stones and lying grasses--
Where I
Where my feet
             are my feet are
             are strings under
             white-warm
             canvas,

Thin
             and hard
             as twigs.

***

Poem: Indian Summer

***

Lying immobile on the silent earth
Full and ripe, round, beautiful
Resting quiet among the leaves.

Waiting unknown in the soft, dank bed,
Warm, sun glancing through the branches
Hoping, still, in the smelling autumn wastes.

Sitting timid in the damp dirt
Waiting, slowly dying in warm winds,
Round, tired, ripe, smothered

Full, sweet, unseen, soft,
Lying immobile on the silent earth
Rotting, mute, in the sun.

Poem: Roman Vista

***

He stands on the roof, on the tall windblown tower
………overlooking the city--
Gazing past the tiled roofs clustered near beneath Him,
Past the brown, green, and black shingles covering the low
………and cool residences imbedded in the cedary hills
………forming a bowl to cradle His tower under Him,
Past the white cotton clouds, through the azure liquid sky,
………beyond the sun and the heavens, into nowhere.

He smiles and the sun glows warmly,
Sending fire into all natural things--
………tree, bush, dog, or man and woman--
Inducing all who wake or ever stirred on earth to peace--
………to peaceful, hot oblivion.

He laughs and the clouds start to move,
Enshrouding themselves
………with black violet,
Encircling the sun, shutting out its light
………but not its soporific heat.

He roars, and thunder stumbles out from behind the hills
………and careens through the clouds,
Smashing the peace with heavy, loud, bootsteps
………that roll back and forth in the hills' cradles.

A tear builds in His eye, larger, until it bleeds
……….down His soft cheek, and the rains
Begin to stroke the fertile soil,
Splashing the gutters with a coolish clearness
………restoring peace once more.

He sobs, and the cool of the rain turns to heat,
Boiling the tile-covered roofs
………and the trees
...........and everything beneath Him
………with fever.

He sobs again and the clear waters
………turn to filth,
Coating everything touched by the searing rain
………with a blistering, sticky mud.

He cries on and on, and the rain turns to fire
           as it pounds the earth,
Kindling the city, the trees,
           the roofs, the streets, the gutters,
          even His own tower
With flames that shoot up
          into the cotton clouds,
Billowing smoke to the liquid sky.

Finding his violin, still crying,
He plays wild songs
         into the fire and ash,
Bowing and laughing at the same time
         until the whole city is destroyed
         and even His tower is steaming
Black rubble
         beneath the quietly smiling sun.

***

Poem: Raking Leaves

***

I

The wind’s
Always blowing
The wrong way

II

And they are
Aren’t they
After all
Pretty good
Mulch?

***

Poem: An Old Man Proceeds

***

The young woman
in the red car
in the space
next to me,

Without thought
effortlessly
moves up and on
ahead,

While I,
focusing my will,
concentrating,
lift the one knee

Pushing off
the other toes,
step up the curb
and go on
my way.

***

Poem: first day of spring

***

cycling
from work
home

a man wrestling
a bright stroller with
a girl

not
my daughter

beside him
peering
at the rushing
cars

what i'd do
i'd lift her

thinking that
cycling by

i felt her weight
on my arm
and her legs
on my chest

and my heart
leapt

**

Poem: What Did We Learn in Viet Nam?

***

We learned a lot
in Viet Nam

We learned it is easier
to destroy
than create
or support

We learned to destroy
in our songs
and our newspapers
in our books and plays and popular arts
in our politics
on the battlefields and
in our private
lives

We learned the lesson
well

We learned it is easier to destroy
than to create or support or sustain

In our tv programs
and our games and in our jobs
in our political arenas
in the movies and in our music
in the streets
in the fields and rice
paddies
and in our
hearts

We learned
one hell
of a lot
in
Viet Nam

But what we did
not learn

is the greatest
lesson

***

Poem: Narcissus

***

I Am
The tree
That falls
In a wood.

No one
Sees
My falling
Nor the leaves
I fall
Upon.

My face,
Rough bark,
Snaked
With rotted lines,
Wriggles
In the water
Before me.

And I see
My Self,
Agèd
Crookèd limbs
In fall,

Quavering
In my waters'
Eye.

***