After Summer

In keeping with my repeatedly-broken 

promise (to myself) to be brief, I’ve selected a 

short poem to share today. 

I’ve written a lot of those. Perhaps it has 

something to do with writer’s cramp ... or

writer’s block ... or maybe attention 

span. But that’s another story.


Briefly speaking, though, I see now that it 

might have been just a line or two longer ... in 

order to incorporate the chorus of leaf 

blowers (which also provide background 

music) ... and then I could have mentioned 

the dreaded snow blowers.

But I did indicate I was going to be brief, didn't 

I?


The poem:


AFTER SUMMER


Comes autumn,

when the mighty

chorus of mowers

ceases singing,

an intermission

too soon followed

by a chorale

of snow blowers.

(originally published in Capper’s)


Today's word: chorale

Winter Comes

(Just a spur of the moment shot I took of a snow-covered table sitting alone outside a dining place; it reminds me of one of my favorite foods, now on my forbidden list: C-A-K-E)

We've been lucky. The worst of winter weather ... despite some bitter temperatures  ...  hasn't come to this part of Ohio ... unlike a lot of other places ...  

But winter will come, believe me. 

Today, though, I'm thinking ahead ... well beyond winter to ... those things I speak of at the end of the poem.

Take a look, please:

WINTER COMES

When it arrives like
a gentle rustling
descending a stairway,
the wary resident
might slam a deadbolt
against it like some
grumping, groggy bear,
were it not for a tiny
preserved memory
of a far warmer world,
where flowers are not
mere speculations,
where the ice has fallen
away, the bees jubilant.
© 2000 

(received an honorable mention award in a Poets Study Club competition)

Today's word: jubilant

There, Almost

On reading this poem quietly to myself again, it occurred to me that the whole poem can be summed up in its first two words: "I dream ... "

In the poem I'm dreaming of London, Rome, Paris ... places I've never been ... and I'm dreaming of actually being there.

Well, you'll see the details of that as you read on.

As my orbit continues to grow smaller, I continue to dream ... not just of those exotic places so far beyond my reach ... but of places close at hand ... places I would like to see, but probably never will.

But I don't dwell on the "never will" aspect.

Nor do I dwell, particularly, on the opposite side of that coin ... the possibilities, remote or otherwise. I live, after all, in the real world ... a world that contains obstacles ... impediments ... realities that we must all face in some form, to some degree or other.

And still, I dream ... Oh, do I ever.

These dreams are the magnets ... tiny though they may be ... which draw me along. They beckon to me in the morning ... throughout the day ... and even when day is done and I sometimes find that I'm so weary.

I dream ... yes, I dream ... and I hope you do, too.

Meanwhile, the poem:

THERE, ALMOST

I dream of London,
Rome, sometimes Paris,
strolling their streets
on a spring day,
listening to voices
spilling like clear water
over rounded stones,
feeling the whisk of wind,
touch of rain, the quiet
of a hailed cab, tires
smacking puddles
on the curving streets,
tasting the food
in a warm cafe, tables
draped and waiting,
as though they knew,
all along, I'd be there.

© 1997

(originally published in The Christian Science Monitor)
Today's word: smacking

Summer Showdown

I've recently been lulled into a sense of invincibility (OK, so I'm exaggerating just a bit) ... actually, I have been thoroughly enjoying the somewhat cool weather we've been having ... 

I've tried to contain myself, though, and speak cautiously about it, because I know it's going to come to a sudden halt. This is Ohio, after all.

Story of my life.

The coolness ends suddenly, and the heat is back. Then as I sit at the sizzling keyboard at mid-morning, the temperature still rising, I can almost hear eggs frying on the sidewalks around town.

Anyway, what I'd really like is a little more of that steady, cool ... not COLD, mind you ... but cool, pleasantly cool weather ... ple-e-e-e-ase.

Meanwhile, today's poem:

SUMMER SHOWDOWN

Summer sun’s so boiling hot
I can almost hear the soft
clinking of spurs, stealthy
creaking of the boardwalk,
a sudden, smothering silence
in which the buzz of a fly
sounds sinister, foretelling
a showdown on the sun-baked,
hoof-pocked, clatter-plaited
street, where a tumbleweed
pauses in the sanctum of shade
cast by a tumble-down saloon,
where I stand, suddenly struck
by a lightning flash of thirst.

© 2003

(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger; now part of a manuscript in search of a publisher)

Today's word: tumble-down

Promises

I've often said that I can't rhyme worth a dime ... but here I go again.

I keep trying. For me it's something like trying to leap over a high picket fence ... uphill ... and on a slippery slope, at that. I have trouble maintaining any kind of a rhyme scheme while trying to tell a story ... if, indeed, I have a story to tell.

I keep promising that I won't, but I do ... keep trying, that is. It's simply the challenge, I guess.

The result? Today's poem ... a double-edged blunt blade, if you will ... a poem about the difficulty ... at least the difficulty I have ... with keeping promises, especially to myself ... a poem in rhyme.

And I can't promise you that it won't happen again.

I keep being drawn back to this difficult task. I keep thinking that this time it will go well and I'll end up with something I can share with others. But it seldom does.

Today's illustration, I suppose, speaks to promises unkept ... I prefer to think of them as promises I will keep ... just as soon as I can get around to them.

Actually, it represents things I should've done yesterday ... must do today ... but probably will still be working on tomorrow.

Ah, tomorrow ...

Meanwhile, today ... and the poem:

PROMISES

I begin my year
With high resolve,
But my plans, I fear,
Start to dissolve
As the new wears off
The leaf I've turned
And the flames flare off
Bridges I've burned.

© 1996

(originally published in Mature Living)

Today's word: rhyme

One to Grow On

Winter rain, under the right conditions, can be like a lullaby as it dances softly on the roof and goes running off down the street.

But if conditions are right for freezing, as they are here sometimes, it's an entirely different story. We venture out gingerly and pick away at the layer that's still gripping our driveway.

One consolation, we tell ourselves, is that we're a little nearer to the beginning of spring, and we're warmed by the potential that implies.

Meanwhile, back to the subject of a kinder, gentler rain ... the kind which inspired today's little poem:

ONE TO GROW ON

Winter rain

comes sliding down

the glistening trunk

of a sleeping tree,

delivering a sip

to be savored

when it awakens
early next spring.

 © 1995

(originally published in Capper's)

Today's word: glistening

The Leaky Roof

The morning seemed to start off with a bit of fog ... most of my mornings seem to start that way, even when the sun is shining brightly ... so it was no surprise when ... I woke up ... late, thirsty ... thinking foggily of clouds, rain, roofs, leaky roofs ... and this poem came to mind:

THE LEAKY ROOF

We knew just where

to put pots and pans

when the rain came

suddenly weeping

through our roof,

its pit, pat, pit-pat

lullaby lingering

long after the storm

had droned off into

distant, grumbling

thunder, leaving

a morning residue

of splatters

and puddles,

blankets on a line,

featherbed sprawled

like a newborn calf

broadside of the sun.

© 2001

(received an honorable mention award in Ohio Poetry Day competition; subsequently published in my first collection, Chance of Rain ... Finishing Line Press, 2003)

Today's word: grumbling