Song for a Lazy Day

I suppose it's time for a real Summer poem, so here you go. I'm not quite sure about the third verse; it breaks the meter of the poem, but it is meant to give it a pausing, wandering feel, as if the reader were taking a short detour off the beaten path.


Song for a Lazy Day

The days slip by,
unnoticed, unhurried,
and everyone is walking slow,

so take your time
and try not to worry;
just let the little things go,

while the sun
lingers on,
as the wind plays a lazy song,

and I’m happy
just sitting here,
watching the apple trees grow.

Human

Ah, another death poem. Onward, Summer!


Human

What man is called happy
in this scattered life?
Each tincture of blessing
is spoiled by strife.

For we are but vessels
the world cannot fill,
till years take their passing
and bodies lie still.

Silently

And we're back on track with another poem! It's short, dark, and depressing, but then it's only this time of year, with 14 hours of beautiful sunlight beating down on the Willamette River, that we can afford to read and write this sort of thing.


Silently

At last the dark dismal
covers the sky.
You do not ask how
and you do not ask why.

It is not your place
to question the will
that closes your eyes
and bids you lie still.

Desire

Two months without a post! I do apologize. I have no excuses; the fault is entirely my own. It appears, however, that somewhere out there, people are actually reading my posts, and so, for those who so kindly asked, I now return with more weekly poems. I hope their virtues, as they are, make up for my absence. This latest is a short one. It was written while I was on a Dickinsonian kick, and I tried to capture that brief, yet amazingly self-contained, nature of her own writing. The style is somewhat different, but I feel that I have succeeded, to a certain extent, in encapsulating a broad and universal idea in a few brief lines of text. Enjoy.


Desire

The most sublime pleasure of passion’s pursuit
Resides not in taking, but wanting the fruit.
Disdain satisfaction, then, at such a cost,
For, reaching the heart, one will find it is lost.