Calliope's Carousel - 3. April 19th through April 27th

19. Sad News

I can’t write today:

the colors are much too dark

for my word canvas,

too heavy for its frail frame

and too sad for translation.

20. His Smile

When I could bear to think about your smile,

it flooded every inch of space, I know,

the brilliant morning sunshine to beguile,

and even swirling time refused to flow.

The stretch of days since last we met has grown,

yet I remember every second spent

within the circle where your brightness shone,

compelling me my soul to reinvent.

But now abiding shadows shroud the room,

for we today but distantly connect

with only memories to pierce the gloom

of days when our attraction we’d perfect.

No more let us the darkness focus on,

for in your countenance I find the growing dawn.

21. Three Spring Tanka

When the north wind roars

enough to alarm the deer,

the south breeze just smiles

and covers new-polished skies

with silver edged clouds at dawn.

Under fading stars

I watched a wary rabbit

eating his breakfast

while listening to the redwings

explain the morning headlines.

Cherry trees have no sense

because they break into bloom

before the last storms

roughhouse amongst their branches

and carpet the ground in pink.

22. At The End

There’s nothing left

my string is all played out

and all that’s left is doubt;

no phrases deft

can light the dark

where untold stars may glow

but none that I will know

or stay to mark

for any man

who may my line attend

from start to its snub end

to parse its plan.

Now must my grip,

sustained by love and hope,

upon that length of rope

be let to slip

and disconnect

from that which has contained

the inner light sustained

to shine unchecked,

but now to float,

a vessel dark and dim,

in mystery to swim,

the merest mote

in vastness cast

where neither faint nor bold

returning, ever told

of what may last

when all is done,

no under or above,

and all that’s left is love

to light the sun.

23. Doggerel Catcher

My verses need not rhyme or scan,

possess a subtle master plan,

that needs analysis so deep

to threaten one’s attention span.

I would not write to make you sleep,

nor in suspense yourself to keep,

but just to make the heart more light

in cheerfulness your mind to leap.

Perhaps the odds seem very slight

that all my lack of skill despite

I would by happenstance compose

delightful doggerel tonight.

So to the grindstone set my nose

to write in poetry, not prose,

that I may be none other than

the one to whom you’ll predispose.

24. Paradox

Hummingbirds in the snow

seem paradoxical, you know:

migrants from the tropics

are summertime semiotics,

climate change means springtime

comes sooner than the paradigm,

yet nothing can rule out

an April flurry hereabout,

so conjure my surprise

disorder here to concretize

to see a ruby throat

wearing a white and frosty coat.

Truly it may perchance

an anomalous circumstance

may one day come to pass

though in the impossible class,

like us in joyous bliss

because we may openly kiss

beneath the bright-hued bow,

or a hummingbird in the snow.

25. Tanka for the Hours

In the new morning

the dew rises on the grass

to soak my old boots

and chill yawning, sleepy feet,

covering them with flowers.

Under steel grey clouds

hosts of bright yellow blossoms

emerge in the green

to gainsay the slashing rain

and what’s left of the north wind.

As afternoon grows

toward multicolored evening

the sun draws circles

above the west horizon

to celebrate one more day.

26. What Have You Done?

What have you done? You dimmed the sun

With clouds of dark pollution;

In forests fair, you had no care

For mine waste dissolution;

And did you please to spoil the seas

with tonnes of useless plastic,

that time translates, disintegrates,

to chemicals fantastic?

Weren’t you afraid the clothes you made

would rise in mountains cheerless

where workers toil amidst the spoil

and eyes are burning, tearless?

What sort of man can have no plan

for PFA’s and nitrates

which you all knew could start to brew

big problems with our birthrates?

Who hasn’t learned the bucks you earned

Were spent on living lavish;

For all you care, the earth and air

Exist for you to ravish.

But come the day you’ll have to pay

The price of your obtuseness,

Perhaps repent of argument

In red, right-wing abstruseness.

For you can’t run from what you’ve done

By spouting slogans clever,

and there’s no price on paradise

that you’ve destroyed forever.

27. Moonset

Looking west

the silver moon shines full

through bare cottonwoods and sycamores

illuminating their outstretched arms and fingers

reaching for the summit of the ridge

and the encroaching pink

of the day.