A Time of Waiting

Sometimes it seems that life is just

A time of waiting.

When will it be spring again?

A time of waiting.

What will happen to us?

A time of waiting.

Will he recover from this?

A time of waiting.

How do we go on after such horror?

A time of waiting.

But what are we waiting for?

Can we just take charge now?

A time of waiting.

They say be patient, but why?

What are we waiting for?

A time of waiting.

Is it all just going to end

In some cataclysmic death?

A time of waiting.

But we wait patiently or not

Because what will come will come

And we can’t change that.

A time of waiting

Means we must be patient

And we don’t know for what

And no one can explain

A time of waiting.

December 2023

About This Poem

I think of December as that time of waiting: waiting for Christmas, waiting for the new year. That's the inspiration for this poem. It has all the sense of melancholy and anticipation of December. The picture is of the Columbia River near Bigs, Oregon this past week. It has all the trappings of one of those Romantic paintings of the West at the end of the 19th century: beautiful really.  I hope 2025 was a good year for you, but more importantly that 2026 will be a great year for us all.

 

Poem: Getting a Tree

Getting a Tree

Today we shall go to get our tree 

For our Christmas celebrations,

A tradition we’ve had for years

Of going to the woods

And cutting the perfect tree

For our home. It symbolizes

commitment to gathering

To celebrate the Christ crucified

On such a tree and the salvation

He brought to all who believe. 

Now some changes have taken

Place within our tradition

That accommodates hope 

So we go to a tree farm

And there I go singly to choose

The perfect tree while family

Looks on from a distance

Unable, like me, to trudge

Through the snow.

Of course, you can celebrate 

Without a tree or with one

Artificial, but then there 

Would be no sacrifice of 

Time in the trees together

With family and friends

Choosing something that works

For them. And the closer we can get

To the reality of a distant story,

The closer we can get to realizing

Forgiveness is not just a symbol

And peace isn’t just happenstance

But chosen and worked for purposefully

Just like the effort to get this tree.

December 2023

About This Poem

This one needs some work, but it seems appropriate for the time so I'm posting it. I was inspired by just what the poem says, getting a tree. I sometimes miss just going out in the woods and cutting a tree but it's not about me. And that, too, is what this poem is about. The photo is of my pickup after having cut a tree at a tree farm. Enjoy the holidays.

 

Poem: Crystalline Flakes Fall Down

 

Crystalline Flakes Fall Down

Crystalline flakes fall down from the sky

Melting all colors of the auroral world

Causing men to scurry about to ply

The piles from the roads and the holds

So children can catch buses for school 

And the work of our lives can continue

Making none the wiser, perhaps the fool

That the world is frozen and should be subdued.

Awake from your slumber, plows to prepare

Light the fires to warm the buildings

So that they don’t become tombs so spare

That no one can cause the bells to ring.

We all know it’s true that frost bodes death

Yet here we are alive as ever we have been.

Shine the lights, let them sparkle as our health 

Cannot be frozen like the rain has been.

No, we cannot slumber beneath the snow.

We must dig out, not let this be our grave

But awake to the morning so we grow

Toward the sunlight beyond the cloud’s maze.

Rouse the children, fill them with nourishment

So they stay warm and strong throughout the days.

They must carry on as we know they’re meant

Because when has sun not broken the maze?

Keep the lights shining through the frozen night

And let the children in the snow just play

Because somewhere out there the sun is bright 

And the old man, Death, cannot have his way.

We all know it’s true that frost bodes Death

Yet here we are alive as ever we have been.

Shine the lights, let them sparkle as our health

Cannot be frozen like the rain has been.

So children catch buses for school

And the work of our lives can continue

Making none the wiser, perhaps the fool,

That the world is frozen and should be subdued.

Crystalline flakes fall down from the sky

Muting all colors of the auroral world

Causing men to scurry about to ply

The piles from the roads and the holds.

December 2022

About This Poem

This is another from the archives, but I remember that it was a significant snowstorm in December and we were all anticipating a snow day which didn't come. School and work continued that day and this is a poem about carrying on, being persistent no matter what. The picture is on a super cold day that was beautiful. It's an alley here in town.

