Poem: Snow Fairies

Snow Fairies

In the silent hour of winter

Just before the black of night

When the last pinks and blues 

Have recovered themselves and 

Scuttled away from your sight,

Mothers and fathers have come home from work

And school children have brought home their studies.

The lamps have been lighted, the fires burn bright

Then snow fairies come out to play in delight.

November 2000

About This Poem

It's April Fool's Day, so I thought (since it has snowed both yesterday and today at times) that I should share a snow poem. I found this one in my journal and noticed a childlike sense of audience in it, probably because my boys were little when I wrote it. I like childlike poems and snow. So, since we're all tired of it, one last snow for the season. April Fools! 

The picture is, obviously, of snowflakes on my deck. The glitter of a true snow fairy is seemingly not photographable (like unicorns and other seemingly [but perhaps not] mythical beings) but snowflakes in all their intricate design are.

 

Poem: In Tandem

In Tandem

You mentioned having seen a Bald

Eagle yesterday coming home

From Spokane—or was it two? Yes,

One flying, you said, the other 

Guarding its prey. Then this morn

I read a poem “To a Lady”

All about falconry, those birds 

Of prey. He was on distant seas

Writing to his love what he thought

Were his last words and I don’t see

Falconry anywhere in it

Except those aboard the ship when

It was about to wreck, hence he

Thought he would die. I don’t even 

Know if he was Coleridge or

Fictional, though I know Sam died,

Not in a shipwreck, but perhaps, he

Knew ship of such named Falconry?

So my thoughts spin twixt you and me

And birds of prey and ships on sea

And poets long since died away

Except in their verse that lingers 

Still on page, in thought and memory.

I know these are not my last words

But, at times, it seems, we’re tossed

Upon a raging sea and there

Together we see two eagles

Wild and free together catching

Updrafts in the wind and floating

Sometimes in tandem and sometimes apart

Yet always together. That’s how 

We are.

January 2024

About This Poem

This poem is basically about how people grow together as they age in marriage. And, yes, it's about seeing Bald Eagles in the wild, which is fascinating to me because it is no longer rare. Growing up you just didn't see Bald Eagles. Now, perhaps, they will continue in tandem with us as something normal, not rare. Strange things like eagles, people--dead and living, land and water, have a way of intertwining here and it is something, like marriage, to celebrate. I don't know where I took this picture. It's just in my camera roll.
 

Poem: Faith or Control?

 Faith or Control?

One sometimes questions their own faith

(Which they should): Is there really a god?

Will snow ever cover the ground

This year? While memory dictates

The snow will return, it still

Questions the intervention of divinity.

One cannot prove events were not chance

Anymore than one can prove they were not.

But certainty dictates that one must be so

It’s quite contradictory to say one does know.

Yet men and women continue to teach

Children that all is true, though out of reach

Of mere man, but these precepts are how

God says we should live as written

In books they can’t even read

And the circuitous route to belief in God

Can often come off as some kind of fraud.

Can we assume belief is inherent 

When existence of God is not all apparent?

The truth is it’s faith, not certain,

Just as written precepts are hid by curtain

And someone certainly controls the show

That’s not of any god that we might know.

January 2024

About This Poem

I wrote this a little over a year ago and I don't really think it's ready for release, but here it is anyway. I have been questioning the role of religion in the government lately and how there is a growing trend among politicians here toward Christian Nationalism. It's in direct contrast with our constitution which they swore to defend, but until we vote them out we are stuck with it. As a Christian, I don't believe there can be "Christian Nationalism" for the reasons I describe in the poem. So while the poem is in its infant draft form, the ideas are relevant for now. And the picture is out my window this morning answering the question that yes, snow will cover the ground this year on March 17!

Poem: Made to Rage by Me

Made to Rage by Me

The night settled slowly

And I tossed and turned

Because you were not there.

Anger invaded my sleep and

I tossed and turned thinking

Of cruel things you had said 

To me.

    Gradually anger subsided

To drowsy dreams of lakes and waters

That always come to me in turmoil

And make me calm. Those waters

That always come to me in turmoil

And make me calm. Those waters

Drowned me in their care

And I slumbered until you came

To bed. Then again, I lay awake

Thinking you had been drinking,

Being still, perhaps angry with me.

But waters came quickly flooding in

And, again, I drifted off to sleep

While light snow gently fell outside.

When morning came I was awakened

By a phone call confirming an appointment

When I’d finished with the call

You told me you had been up 

Texting your dear friend

Who had lost her father

Sometime around midnight.

These little things come crashing in

Like violent storms within my mind, 

Yet typically they are made to rage

Not by reality, but by me.

