The bees are dying—
Beauty and Truth of Nature?
Who can save us now?
(October 25, 2019)
Romantic Clap-Trap
Category: beauty
An Early Spring Day in Paris, 1984
The Seine flows
endlessly
around us.
We sit on the tip
of the Ile de la Cite
as if on a boat’s bow,
sailing up the river.
The sun shines,
like a promise,
after days of cold rain.
We drink a decent Bordeaux,
eat fresh pate smeared
across chunks of ubiquitous baguette.
Notre Dame looms
darkly behind
in its medieval bulk.
We are in love, as we
are still forty years later.
Nearby,
above a former morgue,
is a memorial
to the two hundred thousand martyrs
handed over to the Nazis by the Vichy
for deportation to the camps
forty years before we sat happily
oblivious to all but the beauty
of that one Parisian afternoon.
(September 19, 2019)
Enthusiasm
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
Music plays under the earth;
its poetry delights,
like fireflies.
(February 8, 2019)
Solstice Haiku
The moon through tree’s lace
Illuminates the cracked night
A winter solstice
(December 25, 2018)
Step Out
Above all the clouds—
almost a full moon:
look up from your life.
(November 25, 2018)
October Night
The moon pulls a bit
of infinite dark
over her cold pale shoulder.
(October 5, 2018)
Unconditional
The tree grabs the light tight
against its lithe branches,
a quick embrace, then release
into the slow evening air,
like a child running to her mother,
hugging her in affirmation,
then dancing away in delight.
(May 10, 2018)
with you always
Beauty laughs beatifically at us
who pass by obsessed with desire
and fear for the next distraction,
unaware of each moment’s
kaleidoscope rippling, like an eye
opening, toward a new horizon
in each hesitant step we take.
I open my hand as an offering
to the life we are becoming
inside this present we are in.
Beauty lives here or nowhere:
a dust mote swirls in sunlight
spilling through an open window
into this singular Sunday morning.
(February 18, 2018)
Balance
With a voice inflected
Like morning light,
You whisper in my ear.
Edges are so near;
One’s well past,
Then notices.
The rose unfolds,
Then falls.
There is never enough time.
On the verge of tears,
I hold you
In this moment:
Precarious,
Yet whole.
(December 4, 2017)
eros in retrospect
on the bed asleep
she lies face down
early-evening’s
half-light filters
through the blinds
lacing her bare skin
with a cool sheen
he cannot describe
(October 10, 2017)