Poem: Cold and Ice That Falls

Cold and Ice That Falls

The snow falls lightly to the ground

While here at table I am found

Ruminating on the season

Of cold and ice that falls.

We will go out to cut a tree

And it still fills my heart with glee,

This time of year in all the dark

And cold and ice that falls.

Lights galore, we drape them from the beams

And light fires ablaze. It seems

We miss the glory of the sun

In cold and ice that falls.

We sing of those who brought us light

And hope for a time when it might

Shine from within each one of us

Through cold and ice that falls.

This is what it should mean to me

No matter what the season be

That light so bright from me will come

When cold and ice still falls.

December 2022

About This Poem

Another one from the vault that I don't even remember writing, so I can't describe its inspiration. But this is the week that we typically go out and cut our Christmas tree, so I thought it appropriate to post it here. And it is my wish that all of us let our light shine always. The photo is one of icicles off my eaves. Obviously it was from the past because this year we are getting dumped on by an atmospheric river. No ice to be found.

 

Poem: The Snow Settles In

 

The Snow Settles In

The snow settles in like glitter dusting the ground.

It keeps seeping into the cracks, bringing a chill

That unlike its glimmer purposely purloins

The warmth we hold so dear. So we build fires

In stoves in buildings with grand windows

So we can see it but not be touched by its chill.

But every little sparkle brings a tiny temptation

To be like it, cold calculating and beautiful

Without thought for the need of the better

Sparkle given off from our hearths.

December 2015

About This Poem

This one is too old to remember what inspired it, but it does have a sense of cold calculation in regard to people. It certainly shows some contrast between warmth and cold, both human and in nature. Of course, right now December of 2025 is proving to be overly warm and the thought of snow in Idaho seems to be distant. The photo is last week on Boston Commons during a bit of a snow flurry in the afternoon before their Christmas tree lighting. 

Poem: Every Little Thought I Type

Every Little Thought I Type

Every little thought I type

Comes out garbled on the screen.

The words go through my fingers

To the keys and then…

Gibberish glitters back at me.

I can’t print that.

What is wrong with the word processor?

Those words on that screen are meaningless.

My heart would tell you 

So much more like the leaves

Falling golden from the trees

In a pulsing continuum…

But word processing can’t capture

The steady rhythm of my

Heartbeat as I type the words

Which disappear between keys and screen.

September 2021

About This Poem

This is a poem about the difficulty of capturing things in words. While I sometimes think poetry can convey thoughts better than most words, sometimes nothing does your feelings or thought justice. It's because they are your own and sometimes you don't have the capacity to convey those thoughts fully to anyone, even yourself. The photograph is of the library at George Eastman House in Rochester, New York.

 

Beauty Oppresses

Leaves fall from the trees

In no particular pattern

Leaving golds and browns

Scattered on the ground.

Rainfall, then snowfall

Press the leaves into mush

Flat against the grass

And I work to rake it up.

It’s lovely to watch the leaves

Swirl through the sky.

It’s refreshing to hear the rain

Fall to the earth below.

It’s beautiful to see the snow

Whiten the world around.

It’s miserable to rake

Mushed leaves on the ground.

All that beauty creates 

So much sloppy weight

That beauty oppresses

The very earth below.

I could leave it to chance,

Let bugs come to it in spring

And deal with their progeny 

Throughout the summer

But I’ll just let beauty 

Oppress because that’s

The requirement to maintain 

Such breathtaking splendor.

November 2021

About This Poem

It's leaf raking season and this poem is about that and about how beauty can be overwhelming at times. There's no other succinct way to explain it. Sometimes beauty is just too much, overwhelming even. That may be why the true splendor of autumn doesn't last long, but resolves itself into gray and drear: so we won't be overwhelmed or oppressed too much. The poem explains it far better than I can here but suffice it to say I was inspired by autumn and all the work it entails if you have a yard. The picture is of leaves in my lawn.