January 2024

About This Poem

This is a poem about being angry at my wife for no reason, except my preconceived notions of what she is thinking which are too often wrong. But, as any married person knows, sometimes we do know what our spouse is thinking. And sometimes that makes us mad. But sometimes we are just wrong. After being married for several years you can learn a little bit about not only your spouse, but also yourself. That's what this poem is about, what I have learned about myself. And, of course, thinking about large bodies of water is my self soother which is why that's in this poem. The picture is the lake where Cooperstown, New York is.
 

Poem: Human Trinity?

Human Trinity?

Eternal Shadow of the finite soul

The soul’s self symbol

it’s image of itself,

It’s own yet not itself—

ST Coleridge

The body, mind, and soul are the makings

Of a human. Body is temporal

Made up of ash and dust while the mind is

That which melds body to soul and saves all

That it learns from the body transferring 

It to the soul, the eternal finite

Part of the human. I don’t know if this 

Is how a philosopher would define

The parts of a human or if any 

Theologians would agree but it is

How I have somehow learned it, the triune

Nature of man created by our God

In his image: triune. I defer it to 

Philosophers and Theologians

Yet claim, as a poet, to be both those

And present my findings to pages prose

Filled with the magic of imagery

To dispel it to you from merely pages

That come from my all too human hands of

Corruption that are anything but divine

For your all too human mind to believe

Or discard as you will the musings of 

Man eternal or merely temporal…

December 2023

About This Poem

I think poets typically consider themselves philosophers and theologians and I'm no different. This poem is my take on being created in the image of God as it says in Genesis. And it simply poses a question, not an answer. What do you think? The photo is of three men simply because I mentioned trinity. This is me and a friend and his son, a former student and runner of mine.

 

Poem: Desire to Be

Desire to Be

In daylight the mountainous shore

Rises off the sun dappled waves

And happiness buoys me up

On the surface of unspeakable

Joy that escapes contemplation

Living in the moment of now

That slowly effervesces to

Night where moonlight reflects its thoughts

From the depths of this joyous lake.

We take to the shore, a sandy

Beach, collecting driftwood and cones

For a fire that will sparkle 

In unison and contrast with

Moonlight, keeping us warm while waves 

Lap us to restful reverie.

Morning light comes damp and still through

Clouds and water dogs clinging to

Crags where bits of last winter cling.

Now we’re groggy and damp, holding

To embers’ last warmth, me looking

For more wood while you scramble for

Coffee so we can enjoy this 

Moody moment in the after—

Glow of yesterday’s joyous sun

Now misted over and lurking

Like a sea monster waiting to 

Burst through glass and consume our joy

Into its belly of bluster

That doesn’t concern itself with 

Moods of joy or sorrow or mist

But the simple desire to be.

September 2023

About This Poem

I always find myself going to nature to judge my own mood. This poem is a good example of that. I use the larger lake and corresponding weather to compare to my own being and desires. In the end, I really just want to be. Even the clouds and rain are beautiful on the lake. That's the same with life, even if we don't recognize it at the time. The picture has a lake with some sun and clouds, so it matches the poem well. It's a lake in Glacier National Park, Montana. It has been several years since I took it (about 25).

 

Poem: Thoughts on Coleridge

 

Thoughts on Coleridge

To read lines in a notebook from 

A man depressed, one who became 

Addicted to opioids for

Pain from illness, bereft his friends

And family due to that

Addiction; a man who wanted

To die—to read that is painful.

Who hasn’t, whether real or feigned,

Felt so alone that would wish

To be dead? This man I speak of 

Has gained immortal fame from his

Friendships and his poetry, one

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

But another poet of e’en greater

Fame for dramas has written in

His character that one knows not

What comes in death, hence we live still

In cowardice. This poet was 

Shakespeare, his character Hamlet

Speaking in that ever famous 

To be or not soliloquy.

I cling to the words of Hamlet

While empathy for Coleridge

Flows from my pen. But yet I will

Ever seek joy and pray that I

Though bounded in a nutshell find

Myself king of infinite space

Living in endless joy where my 

Cup runneth over and I no

More like Jacob wrestle with God

But live in peace with creator

Mine and friend for eternity.

December 2023

About This Poem

I found this in my journal and typed it up. It isn't the greatest poem, but it shows how authors have influenced me, authors such as Shakespeare and Coleridge and the Bible. I also connect to these old authors and I wonder what I have to leave to the world, sometimes feeling depressed as if I have nothing. I think the reality is that I don't know just what I will leave that people see as important, but I know that my children are important and they will leave their own marks on the world. So I have done my part however small. The picture is Rydal Mount in the Lake District of England. It is where William Wordsworth lived and Coleridge often visited him there. Wordsworth was the friend who kind of wrote Coleridge off.