Everyday poems accompany me, companions in life. Advisors and comforters, they chronicle and remember, whispering of thoughts once present and making sense of thoughts of today .
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The Post Box

Along the country lane
they stand
silent sentinels covered
in dust
shadows long in the late
day sun

waiting

The rural carrier’s arm
bronzed
and elbow-bent, through
the open
window his weathered hand
carefully posts

letters

To the box another shadow
draws near
I see her standing at the
roadside
waiting her chance to cross
eyes downcast
preferring not to be seen

hoping

In the gray-black of shadow
all emotions
held are hidden, that the letters
loved be true
that this will be the day

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Patchwork Quilt

In isolation its own the
patch now included grows
Disparate yet belonging
it is us

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A Conversation

overheard, coffee shop chatter
the kind at the table next
not meaning to intrude but
the patio breeze lifts words of
the old to the young and back again
circling me as the first Autumn leaf
spirals in splendid color sun sparkled
and free

I believe you will do well he says
I have watched you grow, not that
I’m eager to leave you know
I’ve put in my time, I did my best
I have plans, so much to do
but I talk too much, what about you
and the leaf settles in, a little
shuffle and a sigh

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And Then The Children

Early morning Spring
the park awakens
birds sing and the orchestra
tunes

Trees greening and
first flowers in bloom
On bicycle gliding along
winding paths

There is an order to this
Dog walkers first, young men
and women, eagerly taking in
the quiet air

And then the children
infants readied for outing
knit cap askew, snug in a
carriage with parents in tow

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Grand Avenue Cafe

Morning rivertown
In the early light she
flips the chairs and
he flips the pancakes
Bee Gees on the radio
and coffee in the air
Nobody gets too much
heaven anymore

Across the street kids
are jumping skipping in
the church side door high
voices calling in backpacks
and summer colors as the
river flows by
Its been harder to come by
I’m waiting in line

Out on the bridge I
watch the green infused
sunrise through leaves
ruffled by a downriver breeze
The river water runs dark
and the roll and tuck of
the current is the roll and
tuck of the bridge bench
sleeper as he draws his
cloth against the morning chill

In the cafe light seeps
through the bay window
warming the rich patina of
old wood and emotions worn
smooth like river rock as one
who has left wonders would it
have made any difference
Nobody gets too much loving
anymore, its as high as a mountain
and harder to climb

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Neighbors

It may have been
the slant of light
or
the sharp crisp of air

somewhere someplace
along the way the
season
suddenly changed

Our neighborhood awakens
as we walk, our steps
quickened
in the lighter presence

Children”s voices bright
now loading for school
neighbors
stopping to talk calling hello

They are all here
the horse carers, the dog
finders
the snow plowers and tree cutters

Somewhere someplace
along the way in the tilt of an
Earth
perilously placed

the angst of living gives
way to the immense
gratitude
of having lived

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Mud Room

The farmhouse was tall of white clapboard
a front entrance seldom used deferred to the
door up the back steps leading straight
to the heart

It is there you returned, dust covered with chaff in the pockets
coming off the combine, it is there you shed those overalls
after the calf was born and the welding done, it is there you came
head hung low seeing how the hail had flattened the wheat

She worked her crafts, carrying them, dried flowers falling
to line the attic stairway we children would ascend, the rumble
of thunder and rain patter of a late summer storm our
companions to a sleep of innocence

Coming out of the North country, I have a photograph, the four sisters
in stately brown and pearl necklace, leaving farming for the city life
Streetcars to work and a studio with a wall bed, shared bath and
dreams large and small

Not asking much, giving all, some returned, one to the white clapboard
farm where she decorated the wedding cakes, tended the flowers
at the old family plot and lit up my life with her smile and laughter
Sophie she was called

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Companions

You are my companion
I am yours
Complementary

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