Some men pine away,
Others pick themselves up, grieving
To shake themselves as if to say,
"That chapter now is ending,
And I must on my way"?

One man mourns her loss as though
The universe is ending;
Drowns himself in alcohol,
Defeated, hopeless, misery unending.

Another plunges into work,
You'd never know an inner ache
Had driven him berserk;
We watch to see a crack or break,
But nothing seems to lurk.

Another builds a monument so fine,
Resurrects her beauty high above
Whatever glory she had once refined...
No ending to his paeans of love.

Other men find loneliness intolerable,
Run off in search of other loves to fill the void,
Besmirch her memories ineffable,
Remarry only to become annoyed.

"Most men must suffer when alone":
A rule to write on stone eternal,
While human love is flesh and bone,
Romantic love transcends supernal.

Dance her no dances;
Rhyme her no rhymes,
Sorrow has come to her times,
Sorrow has come to her times.

Play her no plays;
Saw her no saws,
Her world is now pitching in yaws,
Her world is now pitching in yaws.

Cry her no cries,
Dye her no dyes,
Color fades from her eyes,
Color fades from her eyes.

Pray her no prayers,
Put on no loftier airs,
Somber may follow her fears,
Somber may follow her fears.

Silent now, sit by her,
Offer your hand to her,
One day she'll come back from her tears,
One day she'll come back from her tears.

I am widowed and my children are all grown.
They are busy with their own families.
My tree is bare of leaves and no birds sing.
The house is quiet and I wait in hope
That the phone will ring or some friend might stop by;
Anything to end my isolation

I hear the mail slot open and the thud
of magazines and junk mail on the floor.
The letter carrier, gone without a word,
walks briskly in the outside bitter cold.

The radio is on and comforts me.
a chance, at least, to hear other voices.
They prattle on about terrorist threats;
venial Politicians and celebrity divorces.

Another year reaches its anticlimactic end.
I’ll watch the ball drop and prepare for bed.
It is for others to make the New Year Ring-
My tree is bare of leaves and no birds sing.

The doctor's news falls hard upon him;
The hammer "cancer" deals a deathly blow,
Enough to shatter all philosophy
Stagger him in wheeling woe.

"My hunting gear and books and orchard
No longer hold my heart so dear
As they did just a week ago."

"Let goods and kindred go,
This mortal life also;
The body they may ****;
God’s truth abideth still.
His kingdom is forever."*

Old Luther told us plain and clear
Our anchor rusts if it be here.
On earthly shores, the harlot, Time
Demands we leave our pelf behind.

But still we gather up our things,
Amass our wealth, our riches sing,
Only to leave them, bit by soiled bit...
Wanting everything, but keeping none of it.

Time is a friend who's getting on;
She forgets promises she made in youth,
Gives the hope of summer coming strong,
Then Autumn steals in softly with the truth,
Steals strength and hope and hair and tooth.

I like it not.
Some actors' stumbling lines
Or patient yawns
Leave Shakespeare's thoughts delivered
Barely breathing or still-born
While others' jousting runs the play
Unchecked, unfettered, and yet un-free.

Mercutio's fitful rantings smoulder some,
Then, tired, lose their place,
Extinguished fire that nearly casts
A plague on any houses
Before a lingering death brings
Sweet relief to all the house.

Old Capulet, more bored than angry,
Tirades only tiredly at his daughter,
The last in a line of several disappointments.
We wait his piece to end,
Endure the hanging and begging and starving
In the streets, while Juliet entreats...
Gosh, I could use a bit to eat.....

O God in Heaven!
Give us up a little leaven
From this acting now so leaden.

Sadly, young Mercutio's dead,
And soon, Paris, and young Romeo,
Followed by young Juliet, and then Old Capulet....
The priest's alive, so we can fret
What further mischief he may still beget.

Beneath this morning's ice.
No evidence remains of froth and fury,
Of autumnal winds;
No sand-whipped waters beat
The chilling shore.

The wind, north and west that carried
Frigid breath down past the borders
Yesterday has died,
Leaving ice and cold to play,
Smoothing out the waters in their way.

Lake-wide, a panel, thin and thickening fast,
Resembling midnight glass, or
Glazing eyes at the moment of death,
Taking on a marbled look by morning,
Mosaic panes rough-textured
Under blowing snow.

The changing of water in its forms
Amazes me. Just yesterday, I thought
To kayak out a ways to battle
The waves, frothing careless and cold and free,
Unheeding the impending hold upon their wanton spree.