Seven
Deer
Pervasive
quiet
A
glow in the eastern sky
Before
the sunrise
The
warmth of the windless air
The
warmth of a dusty road
A
bird sings in code;
Perhaps
we don’t understand
The
way of nature
Attending
a long lecture
Regarding
evolution
Waves
by the ocean
Slowly
transforming the coast
Transforming
a pier
Seagulls
suddenly appear
As
the sun dissolves the fog
A
passive prologue
To a
thickly scheduled day
Of
obligations
Heart-felt
associations
That
draw us into the world
Like
a flag unfurled
Blowing
in a constant wind
Next
to the town square
An
old car needing repair
Rusting
in the parking lot
Something
she forgot,
When
she was a little girl
How
she felt secure
How
illness was quickly cured
By
the concern of parents
How
they paid the rent,
How
they cooked and served her meals,
How
they bought her clothes,
How
they helped though indisposed,
Though
they were very busy
Trapped
in the city,
Trapped
by fate and by karma,
By
astrology
As
the planets glide slowly
Singing
their songs in the sky
Planet
earth relies
On
the seasons of the sun,
The
wheel of the year
The
Spring Equinox is here
By
the stream are seven deer
The
water is clear,
On
the bank a well-worn path
Where young students walk
That
is where they smile and talk
As
they’re strolling hand-in-hand
They
think life is grand,
That
this will last forever,
That
time will stand still,
But
for better or for ill,
Though
they thought that this would last,
Love
becomes the past,
Even
grasses do not last,
Even
mist dissolves
As
the second hand revolves
On
the public courthouse clock
It’s
time to take stock
At
the local statue store
Deities
galore
Gods
and Goddesses implore
That
we put an end to war
Turning
to the four
Directions,
finding a place
In
the stream of space
An
angel flies, filled with grace
Above
the field of the past
Where
our hopes, at last,
Join
with dreams and hand-in-hand
Create
our future
A
dance of many creatures
On
the ground and in the air
Where
a white-maned mare
Gallops
on a field of stars
While
the planet mars
Steadily
observes the cars
That
fill the rush-hour highway
The
night of payday
Two
friends heading to a bar
Feel
the fist of cold
Even
though they are not old
They
pull their gloves on tighter
The
snow looks whiter
Than
the snow from last winter,
Maybe
that’s because
The
snow was thin, it would thaw,
Mixing
with exhaust and dirt
Where
it would convert
Into
shiny slick black ice,
Slippery,
like vice,
Slippery,
like promises,
Slippery,
like last week’s cash
Or
the drugs he stashed
Behind
his favorite books
Where
no-one would look
As
the ancient moonlight shook
The
foundations of his dreams
All
his hopes, it seems,
Did
not work out in the way
That
he hoped they would
Like
some badly knotted wood,
Like
a garden that turned dry,
Like
a friend whose sly
Words
covered a deception
Like
a poisoned meal
‘Come
on, it’s not a big deal,’
As
she turns and walks away
The
sky’s touched by gray
By a
subtle hint of light,
A
prelude to dawn
He
wakes in bed, then he yawns,
There’s
the first frost on the lawn
As crisp
leaves hold on
For
another week or two
Prior
to a storm
Whose
wind totally transforms
The
way that the garden looks
The
flow of a brook
Carries
a discarded chair
Planks
of rotting wood
Like
words we’ve misunderstood,
Given
half a chance we could
Have
made it all good,
But
that was not meant to be,
Like
one lost at sea
Or a
cup of bitter tea,
Or a
song that’s badly sung,
Or a
bell that’s rung
Fading
into the warm air
Of
the afternoon
With
the cherry trees in bloom
Outside
of the living room
They’ll
soon come to doom
Shaken
from their branches,
The
simple fact is
Years
have passed and now I’m old
Like
a moss covered oak tree
That
she stops to see
Next
to the new masonry
The
shadows are long
As
the sunrise sings its song
As
the new grass grasps the light
Seven
larks in flight
Disappear
behind the sight
Of
the dancing white
Cloud
formations, the polite
Children
at kindergarten
Watch
the new fountain
That
was finished yesterday,
That
was donated
By a
man who was fated
To
always feel insecure
To
not know for sure
What
he should do or should say
And
that was the way
That
he lived day after day
So he
became reclusive,
Someone
elusive,
Like
a sound that’s barely heard,
An
unuttered word,
Like
the moon behind a cloud,
Like
a letter never sent,
Like
a fabric rent,
Like
a rock beneath the snow,
Like
a dream that I
Can’t
understand though I try
To
unravel the meaning
It
stays unyielding,
The
mist of time concealing
What
we are dealing
With,
like incense dispersing
When
the morning Mass is through
And
there are a few
People
sitting on the pews
Quietly
in prayer
‘Times
like this in life are rare,’
Two
old friends are hand-in-hand
Like
the cliffs they stand,
Monuments
to endurance
As
the seasons change
Like
a fluid mountain range,
Like cool
fog above a stream,
Things
swirl, planets dream,
Things
swirl, it’s the first frost’s sheen,
Things
swirl, stars careen,
Things
swirl, they are inbetween,
Things
swirl, the wind stirs the trees,
Things
swirl, falling leaves
Skitter
past a silent fox
To a
fence that blocks
A
path to some glacial rocks
Lying
at the farm-field’s edge
Near
a shaggy hedge
By a
new development,
Sixteen
new houses
Empty,
and the problem is
That
no one can afford them
Words
from an anthem
No
longer seem to inspire
Like an
off-key choir
After
the divorce she’s mired
And
the kids, though grown, require,
Because
things are dire,
More
assistance, more support,
Than
she expected
Life
is tough, things neglected
Have
a way of coming back
Dark,
the road is black,
The
swift outline of a bat,
Slowly
thunder claps,
Somewhere
a twig snaps,
A
feral cat eats a scrap,
Time
bends, there’s a gap,
An
angel looks at a map,
He
must arrive at
A cop
at a speeding trap,
On
the street a missing cap
Like
other things that
Disappear
without a trace
Cities
that vanish,
A
conjuration banished,
An
ancient sea now deceased,
An
apartment leased,
A
full eclipse of the sun,
Days
of joy and fun
When
we used to play and run
On
the shore of Elbow Lake
August
was a break,
A
motorboat left a wake,
On
our vacation
We
would joke and would mention
How
the night was filled with beasts,
They
were friendly beasts,
Seven
deer and fireflies
And
the white-barked birch
Seemed
to shimmer and give birth
To
stories both new and old,
Stories
always told,
Stories
that I never heard,
Stories
without words,
Stories
that seem sometimes blurred,
Stories
that the moss will tell,
Stories
from a shell
That
sails on the stream of time
Past
all that is here,
Past
all the things that appear
Beyond
all that disappears
