Saturday, September 7, 2013

B.Z. Niditch- Three Poems


No summer outing,fair enough
nor sighting a field mouse either
by your stone floor house
built as straw clay or cob
near a cottage garden,
life for any poet
is rarely carefree
yet here by lost voices
of novel obscure endings
a grave honor lies buried
by the leaves and woodshed
once open lights near shadows
of tossed out flowers
may open our memory
of grey window boxes
filling voice and sounds
in rooms of lost souls
that you knew, we too fear
by the growth of ivy
with the cool blind rain
of inevitability
above all silences
there are no ruins here
only a feral cat runs by
the limb of a whittled tree
in the English countryside
preoccupied by times still
lost in this farewell
wishing to move all vagary
for limitless comfort.


Our skyline traveled faces
hide our slow glimmers
accompanied for tourist hours
by nameless interludes
as a fugitive rain covers
our nature's phantasmagoria
embroiders our coat
and spills on a swollen river
as we loiter
on the Paris city bench
stepping back
from the drunken wind
with your French umbrella,
small voiced sea birds
by mirrors of dark water
holds the two of us
in an impression's shade
of Monet's floating sea
my half- speech
glances as the rain
growing on the harbor.


Alive in a Fall cloud
of butterflies
full of neon sparks
and gold ringed gazes
on this earth-wise patch
of nature's dunes and weeds
asking about
invincible cone flowers
and their connection
to art and nature
a few crickets scrape by
yellow jackets, rose buds
geraniums and meadow sage
scenting honey
outside gazebo's bone yard
with my lapdog 
uncurled on blanket memories,
a poet with his notebook
meandering as if dizzy
as a few forlorn pine needles
glean on empty muted paths
except for a lone gull voice
who returns from its bath
making animated calls
in the day sky
around aspen and poplars
moving from shade
over landscape's wounds
reminding us by the crags
and the lucid rocks off shore
just once again of childhood
to live for diving
and sink between waves
of him or her who dreams
as a vagabond sun watches
uncertain temblors quaking 
on common ground
uncovering first light's shadow
like the gull
deciding to be mountain free
under the green hills.

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