Seasons

In spring, you feel the newness of it all.
Each feeling is a flower, fresh, unique;
Like love or loneliness, each one is pure,
And beauty of discovery hangs round
The edges of the garden path that leads
To who you want to be and where and how —
In spring, you feel the newness of it all.


Summer on the edge of madness
Broken in emergent song;
Love’s a shadow born of gladness.
Nights too short for days so long

Shades come down on pages turning,
Glances lead to bodies burning,
Tangled up in their intentions,
Loves and likes and cites and mentions —

Summer in the glowing garden,
Moments known of passing fire,
Ere the fall comes hearts to harden,
Towards the autumn of

Desire


In the cool of autumn, still
We stood and wondered how,
We’d found each other in
This savant maze

A capturing, a visioning,
A laughter, and a pause —
A hymn, but more of promise, than
Of praise

It came with resignation, and
It went without applause;
A family, a faction,
And a fight —

The autumn sun was fading, and
The days were growing dark,
And we were changing colors with
The night


With time, comes winter, with its chill,
And we must finally go inside for heat,
And memories of the spring,
When everything was fresh and new,
And summer,
When we felt how love could be,
When heat was running wild,
Autumn,
When we stood out in the cool,
The evening cool, and watched
The twilight gather with
Its purple whispers
Of a looming time;
A time we’ve only known
As parable

With age, comes winter, with its rime,
And frozen becomes attitude, and time,
There is a slower pace,
And giving up of contest, game, and race;
But character is fate,
And all we leave’s too early, or too late,
The winter has it’s way
There is only the challenge of each day
And dripping memories,
That melt like icicles from trees,
And spring starts for another heart somewhere:
Another heart and life

Somewhere

See The Stars

On nights when we could see the stars,
We wondered at the glory;
Ablaze in constellations, each
With some amazing story.

The sky turned blank; our love a thing
To place in a museum —
But, oh, the stars, they’re still up there:
Even when we

Can’t see ‘em

Fading Capacity

Shinnecock Landscape With Figures

Back when I could both see and feel
Landscapes like this I treasured;
But senses dull with age, disuse
And I’m now rarely pleasured

By scenes of art or nature, as
Capacities are fading;
Yes, losing joy is part of life —
But it’s
So damned
Degrading

Frost Lines

The lines of frost.

The lines of frost across the leaves
Now deep within my face

And whence the once-brown hair had grown
The frost now takes its place

From Autumn into Winter comes
A chill that changes things

Beneath the dying leaves and frost
A seed
Of new life
Springs

Grandmother / Mother

A true story.

her thread came loose —

i was but a boy
maybe eight years old
and she

and she kept repeating herself —

she could not remember
what she’d just told us
and it frightened me

like i’d landed in a madhouse —

not my grandmother’s
new condo
where we came to visit

my mother talked to me in the car —

what’s wrong with grandma?

She is going through [what was then usually called] senility
She loses her sense of where she is, and
Time goes back and forth
In her head

but why?

It’s something that sometimes happens…
‘Senility’ is God’s way of reminding us that…
That the mind and the soul
Are not the same thing

will she get better?

No, son, she won’t.
Her mind will gradually unravel
Until she’s ready

ready for what?

To be free

Love Is For The Young

I’ve been asked the question.

“You’re old,” they said.
“Why do you speak of love?
For everyone knows love
Is for the young -”

Indeed, I am not young, I’ve lived
A half-a-century;
I’ve seen the seasons go and
Changes rung —

But love, I think’s perennial,
It always comes around;
It has a way of
Filling up our lives

Until we can see nothing else
And no one else, besides.
It’s there with us,
And like us it
Survives