Turning Leaves (or How to Zen a Yeats-Wordsworth)

What would fall be without turning leaves? Spring livens and beams fledgling dreams; Summer burns white bulbs of seeds; Winter winds clear the streets. Here: the present memory of yellow leaves: A voyage to drowsy Byzantium, Fading into an absent reflection, But rising-ahh-to breathe. Advertisements

A Leaf for Deianeira

 Perhaps its their true essence, . This spiced verbena. “Oh it does seem like a refined fragrance” Offer this then to Deianeira, Who knows its sense.

A Sonnet-Ode to Ovid on Departing from Exile

A Sonnet-Ode to Ovid on Departing from Exile It is known that you were captive on your way, Some say, a captive stray to your exile. Were you tempted then, by the seaside sway Of other fates all the while? Did you chance to see, recalled from your wilting while There, above the swirling cape, a…

To Brigit, Between Winter and Spring

The granite mountain was silent, The wind sounded on the plain, Birds flew their bent, Fine horses snorted and strained. How lofty the mountain, How low the plain, How dear the heart’s fountain, Surging again. Would it wither in the heights? Or be scattered upon the plain? Did they escape the ashes of desire, by Burning in…

An Ode Upon the Appearance of Sunshine in Winter

1. Sunlight bathes the winter earth, Bringing light to death Or, perhaps the darkness of rebirth. 2. There lingered the memory of months gone by, A bloom of love painting Soft lips to touch the sky. 3. Though it may familiar be, See how love embraces life, How life embraces a memory.  

Ode on a Pine Tree in Early Autumn

    Oh, what can be said of this blue-grey tinge That neither brightens nor ever dims? About you are these fading beauties, While you await the blooming of snowy verities.   As one season passes into the next, You endure all at nature’s behest. But sage you are under sun and moon: For you show us nature’s…

Ode Upon Pine Cones in Early Spring

Ode upon Pine Cones in Early Spring Glistening in the first days of coming warmth, Spring-budding pine cones begin to come forth, Bearing a fair, wood-spice odor, Fresh in their spice-wooded ardor.   But while their bud blooms forth a closed flower, They are soon awakened to the Sun’s power, Or by heaven-seeking fire, Sparking their turn in a cosmic spire….

Ode Upon Suburban Lawns

Hovering over a lagoon Dragonflies flit under the moon Diving in their torrid glory Glinting light,stately—florid. And beneath the lagoon, drinking moonlight, Fishes ripple the moon-bright, Gilded, among rushes and reeds Scarcely reflecting their deeds. The tourists recalled seeing a crane. It was, to be sure, a majestic thing, Yet wild as any you could name. She…

Dandelions, an Ode

At the start of spring, there, among the green, Yellow dandelion flowers can be seen, Finding the new sunlight Like stars from nature’s night. And spring up they do, there among the dew, While the passing days do pitch to whiter hue. And they, in seeding anew, Shall then be whiter too.