Saturday, July 1, 2017

A Place In Summer



Image result for 4th of july lake mohawk 

A Place In Summer

Staring out a sullied summer window
amid the misty morning sun,
neighbors intimately gather
on the way to a lake in summer,
a day and night of  barbeque, beer,
horseshoes, fireworks, and stories—
funny, stirring, semi-apocryphal tales,
getting more confessional as darkness falls,
while I, washed ashore in a tempest
remain exiled, alone in a container,
caught unexpectedly by July 4th’s
bright expectant smile restlessly staring,
isolation’s burden too much to bare,
I venture out searching for a place in summer,
Ned Merrill, The Swimmer, on a bicycle
sojourning northwest from Ann Arbor,
planning to find home by nightfall,
pedaling on the steamy backroads
of Washtenaw and Livingston counties,
wandering through Dexter, Hudson Mills,
Pinkney, Webster, Half-Moon Lake and Hamburg,
passing fading seasonal ice cream shops,
unkempt orchards obscuring mills,
boarded-up, dreaming of Fall,
corn fields, row-upon-row, knee high by July,
cranking crested weather-vanes atop old Dutch barns,
 maple, birch, oak and elm, seasonally adorned,
showing-off summer’s finest green,
firethorn and potentilla scattered among hibiscus
blooming in feckless shades of sapphire and rose,
 odd vehicles, adorned in red, white, and blue
pulling ramshackle floats parading Lady Liberties’,
disputable beauty queens heading for Main Street, America
pleased they’ve finally been recognized
by the ragged small town entourages trailing merrily behind,
males secretly wondering if they’re doing the right thing,
 a proud Grandma beaming  at the world’s most beautiful princess.

When a weary westbound sun set its heart to dusk,
I came upon Whitmore Lake and hurriedly peddled
to quaint cottages hoping to find a place in summer—
sanctuaries handed down generation to generation,
with flowering gardens watched over by timeworn gnomes—
busy-bodies demanding to know your business,
sun-dials, wind-chimes and blazing grills
surrounded by artic colored folk blushing pink,
partaking in the three-month Michigan ritual,
reading Cheever and Twain, waiting for night—
fireworks, more beer, then a midnight slow-dance
near a lake shimmering white under a giant rising moon,
a cherished phonograph spinning,  A Summer Place
crackling softly through lace curtains fluttering,
spellbound lovers swirl, one amongst the stars.

When gentle remnants of light,
consumed by insistent moments of darkness
overtake Main Street, a clear-felled night
exposes a stranger, alone,
among other fragile creatures more sheltered then he—
wanting to belong, pretending delight
amidst America’s greatest summer show,
lost in the exploding rainbow colored mess,
when mercifully, from clearing smoke rising,
an angel, a hospitable summer lake legacy,
gifted, able to feel longing, knowing emptiness—
giving comfort before sending me with on my way
with a beer, slap-on-the-back and a prayer for the road,
on the long journey home.


Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Sad Ballerinas



Sad ballerinas dance
in burning fields
all night long,
trying to forget
the people they love.

Writhing in ecstatic trance,
they move in perfect sync,
 a gift attained,
from endless nights
of unwanted practice.

All night, all night
they dance…
exposing wounds,
revealing hearts
and provoking
the disembodied souls
who weep at humanness.

Although no ever sees,
they dance, sensually,
beautifully,
all night long
performing to music
of forsaken dreamers.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Meditation By Candlelight


The stillness of darkened shadows

created of candle’s blaze

burn the sun’s core,

on an ordinary wall,

illuminating unspeakable truths,

shattering the shroud,     

attaining the sacred space,

 a sanctuary from the world

confined to ordinary senses.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Cranes ©

One by one,
baffled mourners
drifted back

toward fragile sanctuaries,
leaving her alone
to gaze the abyss
of freshly churned earth –
where the once beautiful body lay
beginning the slow passage
back to dust.

As she knelt
craving his presence,
Apollo blazed West
meandering to destiny
threatening to leave her alone
in the land of night,
where nocturnal creatures
dwell ominously therein.

But she remained faithful,
still at one with him,
her humanness
causing signs
in the heavenly places,
provoking the servants
to summon the cranes—
to break the veil,
their startling appearance
and poetic laments
letting her know
she was not alone,
giving her strength,
to rise from her knees.

As she drove off
into night –
the cranes followed,,
flying around and around—
until the cemetery’s gates
clung shut behind;
but now, she knew
he would be with her,
all the days of her life.