Canyon Vista

Shadows and colors flit about the walls

As the sun shifts west and twilight comes.

Even the wind seems to be part of the show.

Reds, yellows, grays and yes, even blacks

Moving like rivers along the walls in here.

As the sunlight switches from East to West

To catch this array of colors is as easy

As catching the early morn mist by hand—

It is already gone when you open your hand.

Only the eye can hold the color display.

Our memory has problems retaining the changes.

So much so that only by visiting here

Every other year, or two will you know

How truly exciting and great your visit

To our Grand Canyon will be for you.

Every time you are here, something new

And different each time you see the show.

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A NEW TITLE AND RANK

The uniform, at best, described as nondescript

Carries the lowest rank in all of the services.

Close order drills usually happen at night

When someone is ill, or just needs some comforting.

No medal was ever struck for one of this rank

Never had bunting draped,

flag waving parades in honor.

The war wounds are not the kind that show—

They are all inside and almost never heal.

A strip of cleaning rag serves as a campaign ribbon.

The marksman medal is for the pancake flip.

Is there a memorial crested anywhere for them?

They represent all that man has ever endured,

In the firefights of an open war to save.

Intensely dedicated to  humble duties,

Designated as just a housewife

As though that were such a minor operation

That almost any fool could do it easily.

Let’s give her a new title and rank,

Household Superintendent, Source of Civilization.

Now, since a small increase in pay is indicated,

Set aside one day each week free of cares.

Grant two weeks of vacation each year.

But only wherever she wants to spend her time.

Are all of you really ready for this?

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My Land

Somewhere the wind blows clear and sweet

The sky is the palest of blue forever

There is the fresh smell of flowers in bloom

The ground is cushioned by a carpet of grass

Where I can walk though a forest of trees

And picture my fantasies in a sky of clouds

When it rains, it is like a freshening

As though having a new growth of skin to feel

That the world is somehow new again.

Perhaps I can walk through the rain

Or feel the light touch of a snowflake upon my face

I can lower my face into a cool clear stream

To enjoy the thrilling taste of pure sweet water

and I can hope it is all still there

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ON A SUMMER DAY IN THE FALKLANDS

Blissful sun-warmth

Blends with distant Arctic breezes

At the cliff edge.

 

In another season, quiet

Reigns here where pastures slide

Downward to the sea.

 

But today, all is fussy noise

As cormorants and penguins speak

Walking over each other to claim a nest

 

All along the cliff edge as far as eye can see

Bird heads bob and bodies wriggle

Each intent on the security of an egg nest.

 

They pay no attention to the humans here

Except to watch that we stay distant

While the sky wraps all of us in its blue.

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My Allegheny Foothills

These hills roll out in great waves from

East to west as one great green splash

The clear streams in long steep valleys

All have tumbling waterfalls at nearly every drop

Small riffles will appear and if by magic

Trees, both great and small, crown each hill

Occasionally, even the clouds will join in

To create gracious pictures in forms that

Reflect some of our most treasured dreams

A train whistle will scream, now and then,

To invite you all to visit some faraway place

The farmyard supplies a medley of sounds

As a wildcat cries out of his loneliness here

The seasons bring along their own music

Autumn has the sound of bustling fallen leaves

While winter whistles a tune in the attic eaves

Spring has those swift moving fish that leap

And summer brings first chilling swim of the year

But the real attraction is that neighborliness

That clings to almost every Allegheny mountain home.

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The Human Touch

My memory is full of all those whose lives

Somewhere, sometime touched upon mine leaving behind

A shining residue of love, friendship and hope.

Without these freely given values, my life would

Surely not have been so filled to the brim

With life and all those things that make it meaningful.

Yes, even those who criticized me, were even cruel,

Contributed to a fuller understanding of life’s

Eternal struggle to shape the character of a man.

All the friends and many relations I have known

Enriched me, so I am loath to ask for more.

It seems impossible for me to say in words

How much my life was filled with joy

Because of you and you, my friends and family.

 

 

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THOSE TREES

As I awoke this morning in the wilderness

The trees were all whispering to each other

I wondered if they were talking about me

And if they resented my presence in these woods

The birds had all welcomed me so gloriously

I felt as if I had touched the treetops

I heard the siren call of a distant waterfall

Its irresistible music caught my ear and

As I walked away, trees stopped whispering

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Two Centuries Later

Poom! Green, red, blue and white

Stars glitter briefly in the night

Poom!  A whistle-scream through the darkness,

Brilliance blossoms, fade down the sky.

Poom!  Eyes glowing.

Children’s giggled delight,

A happy sigh.

Poom!  Once a year we celebrate

With sparklers, firecrackers in the summer air.

 

Deep slumber memory

Stirs and wakes dreams of years long past—

 

Poom!  White fire traces down the blackness of night

Screams and whimpers echo in the hills.

Poom!  Flares burst above the trees

Blood red burns the light,

Blue and red lie fallen on the battleground.

Then dawn.  A summer sky.

Heat waves rise too early from the cobbled streets,

A distant nearing march sounds beyond the town.

Poom!  A palm slams on a desk in Philadelphia

A pen scratches the first name upon the parchment there.

 

Poom!  Two centuries later

The yellowing parchment reminds a nation:

With flickers in the night sky,

Sparks of remembered battlefire–

Poom! Two centuries later,

The United States of America July 4, 1976.

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IF ONLY

If only I could speak the words

That would heal romance’s heartbreak

As they lose their dearest loved one

If I could only convey my deepest love

To the one person I love the most

If only I could calm the fears

Of a child when midnight black comes in

If only that empty ache in my heart

Would leave and I could be happy again

If only—if only—if only—

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IN MY FATHER’S HOUSE

Music filled my father’s house

From violin, guitar and mandolin

Instruments of second-hand parts

Repaired with tender care

By my father’s and granddad’s hands

 

Melodies flowed from the radio

And precious record discs

To fill the big front room

 

Where the polished floor

Rang in the counterpoint

Of tap and soft shoe

As my father danced

 

The rhythms of poetry

Rolled around the rooms

As my father recited from memory

The words of his favorites

 

The lilt of laughter

And the cello chords of voices

Blended into music, too

 

Yes, sweet music filled

My father’s house

Until the notes clashed

Broken and brash

Filling our nights with sorrow

And sometimes fear

When my father stumbled

In his dance and lost his song

 

The stranger he became

I learned to hate

When alcohol released

His futile anger at his fate

Which denied him

His father’s love

The music sweet and bitter

Stilled at last

When my father vanished

Without a word, or good-bye

 

Once after years of silence,

I saw a man so like my father

And he saw me

But we did not speak

My child-anger stole my voice

As the man passed, waited,

Then walked away

 

Music once filled my father’s house,

Treasure given and received,

And a bittersweet refrain still echoes

Of memory and might have been

And that which never was

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