THE KINDEST NIGHT

It's Christmas Eve, the kindest night
he's ever known, a night
that never stops shining,
even with no stars
and silence all around.
He's with the wonder of his life,
a lady come from the far kingdom
called Kindness, or sometimes
just Love. Look out,
he wants to say to the world,
look out for love,
because it's always
right beside you,
always as sparkling
as this special night
of silent brightness.

HE SAT AT A TABLE

He sat at a table
talking with a friend.
The faraway stars were sending
their signals to other stars,
the silence of the night
was like the silence
inside their words,
the words that went
from their hearts
to their tongues
to the sweetest air
in Holliston, Mass.
It was Christmas, but they
were somewhere else,
inside a world where
words were made of lights
like the stars make
above us all.

STEADINESS

"Pocket Watch", oil, by Hall Groat II

He's noticed
the second-hand of his watch
moving unfailingly
in the midst of a storm.
He's  seen it stay its course
when his days
were collapsing like sticks,
and when his whole life
seemed to be slowing to a stop.
The second-hand
keeps in control of itself.
On his bedside table at night,
it does its quiet work
while his heart is doing its
and the steady stars
are doing theirs.

STILL, AT 69

I still think the world
wakes up each moment.
I still want
to toil in the fields of books,
to rest in the green grass of thoughts,
to see dawn
shake out its hair over the sea,
to help myself
to whole hours of happiness.
I still want to feel the freedom
of walks on far-away trails,
of words waving their arms on pages,
of poems sailing somewhere like ships.

What He Saw at 5:09 AM

He saw the darkness outside,
And the small lamp on his desk,
And the signs of happiness
In his hands, and the holiness
Of the simple things of his life --
The students he studies with,
His family that enfolds him
In their arms,
The woman who washes his days
So they sparkle,
The days that don't stop smiling
And sailing.

DESIRE

He sometimes desires the kind of day

that dances with you from dawn

till the sky is smoky with stars.

Or sometimes he just desires

the brown skin of a Snickers bar,

or the feel of a soft new sneaker on his foot,

or the fullness of a Sunday

free of a sense of duty.

Mostly, though, he desires her hands in his,

her whole life leaning into his

as they lie back in this soothing universe

FRESHNESS

“Dorothea's entrance was the freshness of morning.”

-- George Eliot, Middlemarch

And so is his new friend.

She sows the seeds of newness

when she enters a room,

when windows suddenly

seem spanking clean

and all the walls

look lighthearted and spotless.  

He’s always surprised

when she comes to visit,

the way the shingles shine

as she walks to the door,

the way the rooms

seem to refurbish themselves

for her presence.

.

HOW CAN HE KEEP FROM SINGING?

He doesn’t know how

he can keep from singing.

He sings in the strangest places –

at his sunny desk,

in rain-washed streets,

in the produce section

among lettuces and onions.

He lets the music

make him merry,

whatever the world is doing.

While death does its drumming

all around him,

he sings the way wind blows,

because he has to,

because who can stop the wind?

THESE TWO, by Jaimie Johansen

She grew up in Texas,

taking her time with life,

holding love

in her little hands,

looking for wisdom

wherever it was waiting.

Now, in New England

with a new friend,

she follows stars.

Together they take the paths

the stars prepare for them.

If you see these two,

you will also see starlight.  

QUIET MORNING

"Morning Light", pastel, by Karen Margulis

It was a quiet morning --

just the call of a few birds

bringing back the daylight,

just the shaking of branches

as a wind did its early work.

Wherever he was

was wonderful –

upstairs with the silence

of his books,

in the kitchen with a cup of coffee,

outside as the sunlight

looked shyly through the trees.

All was quiet –

this fresh, carefree day

and his happy-go-lucky life.

SILVER AND GOLD

"Stars over Casco Bay", oil, by Elizabeth Fraser

He sat in silence
among the silent stones
on the patio.

A new night was

washing over his world

with miles of stars,

his friends and fellow-travelers.

Tell me a tale,

he asked them,

of silver and the flowing

of friendship,

and six stars sang

of Ham and a friend

with silver feelings

and golden goodness

in her eyes.  

A DAY IN AUGUST

"Boston Bikes", oil, by Susan Cox

They went to Boston,

and Boston behaved

the same as ever –

seas of people

with the power of living

inside them, a little love

in each painting

in the museum, the millions

of smiles made

in just the few hours

they were there --

this pair,

privileged to be friends

for two brief weeks
in a world

with its arms wide open.  

AT AN OUTDOOR CAFE IN PUTNAM, CT

Her wrist was resting

on the table, and the table

was tenderly holding it,

just as the earth

was carrying the table

with care,

just as he

was holding her

in his sight

and sunlight

was warmly holding them both.

