I

Our eyes once lingered on the ancient tree
Traced to the founders of this place
Who cleared the land for farms and cemeteries,
But spared the giant elm, older than memory,
And made of it the icon of our public space.

That towering mountain of limbs and foliage!
It could be seen as a beacon in all the valley,    
Majestic in every season! Every knot in the bark,
Every root that bulged through the mossy soil
Was known in its estate in the center of town.  

Here we spent our Maydays with our newborns,
Playing in the shade of the afternoon sun.
Here we held our parades and moonlit fireworks,  
Here we gathered for a death to mourn,  
Here we found first love with lips and tongues-

There is a vengeance that exists as clouds collide!
How we wept, all of us, along with the homeless birds,
How the news was spread like fire in the landscape
That a chainsaw of light had ripped through the trunk
And split it to the core, and all fell asunder to the ground.  

We gathered, hand in hand, all held another tight,
As neighbors came in fellowship and joined the crowd;
We stood amazed at the power of nature’s gods
And the profoundness of what should never die
Lying in pieces under the open sky above.

With the fading thunder and sorrowful birds  
There we surrendered to a moment of true silence;
Surrounding the dismembered monument of ourselves,  
Hand in hand we felt the ancient soul of the tree
Rise with the smell of sap and the smoldering leaves.

                            II

What debate was held, what prizes to win,  
To fill the empty hole in our common domain!
The plans from the architects and artisans
Were posted in the daily papers, argued at the tavern;
Installations of arches with colored lights,
Fantastic sculptures of glass, Roman fountains,
Sphinxes made of iron, kaleidoscopic neon palms,
But none fit the mood of the grieving town.  

But it was a stranger, got off the bus one day,
A drifter who passed through, had a beer at Jimmy’s,  
Barely stayed an hour, and told the bartender-  
“Take the wood that remains, the body of the tree
To conceive the tallest turret ever to be seen,
An obelisk of hope, like a lighthouse on the land.”
He said, then disappeared from our history,
Never to claim his prize or our blessings.  

So it came to pass, we built the tower with its kindling
And it stands like a lightning rod to defy the storms;
A destination for tourists who crave miraculous things,    
Who climb the spiral stairs which fill the hallow core
To the tip of heaven where all the valley can be seen.
It is said to be visited by spirits of the founders,
And every sound made within its scented vaults
Has a reverberating echo heard for miles around.

Who cannot remember the deep incision
Of the first death, of the telling that all things living
Will die and follow in a parallel universe,
Up above the clouds, up where all is wonderful.
But all was wonderful all the time
Down here.  

You sensed it might be so.  No matter:
You will be the one who lives forever.

The years passed.  Grandparents die.
The holy men sing over the coffin.
They told you not to doubt the lord.
For a time you didn’t.
Then there were no dinosaurs in the holy books.
You lost interest.

So you reach that prime-
People pass along the way
Blessed are those who have good cards
And live another year, and another.
Death was always to fear, but not too near.

At last hair turns white and eyes sink in-
You remember again the first death,
As the friends and family vanish.
You consider the prophecies
In the silence of your memories.
You have reached a certain state of being
To fully comprehend
Your place among the obituaries;
How you are no different from the tree
In the happy silence of a blossoming.

The muffled hum of a thousand voices
Fill the terminal; a child shrieks, a baby cries,
A drunk laughs and coughs, a glass drops;
The moving walkways are crammed
With the non-stop parade of transients.
We sit at the gate with tired eyes:  Delayed.  
Perhaps the plane will come by midnight.

Above us on a hundred silent screens
Ice skaters waltz to imaginary cantata.
“Salchows”, “toe loops” and “triple lutzes”
Fill the closed captioning;
The skaters with swan like bodies
Swirl in a high-speed pas de deux.

For a moment we glide in serenity,
Dizzy with joy from their spinning.  

A vengeful voice from the loud speakers
Reminds us to report suspicious persons-
Our eyes leave the safety of the ice
To pass judgement on each soul we see,
As the judges tally their points and deductions.

Singers don’t ask why they sing,
Nor painters doubt their coloring;
Dancers don’t complain of pain,
Composers do not hide in shame.
So why do we commiserate?
O, the suffering we endure
To craft a poem that is pure!
How lonely is our chosen path,
Tormented souls who swoon with wrath!
But nobody cares how we take to flight,
So just shut the **** up, and write.

Almost every minute of living
I compromise to survive;
I wait my turn to be heard,
My budget determines which wine,
As I choose a face, a style;
I would have stayed out late last night
But today I had to be on time ...
So I tried to love.

As a child I sang along
All the “believe in yourself” songs-
But don’t step out of line!
Keep to yourself the furious lie
That you are not the worshiped one,
Surrendering to compromise.

Now I read the rave reviews
About a musical on Broadway-
To me such odious sounds
Could make the angel’s wail-
Yet I smile, a social animal
Am I, politically reconciled.

Inside I’m like the seasons and tides
In a greedy need of winning.  
The spider devours its mate
Dead or alive, never to apologize.

All the gods of all the holy books
Welcome only souls without barter-
Appeasement is my concubine.

I stand with you, Tu Fu,
With your ten thousand sorrows.

To say I feel any different than you
With the spring about to mesmerize
And the sound of birds and flutes...

No, at last our spring is looming!
Soon we will leave this room;
I will take my walking stick.

My face is warmed
By the breeze
Swollen in pollen
And happily
I sneeze

And think of you, Tu Fu.

Just plain ***** are the boisterous birds;
All day and all night singing the blues,
The fly me to the moon serenades,
Like Verdi Romeos by the balcony
And Juliets with romantic eyes

O baybah baybah baybah,
My mistress mine, my coy sir,
Embrace me with thy soft feathers
And puteth claws on my shoulder.
O feel my smooth beak sing
Praises on your wings
As we copulate on a cloud,
And take what the rainbow brings.

Perverted pigeons, seductive doves,
All you oversexed dinosaurs,
Is there nothing but that nasty thing?
Could you ever learn to sing of love?

Ah, Love, love...do birds really love?
I dare not assume to know.  
Yet I hear such longing in their songs
Like troubadours or rock and rollers
Chirping in the mating season.