It is the last of the night
and the first light of the day
brings wake-up time
to the birds in the bushes;
their songs,
tentative at first
the notes quiet and seeking
take form,
one with the other,
questing and melding,
point and counterpoint
till the moment,
when strong in will
and together in purpose,
the chorus swells
the light brightens
and together they bring
the dawn to a full day
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Just look,
my astonished daughter
at this image.
Once I seemed a monstrous being
but look and look again
this is me,
this overgrown hedge
of my beard
and hair
and moustache
the broken nose.
The eyes
peer out and say
this is me.
At that time
you were not even envisioned
and now I am here
in this black and white photo
your father.
Keep me please
I bind you to an unknown past
connected by memory and dna,
this time is yours
if you want.
Just ask
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
her muzzle shoves snow
sneezing out all the crystals
no snowshoes needed
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
The wind blows
in the birch tree
Why do I think
of widows at a funeral,
faded and tired.
The leaves too.
soon they will fall
another summer
another year nearly over
I cannot but help feeling
as the leaves fall.
I am a year older
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
the loon sings
his songs,
the night wind
wafts his plaints
over the black water to us,
sitting on the dock
in the silence
of a Maine Summer night.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
The family rarely gets together
oceans apart
email and skype are there
but touch and embrace
are not
the family meal
remembrance and folly
and joy and bitterness
at new partings to come
gelled over, smoothed with wine
the mother asserts her role
the desert a trifle
memories of tastes past
remembered again
before the door opens and shuts
another goodbye and for how long
the question hangs
the answers now are too late for tomorrow
and so to bed
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
Then,
on waking
out in the early light
running and running
the familiar curves and sweeps of the road
markers for my discipline
the rise and falls of the hills
signals to my heart and lungs
to do what I willed.
Runners know that will,
It says that you are king
it says you will not fail.
I am, I am
A needle needing North
And finding it,
Exulting,
I am, I am.
Now,
on waking
I lie waiting for the ache in my back
To take over
To tell me there is a new day
And like yesterday,
And the day before,
I will hurt.
I am, I am.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC