The Carriage Lamp
Among the many things we share, Anna and I are Sherlockians, and thus enamored of the late nineteenth century, before the car, when horses and carriages were very important. Under this heading, The Carriage Lamp, evocative of those bygone, romantic days, we will on occasion include original poems, either hers or mine. The title poem is given below, and just below the divider you will see the most recent addition.
A carriage lamp lit as the night comes down
To hang upon the roofs.
Then through the foggy streets of town,
The sound of hoofs.
He’s come for me
In a horse drawn coach
As he has before.
I watch the lantern’s light approach
And hasten to the door.
“Come, my dear, and let us ride!
The coach light leads us on.
Through the night, sit by my side
Till break of dawn.”
Druid
Trees disrobe,
Strip to their naked colors,
Distinguish themselves,
A gaudy Turkey rug
Over the forest,
Never so red, never so yellow,
Infinite blending of each.
Gone the uniform of summer,
The green hijab.
Now lining the road,
A harlequin quilt,
Soon laid bare,
Stripped to the beautiful bones.
Rest now, my lovely ones!
Autumnal
A fringe of shimmering leaves
Catches the lukewarm light
Glancing from a south setting sun -
Exciting once, now
A terrible pure sadness,
The tinge of romance
Distilled from it.
The smoke of a bonfire,
Crickets falling asleep in the cold -
Half hearted laughter
Catches in the throat
Of a soul long dead.
Autumn Song
Clouds drop low on mountains high,
Hang like drapes
In graceful shapes,
Blur the line of sky.
On and off, cool showers
Dampen hearts
With fits and starts,
Yet bless remaining flowers.
Come autumn winds, blow bold,
Sweep the clouds,
Draping shrouds,
Awake our souls to cold!
September
As much if not more
Than the ripening of apples and pumpkins,
As much if not more
Than the chilly air, the yellows and reds
Revealed resplendent,
Infinite shades in the leaves,
It is the shadows of the leaves
Dancing on the floor,
A last dance
Before the fall.
Southward
Moving south,
Sun shortens the days,
Leaves place for the cool peace
Of night to take -
Plunging toward the equipoise of equinox,
Then deeper,
Rays only glancing treetops,
To the dark rest of solstice!
Rents
Rents in the green drape of summer,
Dead leaves below,
One then two then four,
Falling begins unnoted
Until stiff winds bare trees.
Sky is seen again
Through rents in the clouds,
Sun, moon, stars!
By the water
A cottonwood whispers from over the pond.
Bark lapped and scalloped
Like a Dutch barn,
The persimmon rustles soft leaves
As a north wind starts,
Rippling the algae bloom at the shallow end.
In the chill,
Crickets try to carry on.
Lotus Sermon
Gathering in the Jetavana grove,
A throng came to hear him.
He sat by the pond where lotus bloomed,
Eyes fixed on a blossom,
Close disciples near him.
He did not speak.
A murmur rose from the crowd,
“What is wrong? What does he say?”
“We came to hear a sermon.”
He sat by the lotus pond ,
Eyes fixed on the flower.
Only one disciple heard the sound
Of his silence.
Locusts
Fiery hot -
Locusts hammer and saw
From trees thick and tall -
Chainsaw and jackhammer
The day long -
While chirp and song
From cool wet grass -
Crickets are
Lovers of night -
Humankind
Queer, these creatures,
Nonpareil in bloodiness,
Natural bonds turned deviate,
Deadly. What? What!
This is your own!
No wolf would do it.
Queer, these creatures,
Vacant of mercy,
Predator ghouls
Of human quarry.
What, you do not bleed,
Cry out in fear and pain?
This is you. Humankind.
South Wind
Swamp breath, hot and wet -
Not a chill to squeeze out dew -
Try not to breathe -
Ironical!
Fish smother in water -
Gills notwithstanding.
Swamp breath, fetid and pestilent -
Desert heat, lethal when indexed -
No chill but death -
On shores stolen by the tide
We died -
Humanity notwithstanding.
