EDWARD J. DESILVA, JR - POEMS

 Edward J. DeSilva, Jr enjoys writing poetry and creative nonfiction that reflects his faith, cultural heritage, and varied other passions in life. A father of three adult children, Ed is also blessed with one granddaughter, Noemi, and a dog named Daisy—all of whom he adores. Ed currently lives in central New Jersey with Rosemary, his wife of 35 wonderful years.

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                      The Leaves Fall Faster Now
​
The leaves fall faster now; it won’t be long.               
Tragic ballerinas pirouette and
plié, magnificent in their death song.                          
 
Lively spring-greens once supple and strong                
fade into shadows of glory now past.
The leaves fall faster now—it won’t be long.
 
Fleeing from where they no longer belong
the honking goodbyes of geese overhead
seem to mock autumn’s splendid death song. 
                         
Wings clap a tempo that cannot prolong
ill-fated passage from life into death
as the leaves fall still faster. It won’t be long. 
 
In the distant far-off a lonely dog’s
cry chases ebbing light from a purple
pink sky, glorious in its death song.
 
The darkness takes hold, invites doubt along –
night closes swift around and within. The
leaves are nearly fallen, it won’t be long.
I will be magnificent in my death song.

 

 
                                       Old pain

is different than new.
 
It grows more complex -
richer - with the passing
of time, like
 
the taste of old scotch.
It lingers on the tongue
and in the memory. Or
 
the smell of a well-aged cigar.
It hangs in the air, sticks
to the clothes and clings
 
to the hand that held
it. We held each other
too briefly.
 
I’ve had a lifetime
to savor the loss of you.

 

 
 
                            A beach chair grieves
 

You’ve left me here
propped in this corner
to gather cobwebs,
forsaken--
a scorned lover
abandoned since late
summer, even though
the trees are now
almost bare.
 
The scent of summer
still hovers about me,
fading,
as tenuous as the lone
bronzed leaf
that struggles to hold
to the bough
that overhangs
our porch, refusing
to relinquish its place.
 
I see
through your façade,
and I even understand
your reasons—ignoble
as they are—afraid
the memories
that yet cling to me
will fade as quickly as
these ebbing days,
days alive
yet slowly
dying.
 
  
                             Strange Encounter
 

I watched a bird perched on a post      
Or was he watching me?
With learned look he cocks his head    
As if to question me.                         
 
I meet his eye as he meets mine,
            I scarcely dare to breathe.       
My gaze he holds as I hold his
            And wonder what he sees.
 
No voice intrudes, no sound invades
            Our silent meeting there. 
Yet something’s passed between us
            That weds the world we share.
 
We embrace a sacred moment
            That gives no place to fear;
But I realize with heavy heart
            It may ne’er again come near.
 
I yearn to stay a while yet
            Lost in this reverie      
But other needs are calling us,
            His impatience I can see.
 
He holds my eye a moment more,
            But broken’s now the spell.
With flap of wing and merry chirp,
He bids me fond farewell.