Saturday, December 24, 2011

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.

Monday, December 19, 2011

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.

Friday, October 28, 2011

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.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

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.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

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

Sunday, September 25, 2011

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.
.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

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?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

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.  

Monday, September 19, 2011

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.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

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.  

Saturday, August 20, 2011

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.  

Sunday, August 14, 2011

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.

Friday, August 12, 2011

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.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

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.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

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.

Friday, June 17, 2011

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.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

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.


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

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.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

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.

Monday, April 18, 2011

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?

Thursday, April 14, 2011

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.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

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.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

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.

Monday, April 11, 2011

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.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

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.”

Saturday, April 9, 2011

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.

Friday, April 8, 2011

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.


Tuesday, April 5, 2011

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.

Monday, April 4, 2011

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.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

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.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

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.

Friday, March 25, 2011

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.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

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.    

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

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. 

Saturday, March 19, 2011

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.

Friday, March 18, 2011

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.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

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.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

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.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

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”.  

Monday, March 14, 2011

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.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

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.  

Saturday, March 12, 2011

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.  

Friday, March 11, 2011

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.