DR. JAMES PIATT - POEMS

James, a retired professor and octogenarian, is the author of 3 poetry collections, "The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms” (2014), and “LIGHT” (2016), and over 880 poems. His poems have been nominated for pushcart and best of web awards, and were published in The 100 Best Poems of 2015 & 2014 Anthologies. He earned his BS and MA from California Polytechnic University and his doctorate from BYU. His books are available on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

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                                          They Meet Again
 
It was in the fuchsia tinted dusk
sinking into the vortex of the
horizon’s melancholy that he paused
in oxidized time to sense reflections
of her in a shattered
mirror sitting in bones and ashes.
 
Where daytime and nighttime
merged into one and only a thin
purplish-grey line existed, her
image was reflected in the prisms
of moisturized memories curling
down from clouds tined with long
gone forgotten moments.
 
Years passed into eternity, hair
turned to ashes and their separate lives floated in rivers,
which never met. Bygone visions
emerged as hours oxidized into
shadows echoed in a nostalgic
vision of their past time together.
 
Only a faded red rose flattened
by time in a book of poems
celebrated the briefness of their
time until two tombstones sat
side by side with their names
carved into them.
 
 
                                A Rainy Afternoon
 
The sky, grey as a corpse, shuffles its
dark clouds over the hills and into the
valleys below. There is coldness and
threats of moisture in the air, the wind is
starting to howl, small birds huddling in
the trees are silent. Huge puffs of
dampness are getting darker, ready to
shed uncertainties that were abandoned
eons ago onto the dry land.
 
Old hands carefully place twigs in the
Ben Franklin, a match is lit and flames
leap into existence, like a being that has
waited centuries to be reborn. The small
library starts to warm, like old hearts that
still carry the flame of love.  The cold
starts to escape from old bones, and
rekindled memoirs of warm summer
days start to emerge.
 
Two elderly people look into the past as
they gaze at each other with loving
smiles. Pleasant hours crawl by as they
succumb to the warmth of the room, and
each other’s company. Each person is
in his or her own hushed space, one
reading the other writing a poem.
Outside the wind is starting to exert its
blustery voice.
 
Pleasant memories like bright
silhouettes of flame echo into the
Minds of the two, as the clanging hours
of an old grandfather clock illuminates
their aging minds as time stands still.
Contented sighs carry across the room
on rhythms of warmth, and a soft
laughter fills the room as the two look at
each other. The windows are starting to
reflect moisture; a mist covers their
glassy faces as the rain slowly starts to
arrive like a thief in the night.
 
 
                            The Lady In The Corner
 
 
An elderly lady sits quietly In an old rocking chair in
The corner of a room
Beside a grandfather
Clock reading George
Eliot; the heated air
Outside is falling away
From the window, which
Looks out upon an old
Crabapple tree filled with
Tart redness.
The cool Room is hushed.
Images
Of long gone relatives
Peer out from frames
Covered with muted hours,
Silently wondering how the
Elderly Lady stays so
Beautiful and serene.
As The morning fades into a
Balmy afternoon, a copper
Teakettle in the kitchen
Sings a steamy song and
The lady puts down her
Book and goes into the
Kitchen to brew her
Afternoon tea.
While gazing out misty windows,
She silently renews old
Memories, and smiles.
 
 
 
                                        A Special Place
 

There is a special place in the
Woods, where memories dwell
Under fallen leaves, yellow and
Orange, waiting to be used
During special times.
It is a place
Where the mountains rise above
Verdant glens, and rippling rills
Crawl lazily through flowered
Meadows along side rocky
Outcroppings of ecru shale, a
Place where downy birds warble
Their singsongs in the early dawn
As the sun climbs lethargically
Over the tops of pine trees and
Down into the pastures, while the
Dew melts into the earthly loam.
 
How I long to be there, once
Again, before my rusting hours
Oxidize, and turn to ashes.
 

                                                  Spring

 
 
Spring arrived with a symphony
Of pastel blush, like a flowered sprite
Prancing with colorful garlands around
Her neck that has come back from
Winter’s tomb to rouse nature’s
Loveliness throughout the land. It
Arrived with the promise of sweet
Scents, like a honeyed memory

Evolving from a long winter sleep.
 
Spring clothed with the aroma of
Damp soil, is alive with
Transparent brooks that flow In
Flower-laden meadows where
The heat from the sun warms the
Earth and the coolness of a
Placid pond greets weary hikers.
 
With the advent of spring,
Sweet fragrances of wildflowers
Infuse the atmosphere, and
Temperate winds coil around
Gnarled oak trees searching for
Sky, causing them to undulate to
The rhythms of life. Spring, a
Mysterious time when temperate
Rains dampen the earth with
Glimmering moisture in the early
Sunrise, and children arouse to the
Beauty of life, a time when elderly
People can pause for a brief time to
Renew their bodies and gather their
​Breath from winter’s harsh trials.