SEPTEMBER
IN NEW
HAMPSHIRE
1.
After
a storm
Washed
sky, unbearable blue,
Rolls
up the pond,
Bright
sun, warmth you barely feel:
Shorts
and sweatshirts,
A
day to get apples.
2.
Between
Labor Day and Columbus Day,
Between
the summer people and the leaf peepers,
The
quiet cusp of a new season:
Ferns
and asters fading fast.
The
woods, dusty pink and ocherous,
Tell
you something’s afoot:
Sugar
maples, a branch or two infused with orange red,
Or
maybe the single leaf of a seedling,
Half
crimson, green drained out:
The
work of an artist interrupted,
Coming
back soon.
SEPTEMBER
SONGS 2007
1.
Oncoming Traffic
Walking
on the lane,
Toward
the end of the pond:
Late
afternoon September sun
Filters
into the woods,
Shafts
of light through a cathedral window.
The
lane is not the same, though:
The
drivers younger, of course;
We
don’t all know each other any more.
People
talking on cell phones
Don’t
have a hand to wave.
2.
Growing Season
Burgundy
chrysanthemums on the gray deck.
The
orchard farm stand opened this morning,
Bright,
quiet; remote September sun:
White
bags of Mac’s and Cortland’s by the peck,
Crisp,
early tartness, polished red and green;
Acorn
squash, best with maple syrup.
The
pumpkins will get bigger,
Preschoolers
will come for hayrides.
But
this afternoon on the pond
Betsy
Winbourne digs up her garden,
Hauls
the annuals to the compost pile,
Cuts
back the day lilies,
Trusting,
expectant,
Before
the first frost
KAYAKING
SEPTEMBER 2014
Cerulean
September postcard day,
Breeze
six knots or so out of the Northwest:
Two
small kayaks put in at the public launch,
A
young couple from somewhere else
Setting
out to see new vistas on our pond.
I
would like to point things out to them:
The
tutoring camp where my father taught,
The
dam, the inlet where Perry Brook
Ends
its narrow run down Copple Crown,
The
cottage where we lived
When
we first came here—what?—
Nearly
seventy summers ago.
I
might also ask them if they checked for milfoil.
But
they are headed the other way.
I
paddle along the west shore,
Past
the family of mergansers I saw last week,
Their
young still not ready
To
set out on their own.
My
friend Herb, widowed some years back,
Often
sits on his dock alone,
Drinking
coffee, reading the paper.
Today,
though, he has someone with him,
A
woman, I think.
“September
in New
Hampshire” first appeared in Mobius, May 2004.
“September Songs 2007” first appeared in Foliate Oak, March
2011.
Robert
Demaree is the author of three book-length collections of poems, including After Labor Day, published in April 2014
by Beech River Books. In 2013 his
poems received first place in competitions sponsored by the Poetry Society of
New Hampshire and the Burlington Writers Club He is a retired school
administrator with ties to North Carolina,
Pennsylvania and New Hampshire, where he
lives four months of the year. His poems have appeared in 150 periodicals. For
further information see http://www.demareepoetry.
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