Endings

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At the height of summer,

It’s easy to forget

That the sun also rises

On the day after you fail to,

That time still passes,

That you cannot stay forever this young,

That the stars still change

With the rotation of the Earth,

And that you still do not revolve with them.

That the moment ends,

And never comes again.

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Autumn

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Autumn arrived

Much in the same way it always does,

With a blustering gust of wind

And a hint of chill in the air.

 

It came for me

While I was asleep,

The turning of the Earth

And the motions of the Heavens

Colluding to bring about the fall

Of all those brittle, bright-colored leaves

From their summertime stations.

 

Fall entered stage-right, and I?

I stood, enraptured, as She came closer,

Caught utterly unawares by her presence,

Not realizing that summer had gone

Until it was already far too late

To mourn its passing.

Communion

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Poetry is a bit like photography

In that the lighting needs to be just so,

And the moment – it passes all too quickly,

Far too swiftly to be recorded at its purest,

And the reader, the viewer,

The person in communion with the art,

Will never see your world

With the same exactitude;

Yes, their world rivals yours

In clarity and complexity,

And perhaps even the twain do meet,

Somewhere at a crossroads

In Idaho,

One car turning slightly

To give the right of way to the other;

The encounter is brief,

And is quickly forgotten

In the midst of the other infinitude of moments

Stacked together in your memory

Like the pages of a book.

Alone with the Sea

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Did you see the pale purple transparency of light

That just this morn, heralded the coming of dawn

O’er the ocean?

Did you notice the great expanse of grey that followed,

Or catch a glimpse of that pastel-colored leaf spiraling through the air,

                                                                    Earthbound?

Did you hear the owl’s lonely cry,

Watch the birds on their journey towards warmer waters,

Witness the arrival of another glorious day,
Or was it just me,

Alone with the sea?

There is Light

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He sits chain-smoking a six-pack of the finest cigars

He’s ever had the pleasure of smoking

Bequeathed to him upon the occasion

Of his father’s death;

One hand balancing the fat roll of tobacco against his lips

The other clutching the ashtray like a lifeline.

 

Soon, he will make the necessary telephone calls

But for now let them all arrive to the stench of burnt tobacco

And the thin shifting curls of smoke gathering like storm clouds far above

Let them know that where there is fire, there is light

Show them all he lived

If only through the ashes of the only pack of cigars

His father never smoked

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Summer Love

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Summer love –

It’s song

Too sweet to bear,

Berries weighing heavily on the bough,

Overripe and golden for the taking;

Behold its forbidden fruit

And you will be helpless but to surrender

To the subtle call of the serpent,

Summersweet

In the heat of the moment,

Savage and bitter

In the fallout.

Dawn Breaking

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Day is breaking,

And so am I.

 

The crickets sing, still,

But soon their song will be still and silent;

Already, it has reached a crescendo,

And begun to fade.

 

Dawn is blossoming from the East,

Spreading outwards like a lover’s touch

Prying open the secret, furtive parts of this world,

Revealing the weary people of the night,

Who have succeeded in their quest to brave the dark,

At least ’til morn’.

 

The birds have awoken,

And are flying hither and thither;

Soon, their silent wings will take them far from here,

To sing a different song

For some other poet to mournfully record.

 

They seem starlike,

Silhouetted against the pink streaks of dawn,

Save they are lightless,

And distinctly less distant.

 

Now, a seagull cries his way shoreward,

And the colors of sunrise, muted, now,

Are phantom-like and fading,

Fading, fading;

And soon, they will be forgotten

In their entirety.

 

Dawn has broken;

And so have I.