Country Way

The house is hidden and empty

overgrown by what once was the yard

but the barn remains plumb by the road.


Most of the traffic is local

and the traffic is light.


A farm with no family is still

elegant in a country way,

eloquent in the way of a culture.

The Going

the evening opens

enormous wings out of the west

and the sad red splendid light

beats upwards

what has been, is

what has gone, returns

what will be, was

peace to the serpents

that whisper as they go

peace to the blackbirds

already gone

we are all bound to the wheel.

—with two lines and a long-held sentiment by Robinson Jeffers

Burning as Promised

How could i not?

Holding the picture burning

the flame closing in

yet the soul still hovers in the air.

I believe there are many kingdoms left.

The trees are lit with brass.

All rivers are full of sky.

A single gem

has throbbed in my chest

my whole life.

—with lines from Dean Young's "Belief in Magic"

Each

Mt. Union Church, Upper Turkeyfoot, PA

Startled sometimes

at the proof of myself.

Stunned always

at the proof of you.

Sensualists

Red maples

aflame.


Underneath

looking up

the same.

In the Clarity of Evening

Low yellow sunlight

tangled in the maples

what greater pleasure

than to stay at home

and watch your life

 deepen by the hour?

Grounded in Autumn

Early autumn

the light is fading

even as the day gains strength

self-assessment over coffee

since childhood the sensation

i was floating above my life

far away that life occurred

but it is still occurring

closer to me now

grounded since you

and i am silent and grateful

in early autumn

with the light fading

even as the day gains strength

the wine of existence

gone to my head

the truth best expressed

as stillness.

— with a few lines from Louise Glück's "The Sword in the Stone."

Gravel Road Sunset

Deer in the woods half a mile away

folks in their parlor behind the hill

on this cultivated plateau just me

in this quiet golden hour

the sun over the equator

day on one side

night on the other

me in between with those in my heart

minimally balanced

so it seems.

Zugunruhe

Agitation shakes the fields

restlessness quivers in the treelines

the migratory birds sense the south

and are nervous to be there

rising up out of the corn in false starts

at the slightest human intrusion.


I shalll miss them when they're gone

my demesne reduced and hoping to live simply

in the coming seasons of spareness

wrapped in an extravagance of love

among the creatures who stay put for each other.

Nor'easter

Avon Pier, Outer Banks, NC

The surf in me has risen in the night

thrashing now collapsing on itself

i know it well     this sea      and i will stay

leaning in the gale and stung by spray

and soon the wind will shift

the waves will organize themselves

and rolling through the gleaming deep

they'll come to find me here at peace

on this perfect storm-swept beach.

— photo by Mark Lemmon

Balance

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A sense of connection surrounds us

like water around a fish

no need for wealth or fame

when we walk hand in hand

through the mysteries of the world

it takes a lifetime to learn

we are everything to each other.

Unexpected

Sentient beings on the surface

witnesses to the runaway stars

we must forgive ourselves

when we find each other

stunned as we are to be here

unprepared for realized dreams.

Pure Evening

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Seeking silence more and more

i ride my bike down country lanes

when the sun limns the farms in gold

and calm settles over the fields

here finally is the place to open up

where i need neither offense nor defense

and i feel with awe a sense of the sacred.

Happy

I am happy to live on a road

with cows who mistake me at first

for the farmer and come to the gate 

to stand knock-kneed and drooling

 weighted tails raising

small cyclones of flies

before galloping off to the safety

and shade of the trees where i too

will invest the rest of my day

at home on the land that i know.

Fashion Week in Upper Turkeyfoot

Early color powerblown

off neighbors' lawns

to pile up deep and crisp

before the rains and dews

where gleaming deer crash through

as lean and glum as runway girls

and de rigueure this fall

is safety orange and fawn.

A Love Song in Roundup Ready Corn

Flowers from across the road

unsickled since July and never sprayed

sentiment from a higher field

where nature has its pride

and no man interferes

a living promise offered here

to bow and stand aside.

Afterward

Moving as a mind moves through a past

or eyes across a lover's limbs

or rain across a ridge

or an echo of a train along a deeper valley

move with me now for i need company.

— with structure and a line by Dan Chiasson

Came Flying

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On a low knoll above the creek valley

an aging man was alone he thought

and wrote a song of how love came

in the likeness of a woman and like a bird

flew at him from the burning sun

and broke his dream of peace.

— few captured it like Jeffers.

Swallowtail

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The day is full of beauty on the wane

The night is very still

My heart beats like a bell

Sailing the Ridges

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As the tide of summer ebbs

we look from ridge to ridge

explorers on the beach studying the sea

expecting no absolute answers.

We'll sail on.

The asking is enough.

Let Morning Come

Let the wind plead in the dark oaks

let rain spot the yard stones

let morning come

let clouds race to uncover the moon

let walnuts fall on the shed's steel roof

let morning come

to the tarnished sky igniting in the east

to lovers parting in first light

let morning come.

—  with all honor and respect to Jane Kenyon

Perigee

Sipping from the stream of you

Sunrise Moonlight

Our song continues

— after Ikkyu Sojun, c. 1440

No Wilting

wishing to learn how to die

i study the clutchflower

dense with efflorescence

brimming with product

defiant in going

No Second Life

were we to live

another 40 years

upon these same few acres

the wonders would not cease

nature has the most to teach

— ultimate line by Jane Kenyon

Divinely Superfluous Beauty

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Bees in the goldenrod

hawks in the sky

asters turning our way

divinely superfluous beauty

how do the weak endure it

we were born strong

in a cool northeast wind

fire of the sun in our skin

this is our time

divinely superfluous beauty.

— after a poem of the same name

by Robinson Jeffers

Awaiting the Cover of Night

In September i will only leave this field

for the darker quiet of the woods behind

but i'll be here 'til the light goes blue

here among the flux of sun and seed

where stars will reassure me in their places

and darker souls who see with larger eyes

will join me in the night and touch my hand

lest i drift away with you

Process and Muse

Argiopes and poets

cast a line into the wind

hoping for an anchor.


Does the spider too

dream the orb

she awakens into?

Night

The slow west douses its torch

fireflies light faintly

over the weight of the prone fields

down the long dark valley

along the shrunken creek

returns the shining shadow

peace-bringer matrix of all shining

quietness flows from her deep fountain

darkness from beyond the stars

has come again to upper turkeyfoot

the daylight dies

but the night is immortal.

—adapted from Robinson Jeffers

The The

September dusk

a step outside is a step into the sky

the gathering dark the dark the dissolving dark

the towering clouds the pulse of katydids the morning star

the wine-red light of sunrise on your skin

the flash of satellites in your midnight eyes

the throb of forming galaxies roaring in your ears

and you a step outside

Hearing the Road Behind the Hill

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Afield at what feels like

 the end of an era

an excitement of bees

chants in the goldenrod

they give me some peace

in a mistral wind

that carries the clash of the road

at the clamorous finish

of the final iron age

a corporate desperation

that leaves me small and weak

but i can stand quite still

and i can hear the bees

louder for now than the trucks

hauling waste behind the trees

and i can write the thrill.

The Other End of the Telescope

The colossal held in the small

Heaven in a bead of rain

Desire in a promise

"The water reflects heaven because my mind does."

—Thoreau, Aug. 31, 1851