SOME WORDS

Some words were selected

for him on this day,

some words made of

currents of air and

quiet ideas

that didn’t show off,

but sat still in his life,

like he sits still

in this universe

that spins itself

in happiness, but

doesn’t do it

to show off.

A STOP ON A BIKE RIDE

"Bike in the Park", oil, Susan Cox

The stream spoke
to the rocks
as it rolled along,
a breeze seemed
to break out in song,
and a few quiet thoughts
came comfortably along
to let me see
how lucky I was,
how loose and wild,
like wheels on a bike
on back roads.

GOOD FORTUNE

"Monarch", pastel, by Karen Margulis

While he was smiling

at his good fortune,

a butterfly unfolded its wings

with what seemed like courtesy,

camped on a modest blossom

in a neighborhood nobody

cared much about,

a quiet, careful place

in Connecticut,

a small spot

on our carefree

and picturesque planet.

EATING STRAWBERRIES

"Strawberry", oil, by Hall Groat II

He eats strawberries

the way winds find their way,

with leisure and casualness,

or the way a winsome day passes,

with a serenity

he wishes he could keep in a basket,

but he can’t,

just like he can’t keep strawberries

from coming to his mouth

in a slow-moving and sumptuous way.

ON THE PATIO

"Roses in the Morning", oil, by Roxanne Steed

Birds at the feeder,

flowers falling over each other,

the fullness of the sky above.

He sits like a silent stone,

staying just where he's supposed to be,

where the always sensible universe

wants him to be. He belongs

to an association of privileged people,

of which all of us are members.

A SINGLE LIGHT

"East End Sunlight", oil, by Cooper Dragonette

Some birds I noticed yesterday
were building mansions
made of sticks and leaves,
and little rivers of happiness
were passing among them.
They were pointing toward pleasure
with their beaks,
and breaking sorrow into pieces
in the summer sky.

A single light shines
inside this universe
which knows no boundaries,
just like the joyfulness
of these birds.

THOUGHTS

"Starry Night over Borestone Mountain", oil, by Elizabeth Fraser

If he sits quietly enough,

he can search his thoughts

for stars and even suns

shining as they always have.

His mind, like all minds,

makes galaxies of great lights

as good as the flawless stars.

It’s a gift from the universe,

these crowds of thoughts

that carry light

like the sheet of stars

that rolls itself out each night

above his silent house

as he sits in peace.

WAITING FOR CLASS TO START

Waiting for class to start,
he sang to himself.
No one heard his song,
but sunshine was sitting
on his shoulder, as if
it was interested, and a book
beside him was looking
more silent than ever.
He heard the furnace
somewhere far off
seem to slow down
as if to be less noisy
when someone’s singing,
and who knows
how many trees were turning
toward his classroom
at that breezy moment?

WHILE HE WORKED AT HIS DESK

"Daffodils and Pears", oil, by Sarah Sedwick

While he worked at his desk,
the daffodils did no work at all.
They stood where the student
had placed them yesterday,
as though they were proud
to have a place in his classroom.
A cloud carried itself with composure
across the sky, some branches bowed
in a puff of air in an unruffled way,
his fingers found the keyboard
like it kept him happy,
and these flowers were fortunate
to be where they were.

CONGRATULATIONS TO A GREAT DAY

"A Beautiful Day", oil, by Susan Cox

He said, “Great job on this day,

dear sun! And good work,

you humorous winds

that gave my shirt a shake

every so often! And way

to go, sticks in the grass,

staying in your perfect positions!

And congratulations, light-winged

little birds that belong everywhere

on a day like this! And

you did it, worries, you wailed

and screamed in the softest way

and then went away all alone!

And attaboy, you bright lights

in some of the words I spoke!

And attagirl, you gifts

given to me moment after moment,

in the millions!”

He threw a few more words

in the air in praise and appreciation,

and then prepared his supper.

SETTING LAMPS OUT

"Two Turq Lamps", watercolor, by Gretchen Kelly

On some days the belief that he is a bad teacher

or that his students can be unsuccessful

slides away like clouds fall off to the west.

Then he sees again that his thoughts are lights

that always lead the way,

and that his students’ thoughts are also lights --

little ones as wonderful as his.

He sees that light is all that lives in his classroom,

and that ignorance always gets up and leaves

when he and his students set their lamps out

at the start of every English class.

A PROPER THANKS

One day a parent thanked him,

but he said she should also

thank his parents,

and all his teachers,

and every person

who passed his way

in sixty-nine years,

and the mountains

that made him strong

thirty-seven years ago,

and the Current River

for the courage it taught him

as a teen,

and the sun that strengthens him

day after day,

and the air

that makes miracles in his lungs

and lets him stand

before his students

and teach

what all these have taught him.

