todd-william-fritz - Hello Poetry

May the morning dew glisten gold, the noon shadows cool green, and the evening sky bring vibrant autumn hues. May a gentle breeze stir pleasant memories in your soul May the voice of a friend bring you laughter May a casual thought spark a debate with a kindred spirit May you hear hope in the voice of someone in need May you see peace in the faces of many May a child sing you a melody that touches your heart May you touch the face of a loved one and share the warmth of holding hands Celebrate the beauty of the world and the friends and family that love you.

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Sep 16, 2015

Sep 16, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC

May You Celebrate the Day

May the morning dew glisten gold, the noon shadows cool green, and the evening sky bring vibrant autumn hues. May a gentle breeze stir pleasant memories in your soul May the voice of a friend bring you laughter May a casual thought spark a debate with a kindred spirit May you hear hope in the voice of someone in need May you see peace in the faces of many May a child sing you a melody that touches your heart May you touch the face of a loved one and share the warmth of holding hands Celebrate the beauty of the world and the friends and family that love you.

9

The tree once strong that shaded us, Fell from life a year ago. Yet now the substance that held it tall Still burns brightly warming our heart and souls. The seed nurtured in good soil has spread far and wide - The stature and strength reflected in our roots, timber, and seed. Peace, my father. The fish await you. Until we meet once again, peace.

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Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC

Good Seed

The tree once strong that shaded us, Fell from life a year ago. Yet now the substance that held it tall Still burns brightly warming our heart and souls. The seed nurtured in good soil has spread far and wide - The stature and strength reflected in our roots, timber, and seed. Peace, my father. The fish await you. Until we meet once again, peace.

7

Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek. Our tent next to the still waters. Eventide respite. Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset. Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air. Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day. A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind. Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects. The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.

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Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC

Solitude at Lower Quartz Lake

Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek. Our tent next to the still waters. Eventide respite. Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset. Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air. Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day. A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind. Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects. The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.

10

Cool are the streets before sunrise I pedal my daily route through downtown Kalamazoo Past the Art Institute and Civic And out through Riverfront Park on the Valley Trail Across the river on M96 I head east toward sunrise The road is slightly dampened by the dew And the trees on each side of the highway stand tall Framing the sun as I make the first curve slightly east-north-east In symmetry, the sun lies between the trees Above the road, floating round, brilliant Just inside the zone of a photographer's eye The sun, the road, the trees, the mist – all ablaze in orange. A dangerous time to ride so close to traffic The lenses of my glasses scatter the light in condensation I pedal hard to pass through this section And ride into Galesburg stopping at the lights Passing through town out Michigan Ave I cross the Kalamazoo River but stop for a moment in stride As the cold air nudges swirls of fog to dance on the surface Lit from behind by the rising sun, golden, quiet, ghostly into the distance Out onto my last few miles where the road is rough It climbs out of the river valley up two hundred feet Into winding country roads away from most traffic And closer to the farms and woods The air is now heavy with the dampness of the woods There is only the breeze I bring with me I crest a hill after a long climb but I do not coast on the slight reprieve As there is new and old roadkill serviced by carrion birds in the mist I am at my destination on another beautiful morning and I think What wonders have I seen that my peers miss in their race on the highway What smells of wild garlic, split oak, and musk of raccoon, skunk, and possum, and sweat What satisfaction I have as I shower off the cold, and insects, and ride from my skin August 20, 2013 Kalamazoo, MI

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Aug 20, 2013

Aug 20, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC

Tuesday Morning

Cool are the streets before sunrise I pedal my daily route through downtown Kalamazoo Past the Art Institute and Civic And out through Riverfront Park on the Valley Trail Across the river on M96 I head east toward sunrise The road is slightly dampened by the dew And the trees on each side of the highway stand tall Framing the sun as I make the first curve slightly east-north-east In symmetry, the sun lies between the trees Above the road, floating round, brilliant Just inside the zone of a photographer's eye The sun, the road, the trees, the mist – all ablaze in orange. A dangerous time to ride so close to traffic The lenses of my glasses scatter the light in condensation I pedal hard to pass through this section And ride into Galesburg stopping at the lights Passing through town out Michigan Ave I cross the Kalamazoo River but stop for a moment in stride As the cold air nudges swirls of fog to dance on the surface Lit from behind by the rising sun, golden, quiet, ghostly into the distance Out onto my last few miles where the road is rough It climbs out of the river valley up two hundred feet Into winding country roads away from most traffic And closer to the farms and woods The air is now heavy with the dampness of the woods There is only the breeze I bring with me I crest a hill after a long climb but I do not coast on the slight reprieve As there is new and old roadkill serviced by carrion birds in the mist I am at my destination on another beautiful morning and I think What wonders have I seen that my peers miss in their race on the highway What smells of wild garlic, split oak, and musk of raccoon, skunk, and possum, and sweat What satisfaction I have as I shower off the cold, and insects, and ride from my skin August 20, 2013 Kalamazoo, MI

34

Waiting A boiled egg A cold piece of toast Butter spread dry An empty spot At the table Wanting Coffee No steam Trails from the rim The cup sits Nearby Black Froth long Gone Stares Out the window The trees bare The frost thick On the lawn Cut one last time before Winter Alone Waiting to start Her day She sits Silent Anxious Rising She smiles And calls as I start Down the Stairs “A cooked boiled egg!” “A cold piece of toast!” “My own fault, sorry!” I say “Dawdling today, Love.” And “Thanks”