Wetland
Marsh grass browns,
Goldenrod blossoms,
Joe Pye weed
Waves its amber flags,
Every tree is bonneted with vine,
And algae blooms all over the place!
Summer Moon
The half moon in a halo
As of cloudy egg white
Rides a clear dark sky
Between trees -
Look now or miss it!
The heavens in summer -
The Storm
The clouds grow dark
With rolls of thunder,
Monsoon time, no wonder,
The steamy air, the lightning spark,
The rain enraged,
At war with heat,
While life encaged
In grim defeat,
Looks with hope to morning,
Innocent of the warning,
Tempest in the rolling thunder,
The future will pull all asunder!
The Pond
A breeze ruffles the glassy pond,
Rocking leaf boats,
Fragile ships with elfin crew,
Sailing for the overflow
And down into the rill
That flows at times,
Quenching the deer,
Hatching frogs,
Soaking into the boggy wetlands.
The Last Angel
The grand pin oak cossets a native holly in its bosom -
Where two maple seeds fell together stands a doubletree -
High in the sycamores, two old hawk nests -
Aburst in morning song, a rainbow choir -
Cardinals and bluebirds, wrens and finches and sparrows -
Siberian iris were in bloom, deep passion of purple -
Then a flight of angels -
The first have faded, now the last -
One white angel stands alone
On the day my brother died.
Meditation
Hand of heaven on my head,
Pulls the spine like a puppet string.
Now I’m a buddha, so I’ve read.
Posture is the thing.
So aligned I can be as I am,
Sitting still to follow my breath,
The rise and fall of the diaphragm,
Born on the rise, on the exhale - death.
Duality encompassed in one.
The paradox breaks my head.
As I sit in the rising sun,
Am I a buddha? So I’ve read!
Ah, Summer!
Pillow clouds parade
Across the sky,
Pillow sails across the bay,
Knifing the glassy water
Into spray,
Hilarity bobs, buoyed by the day!
Silence
In silence -
Buds swell and burst.
Without a sound -
Cells divide, limbs lengthen.
Unnoticed -
A thought twines through my brain.
Unsung -
A song blooms in my mind.
Listen -
In the growing silence
To all things that grow
And pass in silence..
Tao
The photons before they reach your eye -
The still air before it ripples with sound -
The tension of thought before you are conscious of it -
Is not the Universal Mind your very own?
Because it is your eye,
You cannot see it -
Because you ride the waves of sound,
You cannot hear it -
Because you never left it,
You cannot enter it -
You are still at home -
Wake up!
Merry Month
Bees are buzzing -
Birds are building -
Buds are bursting into burgeoning blooms -
Bumblers bumble
On the blowing blossoms -
Raucous revelling resumes!
Rain at Night
In the rain washed night
Drops of light are scattered on the air
To glow like fog.
The road shines clean
Throwing back the images
Of tree and fence and traveler,
Falling through the dark
As fast as rain.
Carving a tunnel with our lights
We speed to our end
As if we knew the way.
Growing Season
Within days
The filigree of limbs
Will be obscured by leaves,
A green canopy will hide the sky,
And on the forest floor
Moss will green,
Ferns unfurl their furry fiddleheads.
The long sultry season will insinuate
Within days.
Forget-me-not
With my breakfast tea,
Sweet as it can be,
Forget-me-not!
Morning pick me up,
Blooming on my cup
And round the pot,
Symbol good or bad,
A message to be had
For all to see,
Not the violet’s preening,
Redolent of meaning:
Remember me!
April
Violets blooming on the first -
April fools -
Cherry blossoms swell and burst -
Rosy jewels -
Breezes send
Now warmth, now chill -
The jonquils bend
To April's will -
Dogwoods too, while April rules,
Do their parts -
Violets, no shrinking fools,
Purple hearts!
Coming Forth
Forsythia whispers of yellow -
The swollen redbud hears -
Willow puts out a green fringe -
Tathagata -
The Drape
Behind a drape of new green leaves
Put up by deciduous trees,
The sky withdraws,
Like my mind obscured
By nettlesome thought.