WHAT THE SKY SAYS

"Sky Painting", oil, by Tom Brown

A wide, wonderful day

was spreading itself out,

a bird was letting itself loose

in the woods, 

but the sky

was simply staying where it was.

It does that, the sky --

just good-naturedly lets things underneath

think they’re strong and significant,

while it takes its time

with its sunshine

or clouds carrying presents

for us all. It says,

“My strength is in staying

out of the scene,

especially on large, lovable days

like this one.”

HE HAD A FRIEND

"Road Challenge", oil, by Stephen Goodman

He had a friend

who was full of happiness,

and because of that,

he also was happy.

He saw that happiness

is like sunlight,

something that can’t be

measured or collected

or kept to one person.

It spreads evenly

across our lives

as we sleep or visit a store

or set out in search of it,

or just as we sit

in our secret sadness,

not noticing the happiness

that always fills the universe

and always waits.

APRIL

"Tennessee Spring Light", watercolor, by Chris Ousley

Just the word itself,

can cause fields

of good moods

to grow inside me.

April’s a welcome companion

-- its wide-open mornings.

it’s wisps of warm air,

its rain

running down the roads

to meet me.

The passing of March

makes April my manager,

the creator of countrysides

of youthful thoughts,

the thrower of first-class feelings.

IT HAPPENED SUDDENLY

"New England Summer", oil, by Roxanne Steed

It happened suddenly.

He was speaking to his students,

about lines from Shakespeare

when, without warning,

it seemed his words

were made by mountain winds,

his thoughts thrown together

by fires and floods.

He felt like feelings

were falling into him

from far off heights,

like the land of heaven

was here in his classroom

in this quiet part of Connecticut

where commonplace things

usually occur.

SILENT READING

"Bluebird Happiness", oil, by Thaw Malin III

We were all sitting silently,
and the stones outside
were sitting beside each other,
and trees were sitting
with warm arms held out,
and somewhere there were limitless stars
settling into their places.

Our pages slowly turned
as we traveled separately,
serious readers
shining side by side
somewhere.

ROVING AMONG STARS

"Western Sierra", oil, by Karen Winters

She was only thirteen,

but she could throw her thoughts

as far as the soundless stars,

and she could sit

among mountains

like the mountains

had made her.

Any whole day

was like heaven for her,

and holding

a single sentence in her mind

was as good

as getting a good grade at school.  

Summer spoke words

only she could comprehend,

and flowers

almost fell into vases

in her small room

that roved with her

among the stars.

WATCHING THE HILLSIDE

"Tuscan Hillside", oil, by Karen WInters

Watching the hillside

across from his house

always helps him –

not that he needs help

on this planet

that prepares things

so thoroughly for him.

The hillside always holds

its things in their suitable places –

its leftover leaves, trees,

sticks sprawled

in perfect positions.

It helps him,

as he sits by the window

feeling his breath bringing life

into his lungs so loyally,

to look at the hillside

in its unceasing and modest

flawlessness.

WE’VE GOT TONIGHT

"Studio Lamp", oil, by Suzanne Berry

We’ve got tonight,

he told the stylish lamp

beside his bed.

Forget tomorrow.

Just you and me tonight,

he told the festive stars

outside the window,

and the shy light

on someone’s porch

where his street turned

and set out

on its own adventures tonight, 

just the street

and the dashing spring winds.

FRESHNESS

He was still sleepy at seven a.m.,

struggling to stay awake,

when suddenly he saw

the white sky above his house.

It wasn’t a handsome sky

or a sky to sing under,

but it was where

it was supposed to be

and it was

the completely correct color.

He carefully lifted his hands.

The wrinkles were wonderful,

and the lamplight looked down

on the small hairs

with reborn brightness.    

PARTNERS

He has partners

prepared to help him.

His faithful hands

carry food to his lips,

and let a pencil

do its proper work of writing.  

His feet find

the perfect place to step to

or stand on, and

all of his fingers

are friendly to the world,

the one that waits for him

with fervor each day. 

SOMEWHERE

He put a piece

of pancake in his mouth,

and miracles were made.

Somewhere a window opened

to provide a family

with a puff of fine air.

In a striving city in the east,

silence settled over everything

like a restful shower.

And in his stomach,

some secret miracles

were made with this gift

of the piece of pancake.

DON'T YOU LOVE HER WAYS?

He loved her ways,

this winter of bottomless snows

and days that sighed with winds.

It was only a short season,

and summer could carry

more splendor in its arms,

and fall was always

a fortunate gift,

but he did love her hold

on his heart, this winter

with its white skin

and wild, inspiring ways.

