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RETIREMENT
A pair of wood storks were lazingon the verge of the pond thatimagines itself a lake, however small.They were breakfasting in the grassesthat arise in the dry season hereonly to be drowned by its counterpart.They acknowledge that like methey are retired but not by choice, they say,only because the malpractice insurancefor delivering babies has grownso…
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SEDOKA
The stream slows its flowpast the park bench, now unusedawaiting the first snowflakes. The trout swims downstream for the lake, where the water gently yields its fading warmth. First Published in Fireflies Light, Issue 30, October 2024 (Missouri Baptist University)https://www.mobap.edu/about-mbu/publications/fireflies-light/
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LOOKOUT
The osprey sits atopthe light pole on the streetalongside the small lake.His morning songis enchanting, but as weapproach, he pauses itand stares down.Is he staring at the lakeseeing the motionof a fish soon to becomehis next meal?That would makesense, but he seemsinstead to be staringat me as I walk byand I have to wonderif he…
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NIGHT
The night slowly encases the citythe river flows on toward the lakebirds shiver in the biting chill,the street light flickers and goes out,the wind whistles around the windows,snow begins to coat the trees’ bare branches,a squirrel looks up forlornly,the traffic light inexorably changes colors,TV’s flicker behind curtained windows,we slide beneath the blankets,sleep comes slowly to…
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AND NEXT
“I’m not getting any younger”is, of course, a positively idiotic statementbeating the obvious to deathwith a blunt verbal instrument.But it still beats sayingthat death impends ever closerfor that is simply turgidand odious all at the same time.What I’m here to sayis that by being crematedI’m saving you all mannerof expense, no gravesite, no stone,no maintenance…
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IN PASSING
As we walk along the shoreof the man-made lakein the planned community’s “town,”the birds array themselvesin a ragged single fileas I pass and I imagined eachlooks up at me posing.Once I would’ve stopped,raised my camera, capturedthem, or their facsimilebut those days are donefor I no longer blog themone thousand posts gone byand my back and…
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RECESSION
The lake is slowly receding, fading,the lake we created arrogantlyassuming that when it cameto nature, we could be godlike.It’s withdrawal has revealedcars, boats and bodieswe had not expected there,put by intention or accident,laid bare by nature, onceour devoted servant we imaginedthen a prophet we so callously ignored, nowin a retribution carefully ordained,the angel of destructionvisiting…
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PAUSING
As the rivers dry upand lakes become pondswe are finding things wenever thought we would see.An old warship in Europe,dinosaur footprints, carsand, sadly, the bones of some.We stop momentarily to marvelat these discoveries, thenwithdraw to our homes where wehope we can escape the heat,our air conditioners working overtime,the power plants strained.Yet we never stop to…
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AFLOAT
I have taken tofolding my poemsinto little paper boatsand dropping gentlyinto the riverwhere they saildownstream. Many may drownbut some mayreach the lakeor be plucked outand reador discarded. The river is,in the end,my harshestcritic.
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WASHING OUT
I wrote down the biggestmistakes I made in lifeon the backs of newly fallenmaple leaves, and carried them,a fair number, to the river. I cast them onto the water,some quickly swept up,a few lingering on a fallentree partially dammingthe flow, waiting for this. Most disappeared asthe water approachedthe falls, cascaded overon its way to the…
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an old writer and his words 