Black & White

Wildness is as much a state of mind as a place, as much a way of being as a destination.
A space for all.
There are those who bring the message, having wandered the wild,
of them I say, sing a song for the prophet.

Black and White

The colors vibrant
cadmium red, ultramarine blue
Pure and full, gathering to themselves
all that can be absorbed

The colors passionate and fiery
alizarin crimson, cerulean blue
Strong and sure, reflecting their
true self in exclusion

But it’s really shades of
gray isn’t it we see
though loath to admit it
We prefer to think otherwise

Black and White you say
it must be Black or White
Complete absorption or
complete rejection–no compromise

In times of fear
we seek identity
The blue, the red,
black and white
Gray tones for another day

She’s Changed

A friend you see
not so long ago
an acquaintance made
No reason this should be
just the mix of a gathering

I was struck by her exuberant spirit
manifest energy and joy of life
Her love was for him
her life devoted to him

An artist, accomplished
A tragedy too early
Changed now
she carries on with grace

River Trail

By turn we walk again
along the path by the
river sun-shimmering ripples
sparkling like stars of
a high mountain night

Autumn fog giving way to
winter’s frost in the
early mornings as
hayrides yield to twinkling
lights of December

The river traces an ancient
line through lives encamped
on it’s bank
Fish weirs remain as rapids
heard by those who choose to hear

Old bottom land, an oxbow
home of sunflower and tall grass
and Chickadee with seed
Red-winged Blackbird on Cattails
in the wet land where Rail and Bittern call

Exiled here as it were
though happy to be so
we move along haltingly as
dogs explore scents only
known to them

Words pass, shared time
a day begun in the embrace
of a loving world

A Tender Melody

I am on the deck
It is winter, or so it seems
with the cold and water and ice

Stillness pervades the night
as fog envelopes all
obscuring our very memories

How has it come to this
could we not see the error of our way
The path was there for us
charted by those wiser and truthful

What made us believe
we were so invincible
our resources so inexhaustible
our home so forgiving

There were acts of courage
There were acts of compassion
There were acts of selfishness
All in the end

Some were seeking escape
Some were accepting fate
Some were armed for conflict
All in the end

It would be easy to let go
to go under and be free of
the burden of caring
Such is not to be

There are small acts performed
by themselves insignificant
in aggregate accounting for more
in hope accounting for everything

I am on the deck
playing a tender melody as
the bow slips below the water
and the stern rises
Is there yet time to change course

The Woods at My House

Gazing out the window a
slanting early winter light
golden and bronze on the
Beech and Oak

Leaf-fall in earnest now
each breeze setting loose
myriads to float in haphazard
ways their dry sounds crisp

as they pass through branch
and sapling to settle with
a final shuffle on the
forest floor

Bare tree silhouettes
silver-grey bark
branches arching
ever upward

Your work is done
returning now to the
earth to sleep this day
away

Bill’s Place

Carpenters arrive early
carrying out the old
and bringing in the new
Corridos on the radio

It was hard at first
walking by knowing
he was gone
The last goodbye
spoken in silence

I remember him
coming down the drive
pick-up truck and Bill
with a wayward son

He was good with wayward
sons and errant men
helping his own and
others he would find

As humid days of summer
surrendered to
blue crisp Autumn
Bill would say these
are the days I love

and set to storing up white
oak for winter warmth the
fragrant smoke curling from
his chimney like the swirls

and eddies of the milky
glacier fed streams he
fished with friends
old and dear

On snow cold winter
nights flakes billowing
round his face coating
hair and hat he would

sit upon the tractor
sipping a hot drink brought
in thanks for the work his plow
had done once again

his smile bright
like a welcome lantern
in a flurry of snow
on a long walk home

And horses, there were
always horses
On a cold New Year’s Eve
one was lowered by
the backhoe

into the dug ground as
they gathered around in
respect humble to be
of service putting one

of ours to rest
by the big Oak
on the hill at
Bill’s place

Angels *

Do you believe in Angels he asks
What am I to say, caught off guard
not expecting such
so early in the evening

Yet how easily answers are given
as if thought through and decided
Their experiences and memories
recalled like yesterday

Yes of course they say
spirits, forces, muses, angels
I have felt their presence
I have had their guidance

Lights dim, we are asked to
leave behind the trials of
the day and enter a story told
not with words but with movement

With one masterful step the dancer
transforms from mundane to ethereal,
merely human to angelic,
a small voice to a powerful form

A foot outstretched, an arm behind
conveying depths of emotion with
the sweep of a finger
If only we could alter our nature
as easily

The sublime of human endeavor
a pinnacle of achievement, what does it
tell us about ourselves, what potential
have we not unleashed

Certainly the Angel is here, she must be here
How else can such beauty be created,
such movement flow across the stage
and divine images play in light

From the film “Dancing in Angel Shadows” by Steve Childs and
from the Ballet “Angels in our Midst” by Gary Taylor *