Poetry

A COLLECTION OF NATURE

We gather

acorn cups

nut covers, twigs

curled leaves

fern fronds

mushrooms, pine

cones, grubs

from a boundless

expanse of God’s forest

 

A RAINY DAY IS FOR LOVERS

Percolating espresso-

the coffee bean aroma

scents the new pine kitchen.

Newspapers are spread open

on the Sunday morning table.

A smooth white hand

couples with a rough one.

Rain on the roof

and patterns on the glass.

Eyes liquefy,

conveying passion

yet to be expressed.

AMERICA

Jetstreams pass over

a cherished heritage

America.

Eagles soar beneath,

symbols of righteous freedom.

I retain

one part of the main,

New York

industrious and powerful.

Vacationing south, I

traveled wide

of New England’s crowning vistas

and meshed through warm, flat straights,

wending into Florida,

poignant with crowded sunshine

and Mickey Mouse.

I am

desirous yet to see

Colorado Rockies

California style

Arizona

Indiana,

all territories united.

America

you have aged well, being

worthy of infinite beauty and greatness.

And through all the dark

you give us light.

CHANCES ARE YOU WILL WANT

TO COME TO NEW YORK CITY

In 1958

Her streets were paved

in yellow brick

leading to Fifth Avenue

and 42nd Street.

You might have seen

a black man

dance-walking towards

Broadway’s winking lights.

You might have heard jazz

eking out of the Metropole;

Ahmad Jamal

polishing white keys

with rhythmical fingers.

Small armies of white hats

took leave then

from hulks of ships.

Bell-bottom trousers flapped

in the glittering glass town

past steel palaces

exerting attraction on

click-clacking

high heeled shoes and

saucy red lips,

interchanging magnetic pick-ups.

Today foreign invasion and

a caravan of chic boutiques

marketing on the upper east side,

symbolize the best and

worst of New York.

Yet, bright young thing,

Chances are

you will want to come to New York City.

CHIMES

I love to listen

to wind chimes play

when gentle weather comes.

A sweet, melodic harmony

for you, for everyone.

It teases leaves

off stark limbs of trees

hours by hours.

It rides on winds,

and on to spin

upon waking flowers.

A sound so pleasant

to my ear,

remembering those

who once were dear.

Gone now are they.

I love to hear

wind chimes play.

Patricia Crandall Author

A DIFFERENT AGE

In Aunt Mim’s day

I would have considered

having nine children

as she was mule enough

to do.

Today I spend my energies

raising two.

HERS was a different age.

One where children

romped freely

through dandelion pastures

and daisy fields.

Evil did not lurk

between fences.

Occasionally

a boogie man appeared

and was dismissed

with a hoot or a wave.

AFTER THE RAIN

Gold cones

on pine trees

hang

like prisms

in a painted lady’s ear

AUNT AND UNCLE

Time laced in antimacassars

marble top tables

pot bellied stoves

agate ware

bric a brac

a scent of Pears soap.

Old Spice.

Sun shimmering

through a window,

glistening on Aunt's white hair.

Uncle,

hoeing in the garden

wearing suspenders,

plaid flannel shirt,

and overalls.

"Look at those berry bushes, Ginette,"

he says.

"Full O' blossoms,

Aunt will cook up

a platter of blueberry pancakes.

We'll have honey syrup to pour

and sour cream to spread."

My eyes

how they twinkled.

Uncle's dimples were merry.

Aunt's cheeks like pink rose buds.

Precious moments,

none wary.

CHAMELEON

Changing, endless beauty

slips from one season

to the next

like the first breath

of a wetted fawn.

Crystallic snow

weaves a winter pattern.

Spring's mossy carpets,

and summer pastels

blend a commensurable

autumn tapestry.

DIAGRAM

To draw a diagram

of you

I would need to begin

with your mother

father

Next,

sister  brother  sister

grandmothers  grandfather

aunts uncles relations

friends

son daughter son

golf skiing hunting

fishing executive club

church not to mention

business luncheons

car pools             trips

Now tell me honestly dear

what is there of you for

m

e

?

APRIL SNOW

The night

is a clone of January.

The morning

is sweet and golden

as an April sun,

Snow-droppings fall

from icelandic trees.

A lone mallard

floats downstream.

BIRTH OF A SEASON

Spring advances testily,

giving time to pause;

regressing;

ultimately being!

CERTAINLY UNCERTAIN

The wind is springtime melodious;

the sun, a reflection of light

yet on the ground late last evening

appeared a bonnet of winter white.

DO YOU HEAR THE BELLS?

In winter,

bells slice through air

with a leaden peal.

Spring bells

are warm and resonant;

jubilant in tone!

HERALDS OF SPRING

A fuzzy black caterpillar

waddles across

last evening's snowfall.

A twelve inch measure

from his tiny tracks

are sodden remnants

of autumn leaves

and brave little tufts

of spring green grass.

LILY OF THE VALLEY

A glorious convallaria scent

did not

luxuriate beneath the shade

of trees in my garden

when I was a child.

Admiration from afar

I gave

to another's well cared plot.

The perfume drove me wild

when I was a child.

Now I am happy

to plant strong crowns

in my garden.

NEW ENGLAND SPRING

The soft greening shades

of mountain trees,

vast open meadows

fill with buttercups,

turned-over fields

eke out earthy scents,

crystal blue lakes

and tree-lined ponds

mirror geese flying overhead.

Everywhere...

a natural falling off

of winter.

SPRING CONCERT

Melodic soft voices

drifting in harmony

as dark suited boys

and white organdy girls

wear gentle expressions

of spring

THE FLUTE-PLAYER

A white-tailed deer

sprints over pine needles

and moss

to the pond,

taking a drink of clear water.

Sunlight filters through

gently waving leaves.

Pinwheels of fern-fronds

unfurl at the sound

of a wind instrument

fluting spring

in the forest.

UNEXPECTED

Two old cats

chase each other

through the house,

awakened by

the minutiae

of spring's arrival.

I throw open shuttered windows,

unlatch storm doors; watch

robins worm in mud

and straw grass.

Oops! Winter's back!