"We had joy, we had fun we had seasons in the sun but the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone."
Some silent spring
when everything is so quiet
only the piper down the field
can be heard,
we'll take the season
at its word
I'll bring you willows
from the woods' edge
we'll sit still
quietly
waiting for the deer to come
into the clearing
for water.
Only now and then
will we look skyward
to watch the wild geese
passing in formation overhead
a dozen skybound squadrons
returning north
going home
beginning again
starting all over.
And maybe we can start again
ourselves.
Maybe. With the help of Spring.
The Summertime Of Days
In the summertime of days
a man is nothing more
than a tear in some old year
that was cast aside by God.
In the summertime of days
we are as we must be
shadows all on our way to fall
if not eternity.
And if we must look for heaven
then heaven must surely be
in arms that are warm
and smiles if they tender be.
In the summertime of days
I'll ask for nothing more
than a face and a quiet place
that was cast aside by God.
Sunset Colors, One
I love the sunset colors
not just in spring but every day.
Every day that God is good enough
to share his red and orange and yellow
with me
and mine.
Lately I sleep late
and so I seldom see the scarlet morning
or the gold behind the trees.
I depend a lot on sunsets
Even when no sunset comes
I fill my head with all the sunshine past
and sunsets that I know will come.
Looking in your eyes
I see the sun come
even in the darkness.
Do you know how much I feel for you
and in what kind of way?
I feel the world for you
and in every kind of way.
I think sometimes that I'll explode
that I'll die or disappear
before i have the chance
to tell you how I feel.
Don't let it be today.
Sunset Colors, Two
I'll race you up the hill
we can be children
if we want to be.
It's spring
and there's a difference
between children's games and
games.
Besides
we're not so old
we can't by mystified by marigolds
or dazzled by dandelions
Hurry up
grab my hand
be careful
but not with me.
Why am I running so fast?
To get there soonest.
Like I told you once
I get high on sunshine.
Take that anyway you like.
The Rhythm Of Spring
All the trees are pink.
Plum blossoms,
or are they small extensions
of the clouds,
fill the lower sky
above the horizon
trapping the season
for all time,
or for what time
we know it.
Your smile is only your smile
or is it?
Maybe it's one more opening
into you
that I should come through
softly
Softly, I will come,
I will be
concerning you.
Your rhythm will be my own.
Even your heartbeat
should not be
independent.
Belcher Landing
These days I own
the whole wide ocean-
all the sea
that I can see and more.
Some people say
they're my friends.
It is not enough
or at the very least too much.
There was a time
sometime ago
when I owned only one small pond
or part of it-
the other part belonged
to my one friend Don.
We'd go swimming at Belcher Landing
Don and me.
Then through the grove
of cottonwoods
still bare-assed and hungry
we'd hunt wild berries
and fall among the fern
no longer wanting
letting the sun get on
with ripening us.
We grew
almost before each others eyes.
Ponds and people grow apart,
new needs push us in new directions
or in no sure direction.
I own the ocean now-
but it is only one small ocean
compared to that one large pond.
Some time ago it was
at the start of one certain summer.
I wonder what became of Don,
Belcher Landing,
and I wonder what became of me?
Come To Me In Silence
Come to me in silence
out of the noise of noon.
Be the eye inside of me.
Help me drink the river up
and swallow it,
or let me take great mouthfuls
out of you,
stampeding you to bed
and then beyond,
beyond.
We will not
meet again
in the same way
as before,
you freckled by the summer morning
smiling like a china cup over blue-white
gingham.
Me blue-jeaned and apple-cheeked
a frown away from being glad.
Accept the fact that we will grow
perhaps in different ways.
Come to me in solitude
pushing through the crowd
there are no others here
to pry or make demands.
If no one waits for you
but me,
I wait in that same solitude
that brings you here.
Come to me in silence
like the land-bound stone
pushed and shoved
and finally sailed
against the gray indifferent shore.
Prophecies I have
and I am not indifferent
only gray,
full of dark midwinter questions
some that none could know or guess.
Some Silent Spring