The sky is there unseen till fall,
When the drape comes down;
Just as thought drifts across a clear mind,
The sun, the moon have been there all along.
Soft Spring
Soft spring,
Pale on the trees,
Twilight's slanted glow
Lingering on window panes.
So came the end of days
Long, long ago,
Now memories,
Pale and soft
In spring.
Do You See?
Setting moon hung in trees
Lights a valley fog -
Do you see?
Light and dark,
Day then night,
Back and forth -
Do you see?
But all is encircled,
One is the center -
What is this?
Only light!
Twigs
Twigs lie strewn on the lawn,
Skeletal hands grasping at ankles.
From all angles a cold sun glares,
Glancing blows of light
Off blind eyes whipped by wind.
Small and white, the crocus
Braves March.
Luna
Round and full and white,
Rising through the thick bare trees,
The quiet of reflected light,
Mother of pearl in glowing orbit,
Some few arise to catch the sight,
To those few subtle lunatics transfixed
Bring peace, bring night!
Swans
The mute swan is not called upon
To speak,
But is prized for his beauty,
Peace and grace.
He grows old
Very quietly.
Never called upon, he is mute about
The black swan,
Mythical, terrible, improbable;
But the mute
Never tells what he knows
Unless called
To speak.
Winter
No longer do the trees, aflame with color,
Command attention.
They are line drawings on the sky,
Reflected glory.
It is the emptiness of the air itself,
For what it contains:
The damp, the chill,
The echoing bark of dogs;
Catching us by the throat,
We gasp for empty air.
Sun in Winter
From august height,
Old growth trees look down
Upon the sun,
White in a grey sky,
Caught in a tangle of twigs,
Above a cataract of frost.
Still, for all its trouble
With thick cloud and haughty trees,
It swallows me with light!
A New Coat
In the muffled night of snow,
Lights make soft shapes,
Chimneys smoke from rounded roofs,
Trees stand cold and still,
Etching on fog,
As about them gathers
A new white coat.
Winter Trees
Sky shows through at last -
The sun, the overcast,
The daytime moon,
The stars at night -
Tall and bare, the winter trees
Let in light -
Come ice and snow,
Come winter’s blast,
Fall on your knees,
The sky - at last!
Frostbite
Raucous geese fly over glistening frost.
Through bitter cold, pure light
Graces tall trees,
Blesses all it sees.
All is right,
All is not lost,
All is never lost!
New Year
The sun drips,
Golden finger paint through trees,
As our time slips through fingers.
It is all about slipping,
And falling
Beneath the horizon,
Beyond the threshold,
Falling into night, slipping into light,
Our fingers dripping with time.
Another Christmas
Christmas full of jollity,
Snow upon the holly tree,
Friends and foes too much for me!
Scrooge died anyway you see.
Christmas
Upon the emptiness of time,
Upon the falling off of life
Into the hollow spaces,
Absent teeth, absent flesh,
Absent love and hope,
Upon the darkness gathering
Faster and faster -
Christmas, alight and full,
Casts a final glow,
Catching the breath.
Even the last.
Walk in Fog
Sunrise through gauze -
Water color trees -
Red runs to yellow
Then to russet -
Bare arms of trees
Made soft as wool -
Pale grey on white.
Sleeping hawks
Open an eye -
Who would walk in fog?
Russet
Red as red could be
Under the maple tree -
Sunny yellow fades and dims
Sallow on the empty limbs -
Every color has given all
To the rich of russet, last of fall!
This November
Joe Pye weed waves its amber flags,
March grass browns,
Goldenrod blossoms,
Every tree is bonneted with vine
And algae blooms all over the place.
Dogwoods reliably russet,
Maples struggle to show coral,
Oaks and poplar give up dead leaves
Standing bare too soon.
Autumn,
No sun -
Singing alone,
The last cricket -
Novembers Past
The trees distinguish themselves
Individually, showing their true colors:
Red maple, yellow maple,
Yellow edged in red,
Copper beech, bronze oak,
And the cherries,
Diaphanous on their borders.
