Rubes Ride

The mid-way beckons,
unrestrained, irresistable,
glitter bright and neon painted;

I soar through the darkness
without a net, whirl
in ever widening circles;

my head spins, but I hold fast
to the sight of you
just beyond the sideshow.

Not once do you call my name,
not once do you look my way,
no games of chance for you,

so sure that I will follow your lead     
the second the lights go out.              
And I always do.

Little Creek, Delaware
5/15/02

Goffe Terrace

There is a morning that fullfills,
laughter flies through sky lights,
the cats play on the roof;

all her plants grow green and lush
as if by magic.

She blossoms, too,
with his gentle attentions,
this palest rose
of a sunburned gardener:

Just hear how she prays for rain.

 *****

The first time they made love, she wore her pink pajamas.  Had she truly understood the sincerity of his intentions, she would have been better prepared, and most certainly  appropriately undressed of silk or satin, something just a little seductive, but, no, there she was sporting bubble gum pink cotton jersey, frayed along the right sleeve hem.

He didn't seem to notice. He wore nothing at all, and she laughed the first moment she saw him, not at his nakedness, but at the absurdity that after all these years he should suddenly be so comfortably clothed only in his obvious desire before her.

He laughed too, having exactly the same thought, but more delighted than she could ever have imagined to be removing those god awful pajamas. Yes, so many years. He shook his head in amazement, laughed as he enfolded her in his arms, eased a casual hand beneath the waistband and slipped that offending garment from her to the floor, laughed as his hand returned the long length of her legs and torso, laughed as he revealed her breasts, laughed as his mouth met her mouth, until her freckled skin flushed, and nobody was laughing.

Under the bed, his cat curled herself up in those abandoned pajama bottoms.  She had been contemplating a nap, and was just reconsidering the best location for her retreat when the softest pink bedding arrived, still warm, and slightly musky.

East Barre, Vt.
6/7/04

Grace

The sun rise over green mountains,
daffodils grace sheltered meadows,
ruffled blossoms nod, trailing rain
drops from yesterdays storm, yellow

drips petaled puddles to the ground.
The sun rise over green mountains
illuminates reflected sounds
in silence, but for wind refrains

released from exiled winter plains,
and birds high flying red winged songs:
the sun rise over green mountains;
Breathless listening,how I long

for light touches, a warm end to cold
seasons, for miracles. Certain
only of this, I reach to greet
the sun rise over green mountains.

East Barre, Vt.
5/4/03

Moving Mountains

Prayers carved in granite...hard as rock,
heavy hearted, faith carries stones, persistent climbing;
Step by painstaking step...eternity is patient;
Unburdened song rises hopeful: Will flowers bloom?

East Barre, Vt.
2/3/03