Just Another Poem

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
the headless aftermath,
smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
the whir of sober birds
up from the tangle of withered weeds
is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
but a leaf that lingered brown.
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
by picking the faded blue
of the last remaining aster flower
to carry again to you.

Robert Frost


Left Field

I kept going further, further…into the thick of things…

and, coming out in left field

how conscience I had been of the secular world?

left 1I had only been so…

by pulling the earthen bed closer to me

with musky acceptance….less and less became concealed

I could walk the same trail repeatedly

head down, broken branches abound, wild things all around

but yet, I linger, deeper and deeper into the woods…coming out in left field

to my right…crowded, madness…

distant voices…have loss their appeal

Fastened to the Earth

It is not the colorful display of flowers that enlists me.

Though the warmth they bring.

I await eagerly.

The majesty of a tree…I could ponder, again and again.

Its weight.

Its shelter.

Its ability to defend.

There is truth to the pine, the ash, the birch.

An honesty to being fastened to the earth.

And, even as the solo branch, lumbers to the ground.

It does so without remorse.

And, with little sound.


Treading on Frozen Ground

Degradation begins with the first snow.

As if…it and I had, somewhere else to go.

An effect of hallucinogenic thaw grabs a bygone broken bone.

How radiant the fictitious heat?

I hope to never know.

Yet, the struggle from inward calls forth a name.

A yearning for year long travel cannot be tamed.


Scurrying over embankments accosted with previous tread.

To the woods, I am constantly led.

Desperation marks mile one in the sound of Styrofoam steps.

Gawky forsaken rotted pine limbs.

Soon become a threat.


So difficult to gauge all myths lying in surround sound.

Far off crows.

Nesting sparrows.

Noises that are eerily familiar to a wilderness I used to know.x snowy forest