TODAY

My heart is full of morning hope

That breathes enthusiasm on the day;

Turmoil of the past is quiet.

Peace .. . . . .. . stay the tumultuous past,

Today I want to live !

Sept. 73
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     Searching

              the firmness of the ground

Muscles draw together

                    Once again

      A spirit awakening

From the shock of living foolishly

                          but full.

Scars of living

              form a pattern

                         fit

              To stitch a tapestry

To hang above the fire.

May 74
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AND NOW

The beginning of never, never land

    I stand at the edge in awe . . . . .

              My turn now !

                  My turn !

The years . . . . . . . . the anticipation.

      One plunge

One big delightful plunge

   I’ve just to move a muscle . . . .

Oh

   Great !

     Wonderful !

             Marvellous world !

I’m coming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .!

May 74
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THE MOTH

        I vowed

     I’d never

Hook a shooting star again

                   Ride the dreamer’s sky

And burn my eyes in brilliant admiration.

But here I’m streaking light years into space

                         On mesmerizing hope

      Intent upon some pyre of consummation.

                                          Once more

                        In some peripheral galaxy

      A smoke puff briefly blossoms

                                                  And drifts away . . . . .

Nov. 74
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Can this be death’s encasement ?

Tomorrow

Doesn’t worry at the edges of today

But sits

Heedless of time.

Tension unbends

Stretching free of yesterday

In a quiet cloister

Muffled from the world around

As on a winter’s evening

Of softly falling snow.

Can this be death’s encasement

With senses quietly slipping

Into an endless night ?

Or will there be a first bird’s song

Piercing

This hour of still;

Calling the world to wakefulness

Before some trumpeting Dawn ?

March 75
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At thirteen

I bought some cookies

Pink sticky valentines

That said, “I love you Mother”.

Walking home from school

I fell and smashed them.

May 75
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The temple

Has a golden door

Marble walls and columns

Rosewood floors

Cool alcoves

Leather benches;

Sunlight filters through

The aura of a finer moment

Calling on the muse.

June 75
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Among the paper clips

                         and rubber bands,

Erasure dust and scraps of paper

           with forgotten names and numbers

In my drawer

You roll around.

                                    I think

           perhaps I keep you

As a sign of hope

A thought that deep within your shell

               you hold your life

Tho’ kept away from earth and rain and wind.

Tiny acorn with your cap on

Talk to me of hope.

June 75
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AT THE WATER’S EDGE

Sluggish half-fish

Basking in the water’s warmth

Waiting

For your legs to break their prison skin.

What dreams,

What hopes,

What unknown fears, what risk,

What awesome urge compels ?

The lake is mirror smooth

The day is warm

Today I’ll bask with you along the shore

And wait release.

May 75
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THE FADING DAYS OF SPRING

One day

When I am old

Before my mind has fully slipped away

I’ll feel the teasing warmth of spring

And smell the urge of sweetness rise

Within the maple’s bark.

And as rebellious fingertips

Push backwards on a pussy willow’s fur

A half forgotten curse

Upon the world of embryos

Will murmur in the silence of the afternoon.

The day will stretch

Into an early chill

And decently I’ll wait ‘til darkness . . . . . . . . . . . .

Feb. 77
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WHITE MOON

White moon

Hurrying clouds

Waving demon boughs

Sliding into shadows;

Wind assaulted tears,

Shoulders pushed forward,

Taut body,

Fighting,

Determined for survival.

Nov. 77
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Uneasy with the turns of life

Tonight,

Alone,

Knowing wilI is not enough

To meet the coming day;

A murmur softly rises

Speaking of so many yesterdays

Survived

And breathes a word of peace.

June 78
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LOVING COMES HARD FOR ME

But I shall try.

One faith

That even disillusioned hearts

Like mine

Might sing.

No Song of Birth or Resurrection,

No Mass,

No Transubstantiation.

Perhaps a prayer

Which offers some relief,

Some comfort,

Some touch of peace,

A smile.

This

Frees my ear of insult.

And if the bells aren’t ringing

Or,

If there is no choir to sing refrain;

Then too, there’s no pretense.

This,

There is a chance

That I can hold.

And that’s the greatest faith

This voice

Can honestly hope to sing.

This then

is my small love,

This,

Is my integrity.

Jan. 90
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You’ve pushed too far.

I guess I have to put my life up

on the line

And lose it all.

God knows I’ve tried.

It scares me so to give up trying.

But trying just doesn’t work

Anymore.

It never did.

But somehow I had hope.

Hope

Doesn’t work anymore

It died today

From suffocation.

I can’t turn back.

There’s nothing there to turn back to.

There never was.

Perhaps I’ll stand here

Smelling the wind

Waiting for the sun to rise

Trying to get the lay of the land.

And

If there’s mist or fog

At least there’ll be some light.

I’ll walk,

Plodding maybe,

But I’ll walk.

And

Maybe someday,

Somewhere

I’ll meet something

Along the way.

Or someone.