I see you, severe and strong,
hands upon a massive stone,
building a wall along a line,
dividing his from yours, fields and woods.

I see you place the stone,
build the wall true to line,
stone-upon-stone, a mile long,
marking evermore yours and his.

Now here’s the case I build against you and him:
You claim yours forever more will not be his,
forevermore he says his will not be yours
but what I build shuts out those claims
and disdains all agreements between you and him.

Now know today evergreens grow
through the walls of stone laid down
along the lines of map and grid
agreed upon by you and him
of what fate proved was never yours or his.


© 2016

There is that tree in the park,
The one those men converse under,
Of what was, should have been,
Before their loss.

Under a winter sun I once heard them say
The truth while lying all the same,
Of how things were and
How came their loss.

Go hear those men by the tree.
They speak from near the end,
Of love found and lost,
Of what might come,
If love is not lost.


© 2016

The sky hangs close in a shade quit blue,
And below the boys ride the waves,
And the surf crashes and rolls,
And someone laughs,
And someone yells – in joy,
And the young strut,
And the old remember,
And I observe,
Do be aware.




© E. C. Vadnais 2016

The mill reflects in the pond
The pond that fed the dynamo
The dynamo that powered the mill
That fed the people who worked the mill
Who grew sick and old in the mill
Who knew little else other than the mill
That consumed all their worth
That clawed at their children to come within.

Fallow mill: just a reflection in a pond,
Scoured yesterday by evening storm,
Slapping water high upon walls still strong.
A lovely reflection washed and washed again,
Glazed and glazed again to shine
As if there was no past,
No responsibility for the pain.


© 2016
.

Yes, I saw them,
One hundred forty-three souls
Pointedly thundering through
Tepid morning’s light.

Yes, I heard they are gone.
One hundred forty-three souls
On a shrouded distant shore
Flushed away in evening light.

In truth I witness here,
Without responsibility made clear,
What went wrong on that flight,
Or perhaps to say what went right
In the fate of those souls.

© 2016

On the clothesline the tablecloth hangs
And its pattern moves in the breeze
And in the blue sky sunlight
And against the strength of the line.
And in no other place does it reside
Except here and now in your mind.

It is not enough to see the world
Spread out in frenzy.
Not enough the lilies bloom,
Not enough until we say so.
Not enough bees come and go,
Not enough unless we think so.


© 2016

It is the street you see;
It is the voice you hear;
It is the bright sweep of beach on which young bodies move;
It is the mist in the evening on which this music rides;
It is the gay colors of the swishing gowns;
It is the solidity of young manhood, gold and strong.

Close your eyes, to memory keep the scene.
For in time I will ask for it to come be with us.
Now rise up. Let us dance.
In the glow of this evening,
In our passing time of perfection,
Let us dance.

© 2016