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Nov 15, 2012

Nov 15, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC

Cold Toast

Waiting A boiled egg A cold piece of toast Butter spread dry An empty spot At the table Wanting Coffee No steam Trails from the rim The cup sits Nearby Black Froth long Gone Stares Out the window The trees bare The frost thick On the lawn Cut one last time before Winter Alone Waiting to start Her day She sits Silent Anxious Rising She smiles And calls as I start Down the Stairs “A cooked boiled egg!” “A cold piece of toast!” “My own fault, sorry!” I say “Dawdling today, Love.” And “Thanks”

39

Off She danced Barefoot On the wind With the wind In her face She danced Barefoot To the tape In the race With her friends She danced Barefoot In the wind On her face The joy Of the race Of the run The ecstasy Of the wind On her face Barefoot The race The run The wind In her lungs On her face In her hair Barefoot She danced To the tape

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Nov 14, 2012

Nov 14, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC

Deborah - The Wind in Her Face

Off She danced Barefoot On the wind With the wind In her face She danced Barefoot To the tape In the race With her friends She danced Barefoot In the wind On her face The joy Of the race Of the run The ecstasy Of the wind On her face Barefoot The race The run The wind In her lungs On her face In her hair Barefoot She danced To the tape

31

Before dawn I ride through dimly lit streets Mid-September and the air is cool and damp Students wait at the bus stop – some talk, some text The moon, in the last sliver, courts Venus Together they drift as if hand-in-hand while clouds slip quietly past Ghostly with gray shadows Cross-town Parkway to Kings Highway The sounds of industry growl The River Valley Trail Pulls me from the road Along the Kalamazoo River, the fog creeps across fields The sun’s first rays warm the sky On the river, mist swirls as dawn approaches, gold threads twisting upward Near Galesburg, another commuter joins me The conversation makes the trip a bit shorter The rooster crows twice this morning as we ride past The last stretch along L-Avenue through quiet woods and fields Glimpse a deer or a coyote, a rabbit, or an owl As we climb the final hill of our ride The mist billows incandescent in the sunlight

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Nov 14, 2012

Nov 14, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC

Morning Commute

Before dawn I ride through dimly lit streets Mid-September and the air is cool and damp Students wait at the bus stop – some talk, some text The moon, in the last sliver, courts Venus Together they drift as if hand-in-hand while clouds slip quietly past Ghostly with gray shadows Cross-town Parkway to Kings Highway The sounds of industry growl The River Valley Trail Pulls me from the road Along the Kalamazoo River, the fog creeps across fields The sun’s first rays warm the sky On the river, mist swirls as dawn approaches, gold threads twisting upward Near Galesburg, another commuter joins me The conversation makes the trip a bit shorter The rooster crows twice this morning as we ride past The last stretch along L-Avenue through quiet woods and fields Glimpse a deer or a coyote, a rabbit, or an owl As we climb the final hill of our ride The mist billows incandescent in the sunlight

20

I want a song To flow in my ears As I watch the colors go round The song to hear As I drift in my mind So cool and soft in sound A song of life My life in words That will Let me remember again My life in song My eyes to see What I have done within Please play me the tune And sing me the verse I've waited For all these years A song for sleep The very long sleep The song of all of my tears

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Nov 14, 2012

Nov 14, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC

Last Song

I want a song To flow in my ears As I watch the colors go round The song to hear As I drift in my mind So cool and soft in sound A song of life My life in words That will Let me remember again My life in song My eyes to see What I have done within Please play me the tune And sing me the verse I've waited For all these years A song for sleep The very long sleep The song of all of my tears

20

Dance my love For I return Weep my love For many do not Dance my love For the war is done Weep my love For what we did Dance my love For in victory we are one Weep my love For in defeat They are broken Dance my love For our cause It was just Weep my love For they hoped the same Dance my love For them that return To their mother Weep my love For them that have killed Their brother

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Nov 13, 2012

Nov 13, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC

Civil War

Dance my love For I return Weep my love For many do not Dance my love For the war is done Weep my love For what we did Dance my love For in victory we are one Weep my love For in defeat They are broken Dance my love For our cause It was just Weep my love For they hoped the same Dance my love For them that return To their mother Weep my love For them that have killed Their brother

24

Morning twilight. Monochrome. I see the old Moon, waning, a crescent of white silk. Venus and Spica share a moment nearby As the Sun edges the horizon. In my bag, I feel the breeze gently stir past the open zipper at my shoulder. Sunrise creeps in. Clouds mottled and streaked. Red. Orange. A pillar. Iron incandescence. Vibrant. Earth awakens with whispers. Trees reach and touch with each finger of wind plucking the branches. Songbirds start. Dogs caution. First beams break the horizon. Sixteen geese wing past with down swaddled in the early light. I rise to give my wife words to see this beauty.

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Nov 11, 2012

Nov 11, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC

Down Swaddled

Morning twilight. Monochrome. I see the old Moon, waning, a crescent of white silk. Venus and Spica share a moment nearby As the Sun edges the horizon. In my bag, I feel the breeze gently stir past the open zipper at my shoulder. Sunrise creeps in. Clouds mottled and streaked. Red. Orange. A pillar. Iron incandescence. Vibrant. Earth awakens with whispers. Trees reach and touch with each finger of wind plucking the branches. Songbirds start. Dogs caution. First beams break the horizon. Sixteen geese wing past with down swaddled in the early light. I rise to give my wife words to see this beauty.

15