Saturday, September 26, 2009

In Between

Though not the 'in between' of today's poem, this newly-minted Autumn weather has taken on an in-between life of its own. Mornings begin with overcast skies and brisk winds, which seem to hint that rain could burst upon our sorry heads at any moment. As the hours wear on, however, the clouds pull away, and the warm, cornflower sun spreads its light over everything, drying the dew and sending a tingling warmth through bare arms and legs. It's a delightful time of year - perhaps my favorite time of all - and it makes me long to live in a place where the buildings are as old as the stones that brick their walls and the people speak not from economy, but from pleasure.

In Between

As high as I can reach
shall never number high enough
to proffer, for the beech,
a tidy bow upon the cuff,

and low as I can lay
shall never sink me so far down
in clover leaves, to play
an eye upon each idle gown,

as I am all to low
for heaven, all too high for earth;
my mid'ling self, just so,
to tender suffering and mirth.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Summer Touch

Two more days of Summer left, and then begins our glorious and abundant Autumn, although, in spirit and school-year, it started several weeks ago. I thought that I would offer a parting bow and eulogy in the form of a poem, written some time ago for the then-long-awaited conquest of Summer over Spring.

Summer Touch

Everything is wick and well
and hopefulness of heart,
when Summer works an elder spell
upon the icy art

that spent its silver in a rush
of riven frost and snow
to lay in sleep the rosy blush
of budding life, below,

but now, the glorious and green
awaken at the touch
of wild-spoken light, unseen,
as are the winds, and such,

that carelessly caress the hair
and set the grass at play
upon the loam, no longer bare,
no longer laid away.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Early to Rise

I'm getting used to early mornings, once again. I love them, but they are a hard habit to keep up, unless compelled. It has been a wonderful Summer, in every sense of the word, but it feels good to be bringing some imperturbable order back into my scattered life.

Early to Rise

I fear no trepidation
upon a sudden morn,
nor reckon on creation
to loose its herald-horn,

when all is barely painted,
a canvas brightly spread
and virginal, untainted,
by early hand or head,

then I, alone, awaken,
but only in my heart,
to reap the earth, retaken,
my solitary art.

Saturday, September 5, 2009


As of Tuesday, my long Summer is officially over. I embark on the most absurdly complicated tutoring schedule, but it keeps me out of a real job (i.e., one that involves anything resembling an office, desk, co-workers, or a 40-hour work week), so three cheers for that. On the other hand, this means my late nights are fast coming to an end, which I regret quite a bit.


What is a day without a sun?
No more a day than night -
a book adjourned when just begun;
a laugh without delight;

a lyric song that holds no words;
a shoe, but not a sole;
an aerie all bereft of birds;
a term without parole;

a house that does not have a door;
a map deprived of key;
a roof above, and yet no floor;
a shore that lacks a sea;

a monarchy devoid of king;
a poem minus verse;
a wedding vow without a ring;
a witch in want of curse;

a cloister cleared of every nun;
a left, and not a right;
but even we, who are undone,
can find a spindle fully spun
when stars enkindle light.