LEAVES

Bright tulips wilt and start to fade
as flocks embark on their parade

and trees undress and start to yawn
and suddenly the summer's gone.

The leaves that once danced overhead
fill up the barrow by the shed

and winter wind will start to blow
and coat the barren boughs with snow.

One day the geese will travel north,
the sun will bring back all its warmth,

returning flowers to the glen —
and leaves will dance above again!

POUR

What shall I write about this dreary eve?

I look down at my desk and then in kind

the pen and paper also stare at me.

I try to think but nothing comes to mind.

Outside I hear the sound of pouring rain

inviting me to come and soak my feet.

If nothing else, distraction from the pain.

I grab my coat and head out to the street.

I'm still as aimless as before, and yet,

although I know not where I will arrive,

and even though my feet are cold and wet

I can't remember feeling this alive.

I think perhaps I'll write about the rain

and how it makes a dead thing live again.

GULL

I noticed a bird at the edge of the dock,
alone and apart from the rest of its flock.
The gull I was watching then took to the sky
and masked by the trees it soon flew out of view.
Then wishing that I too were able to fly
I sat for a bit, just a moment or two,

then slowly stood up and continued my walk.

GOLD

There is a saying often told
that all that glitters is not gold.
But love is worth far more than gold
and crave it all, both young and old.
Unseen by human eye and ear,
it must be fed or disappear
and shared with those whome we hold dear
     — lest all its warmth grow cold.

FIRST SNOWFALL

Upon awakening today
my eyes were filled with great delight.
They met the most divine display —
a world painted milky white.

It was a cozy quilt of snow
which piled up in banks head high
and still more came. It fell so slow
there seemed a limitless supply.

A couple hurried down the lane,
a squirrel darted up a tree,
and what before had seemed mundane
I gazed at now adoringly.

ACHE

It isn't something you can buy
down at the local lumber store
and it’s not something that you’ll find
stashed deep inside a dresser drawer.

Its power knows no earthly bounds
and spans all time and space,
emits no light or heat or sound
but found in every place.

And sometimes you can feel it,
like the joy when lovers kiss,
or when a pang consumes your heart
for loved ones that you miss.

Love is the greatest gift, it’s true,
and yet the greatest curse.
Of all the pain I've suffered through
a heartache is the worst.

THE LOOKOUT

The old tin rooster on the shed
waits patiently to sing its song.
The trees are quiet, wind is dead.
Soon dawn will break. It won’t be long.

The air is calm, the sky is red,
but perched up high for all to see
without a wink of sleep our friend
maintains his outpost rigidly.

A breeze begins to cross the plain.
It starts up gently, then it grows.
The stoic, weathered weathervane
without a warning stirs and crows.

AUTUMN

The darkened forest is so bare
and fallen leaves are everywhere.
Wind whistles through the lonely trees.
They twist and turn with graceful ease.
An aging man walks slowly there
amid the sharp and frigid air.
He slows his gait, then stops his stroll.
On him the years have had their toll.
He taps his cane against the ground.
Old Man Autumn’s come around.

THE COWBOY

The cowboy lights a cigarette
and deep in silent thought
he wonders how much sleep he'll get,
the sun and soil so hot.

The parched earth is ablaze.
The stench of muck is sweet.
The oxen blindly stare and graze
amid the scorching heat.

The horses stomp their angry feet,
the cowboy wipes his sweat,
he hears the cattle's heavy beat
and puffs his cigarette.

It's evening now.
The coyotes howl.
The sun begins to set.
The cowboy sighs and takes his lamp
and lights another cigarette.

SHOES

I think I’d rather be a shoe
and find another shoe to woo.
The reason should be clear enough:
although like people shoes will scuff
it’s very seldom that I see
a single shoe that's lonely.

OAK TREE

Beneath the massive old oak tree
they carved their names for all to see.
The lovers very soon were wed
and underneath this tree they led
a peaceful and untroubled life.
He was her husband, she his wife.
Time went by and they grew old.
Through cruel winter's bitter cold
the giant oak will safely keep
and calmly watch them while they sleep.

IDES OF MARCH

On marble steps stained deep and dark
the senate slew Rome’s patriarch,
stabbed as if within a play
beneath the theater’s arch.

Oh, rue the day! “Et tu, Brute?"

Beware the Ides of March!

BALLGAME

It was the bottom of the ninth and neither side was winning.
Each member of the pent-up crowd was anxious for the inning.
The batter smiled smugly as he stepped up to the plate;
his eyes were fierce and focused and his fingers burned with hate.
He doffed his dusty baseball hat and gripped his trusty bat,
and then with poise and confidence he cleared his throat and spat.
The pitcher's brow was sweaty as he dug into the mound
and then he threw a slider which then sank and struck the ground.
Then came the harsh resounding cry which ruled it a ball;
let there be no mistaking that it deeply thrilled us all.
The seasoned pitcher threw the next ball just above the plate
and number seven swung so mightily – but just too late.
But as each patron held their breath and perched upon their seat
there came the crack of bat and ball; the thud of running feet!
A heartfelt cheer then shook the stands as Seven ran to first.
Two hundred hands applauded and our foes began to curse.
He bolted on towards second, then thundered on to third
and nearly wiped out passing it but he was not deterred.
The cannonball of leather he had smashed began to fall
and finally it smacked into the sand across the wall.
With a final score of five to four the home run won the game.
The winning team went wild – and the conquered bowed in shame.

DRIFTWOOD

Along the shore I paced and stood
among the varying debris
and found a piece of driftwood
which I took back home with me.

I looked out to the silky sea
to clear my thoughts and eyes
and finally it struck me
as a boat in a disguise.

At once I sat to whittle
and slowly I began
to craft a tiny vessel
from the block within my hand.

I stained the carving crimson
and I made a tiny oar.
Its maiden voyage has begun
with a bathtub to explore.

FARMHOUSE

The green felt table, strewn with cards,

stands in a stuffy room.

A light mist coats the darkened yards

– a layer of perfume.

The gentlemen are on the porch

weaving yarns and smoking.

Their sweethearts talk and clean the pots

and plot the next day’s cooking.

The clock strikes ten. The womenfolk

can hear the talk and smell the smoke.

It has been a bad year for corn.

SCAR

Life’s a flattened Good Year tire.
It's a Jewish woman restrained by wire.

It's a black man hanged up high –
a silhouette against the sky.

It's the passion of a love that burned
although that love was not returned.

It's addiction to escapes.
It's a box of old keepsakes.

A mother's star.
Her son's at war.

Life is a scar.

THE WOODSMAN

The old axe rang true
with each solid thud.
It neatly sank through
the blocks of thick wood.

The woodsman stood up,
then slowly bent down.
His arms made a cup
and gathered it 'round.

He loaded his cart
and went on his way
with a weight in his heart
that he had to obey.

DENIM

On a rusty gate I waited for our eyes perchance to meet

but she fancied that she was alone amid the gilded wheat.

So I simply stood adoring as she donned a daisy crown

and I looked upon her walking in her regal, denim gown.

THE THINKER

Weary and alone I stand

evoking tender moments passed,
deep in thought and head in hand.

Forever loving thoughts withstand
the waves of torment and hold fast.
Weary and alone I stand

recalling beaches, softly tanned,
on which the lovers kissed the last.
Deep in thought and head in hand

I clear my thoughts as blown like sand.
The final tide has gone. Alas!
Weary and alone I stand,

looking o’er the lonely strand
and on toward seas of colored glass,
deep in thought and head in hand.

For lovers never understand
that nothing’s here that’s here to last.
Weary and alone I stand –
deep in thought and head in hand.