Poetry definition

"That's all poetry is, the cry of the coyote on a cold, still night to ears that need to hear."

John Hutchinson

Monday, September 27, 2010

THIRD POSTING

THE SONG OF THE SURF

One was a fisherman, the other kayaked the surf.  
Both held hope in aging bones
that knew the pull of an ebbing tide.

They’d meet at dawn where the breakers broke
and burnished bronze  beat a path from the sun to the shore.  
One caught bluefish, the other
sought swells.  Mostly a look and a nod                  
were all that was said.

Years passed, then unannounced the day came
when the sun painted its path
and the waves curled ashore,
but the two -- grown used to looking for,
seeing, and calling out
to one another – did not. 

With emptiness on its hands
time gave away its golden seasons to others,
but the surf circling its song, knew,
waited for a fisherman’s heart to mend
and a kayaker’s illness to ease
then led them back to the shore they loved. 

And again they saw, smiled, and called out,
but this time they hugged --
the two who never knew they were friends.



THAT SWEET VOICE OF THE ORDINARY

Last night, in the middle of the night,
my phone rang,
Mom, I said, startled, How are you?

But, there was no emergency,
and she didn’t say it, but I sensed
she just wanted to talk.

So we talked our usual, the everyday,
the common bits and pieces
of daily living --
the aches and pains,
what’s new in the neighborhood,
and how the kids and grandkids
were doing. 

Finally, I had to ask,
Mom, you died over a month ago,
 how…

That sweet voice of the ordinary,
the one that brought comfort
for so many years, drifted away

on a dream I couldn’t call back.



FEARLESS

For those nights of the days
spent in the Green Mountain National Forest

home to moose moving through the thicket,
bear I never did see but thought about,
beaver crawling about where I made my bed,
and other creatures
breaking the wooded sticks of my night

I slept simply out in the open with tarp
tied to tree and a sleeping bag upon the ground.

Then, for my first night out of the woods
and into a motel,
I closed the door, threw the deadbolt,
and then
hooked the chain latch

just to be sure.











No comments:

Post a Comment