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Text of Poems - Nature and Spiritual Solace
Buttermilk Falls, Ithaca (2003)
Homage to Pablo Neruda (2003)
In
October Drear (2005)
October Walk
(2009)
Oxalis (2003)
The
Sumac Bower (2002)
Winter Fog
(2002)
Wintersong (2005)
Buttermilk Falls, Ithaca
Spring had come late and suddenly;
Flowers tumbled over
one another
in their haste to bloom
before the wilting sun
of summer.
The scent of lilac hung heavily in the
air,
butterflies swimming in the perfume.
The startling warmth beckoned
pale paroled suppliants to
the sun
basking on rocks in the tumbling falls.
I wandered
barefoot by the stream
singing to the grass
and twining
violets in my hair.
Homage For Pablo Neruda
Every act
of taking life’s breath
into ones
lungs
and reluctantly giving it back
is a pious precious
moment.
Each instant of existence
is an eternity
of
simple abundant pleasure.
The essence of living
is in touch and response
ebb
and flow
question and answer.
Knowing that your life
can
change in that instant
if you remember to be awake
In October Drear
The peach leaves are rustling on their branches.
The
strawberry leaves are bleeding into the sky.
The milkweed
leaves are following the pods in their cracking.
The few
golden poplar leaves dance in feathery branches.
The last of
the blackberries raisin for the remaining finches.
I step up on to the weathered rails of the asparagus
bed,
and the plumes of the spent stalks brush my thighs, hips,
waist.
I reach into the gnarled branches above me and
pluck
a blushing Granny Smith apple,
twisting off its still-green
leaves.
It is perfect and plump, and it is for me.
With
reverence and rapture
my lips meet its brilliant skin
and I
am one with its supple flesh
under a gray October sky.
Oxalis
Why does the Oxalis keep coming back?
I never water it
I
only occasionally remember to
remove handfuls of dead
leaves
from its dusty ceramic bowl.
Each time I am
convinced of its demise
and prepare to pitch the dead mass
I
am foiled by happy new leaves, peaked blossoms seeking the
sun
and tender, bowed shoots
pushing through the loam and
gnarled stems.
October Walk
Today, I walked by the school
under meager cover
of
the flowering pear trees.
My favorite, actually -
with effusive white blooms in
the spring,
and abundant singing leaves all summer
They are not so abundant now.
Only a few days ago
they were flamboyant and haughty,
magenta and crimson,
yet I could sense their fading and
receding.
Now, as I walk,
their leaves are mahogany and
copper,
frosty and musty,
but still musical around my feet.
As I look up,
I smile at the gray lacy
branches
punctuated by small brown fruits
against a brutal
azure sky.
The Sumac Bower
The Muscadine grapes hang high in the pine trees,
pendulous
and sweet.
The sea of reedy grasses
parts before us under a
late summer sun
Waving dill, butterflies in suspended
animation,
milk weed pods ready to burst.
I’ll lead you to the sumac bower;
Yarrow and Indian
paintbrush lining our path.
Lay down with me in the lacy
shadows,
make the tufted grass our bed.
Join our song with
the meadowlarks and the locusts
and our fragrance with the
sunlit herbs.
Winter Fog
Gruff, grizzled Prometheus
stretching arthritic, scaled
fingers vainly toward the sky.
Lithe, arching, lacy poplar
reaching in silent prayer through the mist.
Wintersong
The clouds sigh a fine dander
The trees flaunt a hoary
fur
The reed-dry bents of the coreopsis
play one another in
the frozen breeze.
They call to the grasshoppers long dead;
to
the crickets buried beneath the mulch.
Lonely and hollow are
their songs
wailing across the deepening snow.
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