Poetry



A COLLECTION OF NATURE
 
 We gather
 acorn cups
 nut covers, twigs
 curled leaves
 fern fronds
 mushrooms, pine
 cones, grubs
 from a boundless
 expanse of God’s forest
 
  
 
 
 A RAINY DAY IS FOR LOVERS
 
 Percolating espresso-
 the coffee bean aroma
 scents the new pine kitchen.
 Newspapers are spread open
 on the Sunday morning table.
 A smooth white hand
 couples with a rough one.
 Rain on the roof
 and patterns on the glass.
 Eyes liquefy,
 conveying passion
 yet to be expressed.
 
 
 
 
AMERICA
 
 Jetstreams pass over
 a cherished heritage
 America.
 Eagles soar beneath,
 symbols of righteous freedom.
 I retain
 one part of the main,
 New York
 industrious and powerful.
 Vacationing south, I
 traveled wide
 of New England’s crowning vistas
 and meshed through warm, flat straights,
 wending into Florida,
 poignant with crowded sunshine
 and Mickey Mouse.
 I am
 desirous yet to see
 Colorado Rockies
 California style
 Arizona
 Indiana,
 all territories united.
 America
 you have aged well, being
 worthy of infinite beauty and greatness.
 And through all the dark
 you give us light.
 

 
 
CHANCES ARE YOU WILL WANT 
TO COME TO NEW YORK CITY
 
 In 1958
 Her streets were paved
 in yellow brick
 leading to Fifth Avenue
 and 42nd Street.
 You might have seen
 a black man
 dance-walking towards
 Broadway’s winking lights.
 You might have heard jazz
 eking out of the Metropole;
 Ahmad Jamal
 polishing white keys
 with rhythmical fingers.
 Small armies of white hats
 took leave then
 from hulks of ships.
 Bell-bottom trousers flapped
 in the glittering glass town
 past steel palaces
 exerting attraction on
 click-clacking
 high heeled shoes and
 saucy red lips,
 interchanging magnetic pick-ups.
 Today foreign invasion and
 a caravan of chic boutiques
 marketing on the upper east side,
 symbolize the best and
 worst of New York.
 Yet, bright young thing,
 Chances are 
you will want to come to New York City.
 
 
 CHIMES
 
 I love to listen
 to wind chimes play
 when gentle weather comes.
 A sweet, melodic harmony
 for you, for everyone.
 It teases leaves
 off stark limbs of trees
 hours by hours.
 It rides on winds,
 and on to spin
 upon waking flowers.
 A sound so pleasant
 to my ear,
 remembering those
 who once were dear.
 Gone now are they.
 I love to hear
 wind chimes play.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Patricia Crandall Author
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A DIFFERENT AGE
 
 In Aunt Mim’s day
 I would have considered
 having nine children
 as she was mule enough
 to do.
 Today I spend my energies
 raising two.
 HERS was a different age.
 One where children
 romped freely
 through dandelion pastures
 and daisy fields.
 Evil did not lurk
 between fences.
 Occasionally
 a boogie man appeared
 and was dismissed
 with a hoot or a wave.




AFTER THE RAIN
 
 Gold cones
 on pine trees
 hang
 like prisms
 in a painted lady’s ear
 
 


 AUNT AND UNCLE
 Time laced in antimacassars
 marble top tables
 pot bellied stoves
 agate ware
 bric a brac
 a scent of Pears soap.
 Old Spice.
 Sun shimmering
 through a window,
 glistening on Aunt's white hair.
 Uncle,
 hoeing in the garden
 wearing suspenders,
 plaid flannel shirt,
 and overalls.
 "Look at those berry bushes, Ginette,"
 he says.
 "Full O' blossoms,
 Aunt will cook up
 a platter of blueberry pancakes.
 We'll have honey syrup to pour
 and sour cream to spread."
 My eyes
 how they twinkled.
 Uncle's dimples were merry.
 Aunt's cheeks like pink rose buds.
 Precious moments,
 none wary.
 
 

CHAMELEON
 
 Changing, endless beauty
 slips from one season
 to the next
 like the first breath
 of a wetted fawn.
 Crystallic snow
 weaves a winter pattern.
 Spring's mossy carpets,
 and summer pastels
 blend a commensurable
 autumn tapestry.
 

 
 
 DIAGRAM
 
 To draw a diagram
 of you
 I would need to begin
 with your mother
 father
 Next,
 sister  brother  sister
 grandmothers  grandfather
 aunts uncles relations
 friends
 son daughter son
 golf skiing hunting
 fishing executive club
 church not to mention
 business luncheons
 car pools             trips
 Now tell me honestly dear
 what is there of you for
 m
 e
 ?



APRIL SNOW

The night
is a clone of January.
The morning
is sweet and golden
as an April sun,
Snow-droppings fall
from icelandic trees.
A lone mallard
floats downstream.


BIRTH OF A SEASON

Spring advances testily,
giving time to pause;
regressing;
ultimately being!


CERTAINLY UNCERTAIN

The wind is springtime melodious;
the sun, a reflection of light
yet on the ground late last evening
appeared a bonnet of winter white.


DO YOU HEAR THE BELLS?

In winter,
bells slice through air
with a leaden peal.
Spring bells
are warm and resonant;
jubilant in tone!


HERALDS OF SPRING

A fuzzy black caterpillar
waddles across
last evening's snowfall.
A twelve inch measure
from his tiny tracks
are sodden remnants
of autumn leaves
and brave little tufts
of spring green grass.


LILY OF THE VALLEY

A glorious convallaria scent
did not
luxuriate beneath the shade
of trees in my garden
when I was a child.
Admiration from afar
I gave
to another's well cared plot.
The perfume drove me wild
when I was a child.
Now I am happy
to plant strong crowns
in my garden.


NEW ENGLAND SPRING

The soft greening shades
of mountain trees,
vast open meadows
fill with buttercups,
turned-over fields
eke out earthy scents,
crystal blue lakes
and tree-lined ponds
mirror geese flying overhead.
Everywhere...
a natural falling off
of winter.


SPRING CONCERT

Melodic soft voices
drifting in harmony
as dark suited boys
and white organdy girls
wear gentle expressions
of spring


THE FLUTE-PLAYER

A white-tailed deer
sprints over pine needles
and moss
to the pond,
taking a drink of clear water.
Sunlight filters through
gently waving leaves.
Pinwheels of fern-fronds
unfurl at the sound
of a wind instrument
fluting spring
in the forest.


UNEXPECTED

Two old cats
chase each other
through the house,
awakened by
the minutiae
of spring's arrival.
I throw open shuttered windows,
unlatch storm doors; watch
robins worm in mud
and straw grass.
Oops! Winter's back!