What Will Stay?Unyielding ancient Roman gods stare out With sightless eyes on futures never seen, The cold, dead stone contrasting with the green Of life renewed and thriving all about. Their likenesses, once known, are now obscure, As will be those who we now cast in bronze. Our kings and queens, our bishops, knights, and pawns, Torn down by those who’ll find our thoughts impure. What will it matter, when we’ve gone away? We primitive and unenlightened lot Who’ve squandered time and grace so dearly bought, What dear to us will fade, and what will stay? They’ll view us with a condescending air, Interpreting what wasn’t ever there. Encroaching WeedsShe’d not allow encroaching weeds Among the flowers raised from seeds In beds meticulously kept Beyond the stable, neatly swept, Across from where the light recedes. But lately there’ve been other needs Demanding time, and thus proceeds Her garden to appear unkept. She’d not allow her lesser breeds To pair with her prize-winning steeds, But in the dark and shadows crept The vines and crabgrass while she slept Committing one of many deeds She’d not allow. The Air Grows ColdThe air grows cold. The leaves, once green, Turn yellow, orange, and gold between Brief moments spent outdoors. The call Of birds of prey makes forests crawl With anxious creatures seldom seen. Close by, as in some magazine, A brook completes the perfect scene. As humid summer yields to fall, The air grows cold. Soon winter comes: first Halloween, Then heaters run on kerosene, A knitted scarf and hat, a shawl, But well before the snow and all, The air grows cold. Physician of the MindThis mannequin—lifeless, demure-- Will keep close secrets told secure, Unlike that friend who in the end Is quick to judge and less mature. What troubles whispered through the years Have bounced off these unhearing ears, Unburdening a client’s soul, Absolving guilt, allaying fears? This true physician of the mind, Compassionate, unduly kind, Is counselor, confessor, priest, Conservator, and more—combined! Bad NewsA glass of water, half consumed, remained Neglected at the table where she sat Before her father tenderly explained How nothing can be done, and that is that. Oh, how can one so quickly lose all hope? She asked herself as numbness settled in. And as she wondered how she’d ever cope He thought about the places he had been, The accolades he’d hung upon the wall In black and silver frames, advanced degrees, Group photos from his days of playing ball, His membership in nine societies… With all of these and more he was undone By forces far outside of his control Accomplishments, hard-earned, now felt unwon, Despair crept in and grappled with his soul. He’d trade it all if he could ease her pain. He hadn’t meant to make his daughter cry. His life was lived too fully to complain, Yet still he wasn’t set to say goodbye. These poems were first published in Nine Muses Poetry.
0 Comments
|
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed