Temagami,
2002
~
a portfolio ~
Evening
After a storm-clogged
sky
all day
the sky opens
a musk rose
and the lake quiets
mist enfolds
in bays
loons call and
echo
and four whitethroats
whistle
patriotically
converse and reply
in the dusk
some beavers chirp
among the trees
on the hillside and
Nick Brignola's
baritone sax
croons a quiet
counterpoint
below beneath behind.
Does the music
set them all a-singing?
(The
song of the Whitethroat Sparrow is well known to sound like "O Canada,
O Canada...!")
Shape-Shifter
I slowly, almost
reluctantly
slide off the city-slippers
and slip into deer-skin
moccasins
I am a stone skipping
in a pond
ripples spread
widen, widen
merge and blend
Wind and rain,
mortar, stone and wood
speak with one voice, dancing
Return to earth,
return to earth
feet must tread the forest-floor lightly
bare all, bear all, stretch like roots
and lose not the bearing
Sunrise and sunset
are the same
only the direction is different
The center will hold
.
under lily pads
it millimeters ahead
stealthy stalking
Pike
Sailing through Schools
for the class of '52
we were little green
sickle pears
plums, or walnut-shell
sloops
hard, tight-skinned
tart, even astringent
like persimmons before
a frost.
Then shapely pears
Bartletts
taste swimmingly on
the tongue
juice dribbling down
our chins--
we taut as line to
the stays
or guys to the cross
trees.
Summer's halcyon-sweet
berries
firm and purple, blue,
or chartreuse
ferment to autumn
wines
wire-fine
high times
clarity, depth, bouquet
avoiding shoals
jolly rodgers unfurl.
Not yet, not yet
do sails go slack
wrinkle
like prunes, raisins
or fallen apples under
the tree
among the leaves
covered with yellow
jackets
waspish
gone to seed
flapping in the breeze.
.
End of Season
It has been a long
summer, full
with birdsong, bunchberry
blossoms
and windsighs in the
pines
rustling poplars
and golden sunsets
but now the bracken
begins to turn
and the early harbinger
bush shows
tinges of yellow
that a few birch leaves
echo.
The wind has dropped
the lake flattens
and
dark autumnal clouds
purple the west.
A chill seeps in.
Wintergreen blooms
bunchberry and blue
bead lily
shine red and blue-black
in the deeper shades.
The sap that rose
flows back.
Loons gather and flock
a fish jumps
the rings spread,
spread
spread and dissolve
but most of all the
air is still
and no birds sing.
Tomorrow to fresh
fields
and pastures new.
..........................................
Though I have left
good friends
perhaps my shadow
will remain
This
page is an ongoing project, and I may be adding to it from time to time.
Jim
Flosdorf
.
Links
to:
.
.