HE POURED THE LAST OF HIS COFFEE

"Slice of Green Apple", oil, by Cathleen Rehfeld

He poured the last of his coffee

on the grass

and saw it soak in

and wondered where it went.

When he’s sleeping tonight,

will the coffee carry down

past stones and old sticks

in the soil, and will

the work of the earth

be to welcome it

with widespread arms

and wish it well,

this coffee coming

as a gift from a friend

who’s sleeping under

the shielding stars?

IT'S ST. PATRICK'S DAY

"Bells of Ireland", watercolor by Linda McCoy

It’s St. Patrick’s day,

and for him it’s a day

for the sounds of spring.

He listened this morning

as water went through the pipes

with the rush

of revived rivers,

and he noticed

that the frig motor 

had found a youthful hum. 

Even his bow ties

swished in his hands

as he searched through them

for something green.

HE SAW A SMALL PERSON

(for Annie)

He saw a small person

at ease inside her,

and he saw the city

in silence around them,

cars settled into quietness,

complete stillness in stores and bars,

the hush of kindness

in the sky above,

the considerate stars and planets

so still, staring down

at this small someone

resting inside her.

HIS BIRD FEEDER FOUND A WAY

His bird feeder found a way

to win some happiness for him,

simply by swaying softly

as the birds

brought their needs to it.

He held in his heart

a space the size of Texas

for things that sway –

a feeder, trees in winds,

his little but valiant life,

and the birds

that bring the benevolence

of their lives

to just outside his window.

ONE DAY HE DECIDED

 One day he decided

to search for the total truth,

so he set out on a morning

that made the world a miracle,

and soon there were sparks

of thoughts inside him

and crowds of words

that wished to be free,

so he sent them forth

to find the full truth,

but what they found

was simply this person and that person

and the poise of things like
lightbulbs and pebbles,

so the words just sat
and passed the time,

small words 
such as “here” and “now”.  

IT WAS JUST A BELT

It was just a belt hanging from a hook,

but as he stared at it,

something about it began to shine.

There was silence in the room,

and sunshine,

and this strange belt

that brought news and knowledge

about the brightness of things.

Then a thought in his mind

made a little light,

almost like life itself,

and then a sweater beside the belt

seemed reborn as it hung

on its hanger in silence.

ON TUESDAY

"Last Light Belle Isle", oil, by Stephen Magsig

On Tuesday

he stopped struggling,

mostly because he saw

some split stovewood

that wasn’t struggling,

and clouds that went

where the wind went.

He set down

his precious life for good

and gave it a rest

under an undisturbed tree.

He felt his blood

being brought to wherever

it was needed,

and he didn’t oppose it.  

HE KNOWS HE CAN’T ESCAPE

"Pleasant Hill Morning", watercolor, 

by Andy Smith

He knows he can’t escape

sitting beside the window

at this moment and seeing

the beige bedspread

and hearing the sounds

of heat in the baseboards.

Souvenirs are presented to him

second by second,

and he has no choice

but to be present as they are given,

these gifts, 
this lamplight on a blue wall

and the wrinkled red cushion

on a rocker across the room

from where he necessarily sits.  

HE FEELS AS REFRESHED

"Morning Light Santa Ynez Valley", pastel, by Joe Mancuso

He feels as refreshed

as the free sunshine

that follows all of us

wherever we go.
He feels

like he is flowing

out to people and the proud

mountains of the west

and the wandering eastern rivers.

As easy as it is for sunshine

to raise the spirits
of a house in a forest,

as easy is it for him

to see restoration in all things,

even in thoughts that swirl up 

from who knows where.  

HE SAT IN THE DEALERSHIP

"Stars Over Casco Bay", oil, by Elizabeth Fraser

He sat in the dealership

doing nothing – 
not noticing other people, 
not preparing to-do lists, 
not listening to anxious thoughts. 
He simply sat in silence 
as the planets and stars sailed out

on their timeless journeys

and his blood held a steady course

through trustworthy veins

and flawless, unselfish arteries. 

HE FELT REASSURED THIS MORNING

"Morning's First Light", oil, by Karen Winters

He felt reassured this morning.

The sunlight was letting itself down

among the trees once again,

and the furnace in the cellar

was celebrating its skill

in furnishing heat

for his household of hearts

and minds made to be special.

The magazine on his desk

was impressive

in the first sunshine of the day.

ONE DAY HE DECIDED TO PRAISE THINGS

"Mountain River", oil, by Mark Webster

One day he decided to praise things.

The first thing he praised

was the thought of praising things,

then the feeling of flowing
into morning on a river,
then the way thanks

seemed to live throughout his body --

in his triumphant fingers

and in his feet

that will find themselves

standing on sacred ground

every second of this day

that somehow came dancing

up to his door.