PATTERNS

Where the sunlight splashes through The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio. Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse When she was writing about how she hated war. I bend to trace the patterns with my toe And focus on the possibilities of now With monster canons rolling down the boulevards And goose-step imitators marching by While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles. A zephyr gently stirs the leaves And all the patterns rearrange again I look at them with half closed eyes And I can’t find the symmetry That I saw just an hour ago. The Kraken still is held by chains And though he gushes fire and venom The patterns on the wall contain him As he thrashes to replace the sun With a new one of his own creation. Amy walked a peaceful garden path In dappled sunlight long ago Creating lines that live today. I trundle down a brick-lined walk And hope that I will have tomorrow. ljm

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LoriJonesMcCaffery

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