The Latest Loss
July 29, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | 1 Comment
A tree outside my window
lost its yellow leaves
just like every other oak.
Except.
July looks like
the loneliest month
for falling leaves.
And
Not-quite
Dead
Trees
An odd patch of green
in a sea of death
new growth, new fight
and at least a few breaths left.
the dirt that inevitably splatters on the mirror of our self-regard
May 30, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry, Small Talk | Leave a Comment
Beautiful, Lovely
April 27, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
There are after all
a few
in this lonely universe
who radiate
smiles that soften
the weathered
stone cold hearts
of grown men
not shallow
at all
they feed
not suck
the soul
dry
beautiful, lovely
like morning dew
dripping slowly
down the pointed tips
of Cercis canadensis
Thank God for Grass & Wine
April 4, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
He makes grass grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to cultivate—
bringing forth food from the earth:
wine that gladdens human hearts,
oil to make their faces shine,
and bread that sustains their hearts.
- Psalm 104: 14-15
Real love is not a fragile thing
April 2, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
but neither is it dull, silent or sterile
Can a man think of Love when Jealousy
Sears the retreating soul within him?
Yes, for Love is not a fragile thing,
Not a child in the heart.
Love must be hot with the glory of strength:
At the bidding of Jealousy, unwelcome guest,
We look at Love through green glasses.
Then Love, who is lusty and strong,
Smashes the glass before our eyes-
Strides into our wounded hearts with a sword of reproach;
And only when we feel that the heart will break,
Love, the strong, the sweet, the terrible, becomes
Our rescuer and not our conqueror.
Philip Britts, 1935
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic
February 9, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
An ode to my favorite season
September 10, 2010 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
A sturdy oak stands strong and tall
its leaves burning-red begin to fall
as rural folks harvest hay
the full fall orchestra at play
Little girls and little boys
Make a joyful crackling noise
As they laugh and play in leaf piles
With no regard for their clothing styles
Grown up men, and grown up women
Get dressed up like little children
Telling jokes, or getting treats
“Are those warts upon your feet?”
Families gather for a hay ride
along the beautiful countryside
Then pick their pumpkins, oh so nice
And drink hot apple cider (with lots of spice!)
Football season gathers crowds
On bone cold nights with deep gray clouds
And hot chocolate finds its way
Into our hands, so warm we stay
Hunting season closes schools
And men pull out their rifle tools
While camouflage becomes their nature
Strong in patience and in stature
Whispers of snow in the forecast
As gusts of wind come with a blast
Sending chills down the spine
Foretelling white upon the pines
This is really a terrible poem, but autumn is such a playful time… (maybe I’ll work on it)
Aborted Love
July 24, 2010 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
In October, the rainy season stream,
flows with a sense of urgency
vibrant, vital, perpetual
like air.
The stream flows and feeds
into waterfalls,
and people passing by become
overcome by breathless beauty
like silent waves of a distant sea
the ebb and flow of eternity.
Except this stream dries up around June
aborted by the gods of summer,
the ones who selfishly steal away beauty.
It slows until it’s barely going,
like a smashed up wasp,
gasping for its last breath
and then one day it just stops flowing.
Speachless Beauty: Ibarra Quartet and Makoto Fujimura at Le Poisson Rouge
July 18, 2010 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
Splendor
July 18, 2010 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
Splendor for Kayama
Mineral Pigments, Gold on Kumohada
MAKOTO FUJIMURA
