LAST GIG
Smooth jazz playing
from now shut mouth organs
at a natural good night
for my last gig
buried over quarter notes
drowning in pockets of sax
bellowing over the townhouse
asked to play at a birthday party
by a warm bombed out menu
warmed by wood stoves
in a November midnight hour
watching a bird through windows
chirping under trembling oaks
in the soft showery rain
the whole length of hours
remembering French onion soup
and vanilla pancakes
on the fire near the floorboards
to watch dancing and propose
a toast that persuades you
that the thirst and hunger
of our menu wheelhouse
is perfectly arranged
yet a woman argues
that she does not want
to be a year older
and throws her drink away.
WALDEN POND TRAILS
On the Concord river
we sail my kayak in denims
by a swarming nest of hornets
over us by a fawn
rustling by trees
we're spreading lines
of Thoreau
at my students orientation
wishing to hold hands
of love and language
in our nature
by first circles of light
with a glow in companions
who tell me of their troubled
romances in their essays
breathing hard on a marathon
from grassy hills and dunes
under dry orange leaves
as new Fall acorns drop
we run into shadowy strides
as a horse back rider waves
to us down hills of open songs
over Walden Pond trails
by breezy gestures of the wind.
FROM MY HARBOR BOAT
Early at my untied rope
from my anchor on my boat
lent to me by woodcutters
from the Azores
who enjoy singing
amid a rainy dampness
searching for blue fish
oysters or salmon
passing the heavy dunes
and sleeping rocks
in a sunlight landscape
on ports of call
by sea voiced shore birds
in a chorus by pine trees
chirping on boundless Oak
touching greensward woods
as acorns fall over green hills
crawling by white sands
my sax sings by the waters
off the Cape hidden by leaves
birds take off for the South
in an unusual consuming sun
at a November's noonday
with a Marathon companion
as a few deers run by us
in a flash of first light
of red and orange dry leaves
not forgotten by time
a first woodland love
by wandering days
over my album leafs
page of my poems
a woman in red heels
as a muted muse
speaks to me of her lost love
having poisoned her life
waits by hedges of vines
by yellow hyacinth groves
I'm in a Fall blue blazer
with apple scents
in faint trills from my sax
playing in my backyard
along wind swept trees
along the home harbor Bay
by dangling shadows
of now ripened raspberries
walking my sheep dog
in the rain.
