In Joy

She brings young love up to the door,
Her family on the other side;
A heart as full as hearts can be,
And eyes alight with pride —

But families don’t always see:
They can get locked up in the past,
And miss the growing moment’s mien,
“Another thing not meant to last –”

But Lord, how much I now believe
That love is love, and not to be
Ignored, put down, or patronized,
Nor pushed aside with pleasantry —

And all there is here is what is:
That boy loves girl, and girl loves boy,
That fire warms, and welcomes us,
And we should greet it all

In joy

The Seasons We Might Call Our Lives

Reverberant anachronism
Strains of Tin Pan Alley lyricism
Played as through a 1940’s radio
(Twixt flashes on the fascist overthrow)
Before you were alive or even thought
Another world, a distant era caught
Between the seasons we might call our lives
While one young set of eyes somehow connives
To make it to a world of ice and snow
For whom old music conjures up no
Long ago

from the threshing floor – 1

once, a cold that tore like nails:
twilight footsteps, frozen mud,

then, a string of lights in blue,
after cold, a hallway clatter,

hands by radiators warming,
television distant playing

special holidays in music,
laughter heard from faraway —

vane outside in hard wind spinning,
dinner never felt so good,

season of a new beginning,
glitter, garland, light and wood,

glitter, garland, light

and wood

much the green i broken lay…

much the green i broken lay,
far beyond displeasure –
countertops and cherry-limes,
towers full of treasure —

much the season comes around,
songs and gales of laughter –
much the green i broken lay,
cleaning up
the after

Smaller Things

It’s smaller things that mean the most.
We find that out as time goes by;
When in large nothings we’re engrossed,
That never seem to satisfy —

And then we find a moment true,
When what’s important – love – shines through,
And we can see, amid it all,
That what means most is mostly
Small