Poetry to be understood, must be clear. It mustn't be fancy. Mary Oliver
Of Comfort Of comforters there many be: The Quilt, The Cat. The Dog, And Hat. The Fire, The Choir, The Coffee, And Tea. The Stew, The Loo, The Pub, The Pillow. The Back rub, And Willow. The Hug, The Tree. But most of all, The Kiss from thee. j
Diagnosis
It has taken me a good long while
To whittle it down,
This carving of truth:
Old is worse than sick
Because there is no medicine
Or cure for old.
She sits before me, eyes of kindness.
Perfect starched white coat,
Stethoscope perched a shoulder,
Her learning mountainous, still fresh,
But experience teaches too,
Hers not yet complete.
2023 j
Gatherers
Like fisherman's lure,
Wriggle worm or shiny spinner,
To attract trout of rainbow clan,
Some petals fancy up,
Like many young women do,
To entice the bee,
As if to say, “Please notice me,”
And, "Walk about, take your time,
I am sweet, perhaps a kiss or two,
Then on your way."
2024
Memories
Oh, Dewey Decimal System, aisle and shelf.
Black and white TV, relic of past.
Encylopedia, stuff to learn.
Telephone the wall, how droll.
Tin lunch box gone to school, thermos of milk.
Crooner Bing on radio, missing you.
Hide and seek, ready or not!.
Cowboys at Saturday matinee, into sunset.
Letters in the box, flag up or down.
Bent arm out the car window, left or right?
Oh, icy Coke a summer day, ten cents enough.
2024
You
From my window
I glimpse the sea.
From the shore
I closer be.
Imagination
carries me across.
‘Tis but You,
I long to see,
Hoping the while,
I becomes we.
Spring's Promise Kept
At a certain moment in time,
triggered each year by mystery
unsolved, unsolved, unsolved,
too much for words of rhyme,
defiant daffodils emerge,
look about and push,
upward, upward, upward,
toward warmth’s pledge,
and adoring eyewitnesses
of the lovely serpentine
dance, dance, dance,
to music of eternal promises
and wriggle free of
winter’s cold and clinging
grave, grave, grave,
once more reborn with love.
2024
A Violin Story
He played each morning to his lovely bird;
The bird sat, caged, silent, noncommittal.
Each noon, his bird sang him of freedom;
The man listened, silent, inspired once more.
In evening they both quiet, thoughtful grew,
Aware their prisons.
2023
Music
And, friend, if you should ask,
"Who composes birdsong?"
The answer might be:
The wind and angels we can't see,
The trembling arms of leafy tree,
Crashing breakers of the sea,
And, like Ringo,
The wild heartbeat of
All who fly free.
2023
Then, Auschwitz
How crisp our memory of misery.
We rejoiced our rescue from the ovens.
How precious our lives were.
How we suffered.
Now, Gaza
How fierce the revenge on other innocents,
As if they, as we were in our travail,
Are also unworthy and dispensable.
How all suffer again.
2023
Childhood Proper
Is filled with friendship.
With seasons,
And happy chatter.
Moms and Dads,
Grampas and Grammas,
Aunties and Uncles.
Giggles and laughter,
Books and pets,
Art and music.
Cookies and cakes,
Fun and friends,
And school, of course.
Scrapes and falls,
With nurses and doctors,
Tears, and hugs.
Brimming with love.
2023
Belief
Seasons are a religion.
Ones of unshakeable trust.
Of complete faith.
Daffodils, the heralds,
Trees, the saints,
Birds, the hymns.
Gardens, the pews.
Memory, the sermon.
“I will return,”
declares spring.
We go forth, reassured.
January 2024
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