Saturday, March 5, 2011

her gleam

her gleam her eyes poised just right
half open half closed
smirking that knowing
she knew all my mother knew all
even when there was nothing
to know
her white head intent
spent my youth in her shade
her sun gave growth to me the boy
and into middle life
her sardonic grin
now with months passed
grows thin
her gleam her doubt just right


New Hampshire Impressions

This bridge of land has been unlocked
From careful hand to masts of rock
That loom and stretch the ribboned road
Has quarried most, that green she coats
Then inks to black where eyes of doe
Flit swift and cold near boulder’s throne

By cutting gullies, frothing white
The heads of moss poke holes through night
And burdened there with cat-like eyes
Are sparkler brights on country heights
Whose patient rovers crossing lanes
Drop tracks of rolls and coffee stains

This one grand slope that furrows time
That grapples sky with mountain’s light
It’s bands of silver etching through
What rings of birch have leaned askew
The bridge holds true, it cups and throws
The bedrock falls to silt and stew

Where simmering we see her toil
A family sown in land’s deep soil
A cloud of crow, a wash of dove
Round heights that ice has gripped above
And soon to rinse her granite face
That rain has carved with cunning grace

Into a shallow water’s trough
Grand spectacle greets fish and moth
That boats could swell in mirrored sounds
Their waning cries call dusk to shrouds
Bathe valley steeple crowned with white
Poke spires round God’s pristine sight

Prod fingers clay that belch and steam
Hold weary workers heads to dream
Call clouds to boil in heaven’s hand
Calm fears that strive to understand
That faith and stone are shaped the same
Beneath this lion’s fiery mane