One day they declare themselves:
Some deafening crimson,
Some whispering coral,
Some blending a dissonance of red and green.
The maple was red one day,
And on the next, the ground was red,
The maple bare,
A flimsy scaffold of anonymous twigs.
My November Guest
My sorrow when she's here with me
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be.
She loves the bare, the withered tree,
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list.
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But I were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
- Robert Frost
October
Reds made redder,
Yellows, gold,
The sky made bluer,
Clear and cold.
Clouds made pink
At dusk and dawn,
Dew made diamonds
Spread on the lawn.
Nights made longer
For bats and ghouls,
Grinning pumpkins,
Snag-toothed fools.
October flames out,
The fire soon dead,
But now its glow
Makes reds more red.
Morning Walk
Frost blazens brown leaves and grass blades,
Mud is frozen,
A waning moon rises with the sun,
A wedge of geese flies
Above a robin flock,
Wind bites skin,
But ears are keen for the scream
Of the hawk. Morning walk.
Flocks
A flock of birds blows across the sky -
A flock of leaves blows down
A sunny blizzard -
Revealing their true colors
They skitter through the yard
Racing towards me in the wind -
Borders
The ends of days and seasons,
The hollow stillness when the songbirds roost
And the swifts and bats etch the empty twilight
With the magnificent, dark line drawings
That silhouette our joys -
The ends are what I have yearned after:
Of storybook days that pass unsensed,
Until shadow sweeps to the tops of trees,
And the sky becomes the border, unpatrolled,
Unending, of the black unknown.
Four Horses
What did the madman say?
"Repent the end is near!"
Repent what? The end is here.
Too late now anyway.
What did the madman say?
"The white horse, then the red!
Pestilence and dread!"
What more then, pray?
"War and more, famine, death!
I see them, black and pale!"
Thus did the madman wail
With his last breath.
Falling Silent
The fury, the storm,
They rise and rise and then
Fall silent.
The music wafts
Through the house, and wafts, and then
Falls silent.
Our machines, so loved,
They spin and whir and sing, and then
Fall silent.
Silence is always the last word,
And that for always.
Paradox
Age is beauty, death is joy.
The babe is soon to wither.
Struggle is peace, misery happy.
The silence full with noise.
Form is Empty.
Emptiness is not.
Who Are You?
I'm not who I was a moment ago.
Did anyone see where that person went?
What about who I was in years past,
Before my youth was spent?
I don't really know who I am anymore,
But who do I need to be?
My hair short or long, my skin smooth or creased,
What should it matter to me?
My mother claimed she could find herself
With only a looking glass.
As good a way, I guess, as any need be
To watch all my selves as they pass!
Like Trees
We die like trees,
Rarely,
Slowly, unless downed,
Living through dormancy,
Struggling through drought,
Tolerating pests.
Shriveling with disease,
Limbs die, leaves wilt,
We live on, suffering
What should kill us, then
Rarely,
Slowly,
We die
Like trees.
Like Snow
Palest pink on breezes slight,
Wafting in the sun’s warm light,
Blossoms of the cherry tree
Sing of spring to me and thee!
Like snow, they blow a gauzy squall,
Pallid petals gently fall.
In the cold March winds they pass,
Drifting on the new green grass.
New Year
The sun drips,
Golden finger paint through trees,
As our time slips through fingers.
It is all about slipping,
And falling
Beneath the horizon,
Beyond the threshold,
Falling into night, slipping into light,
Our fingers dripping with time.
Prayer
Crown of light,
Wings of white,
Angel, angel pray
Light the dark
With heaven's own spark
Guide my faltering way!
Angel mine,
Brightly shine
On this darkling place!
Wings of white
Through the night,
Fast in your embrace!
Sun in Winter
From august height,
Old growth trees look down
Upon the sun,
White in the gray sky,
Caught in a tangle of twigs
Above a cataract frost.
Still, for all its trouble
With thick cloud and haughty trees,
It swallows me with light.
testing😀