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
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!