Poets’ Corner

Sparks

Sparks flying over beaten metal In the gloom of a smithy; Drops of dew upon a petal In the grandeur of a city; Strike a bell and there is music In the late-spring streets, But there is a sound of pity When the blacksmith beats; The sighs of the lovesick, The sparkling of artificial stars,…

Session

I You were shuttering light With your triggered eye, Locking the cool, humid light Into phosphorescent memory. “As the light gets better,” you said, And commanded the play Of peonies, white tulle, And laughter on the cusp of a cliff. The light got better. And the pines Which bristled endlessly Became something of green and…

Class of ’22

I found a vale of spring at summer’s end Before the trees had changed their green to gold. I plucked the fruit of fall and hiked the path To watch the harvest fire in the cold, To see your faces flicker with the flame Of youth that takes no thought of growing old. I loved…

Coming Home

After six years away, today the sunlight weaves through plum and amber leaves to fend off Boston’s gray. Most things avoid most change; rush hour traffic snarls and honks along the Charles, but pulling in is strange. It’s not repainting by the neighbors, or new faces, or all the gaping spaces where trees had blocked…

He Informs Dew

Anagram of Proverbs 9:10–12, NKJV yellow field yields fine wispy fiber: Your glory ordinary. fatuous gold as wisdom to heathen, woefully fractured— for You off lies. You add beam to leafed wind; I find you in one lone leaf, oh, but arise! be enlightened! say, “Israel bow to the King; He informs dew!”

The Green Man

Shallow there in the shadows,     shaded by the laurels, as morning comes on clear     and cold as old ice puddles, there where the ragged woodline     makes a hedge against the day, a brim, a bound of darkness     at the border of the field, he sits in fertile stillness.     The slats of the old blind are…

Cherry on, Lost John

The world is not so sideways in its luck as people say; there still are futures of a healthful gain;  rain still rains. Lichens droop from spruces, wizard-gray, there are yet handsome gambles in the living game; rain still rains. Below the dust crust, we strike water in the hushing cave; crystals lengthen, treasuring the…

What Is Past at Ninety-One

The axe and maul and splitting of the wood; The climbing up stone stairs above the house; The climbing down stone stairs below the house; The cutting of sasanqua blooms on the ridge; The standing straightly, shoulders back and down; The slanting path and vegetable plots; The clacking of the big 4-harness loom. Her solar…

All laud to Thee, O Holy Ghost

Tune: Tallis’ Canon All laud to Thee, O Holy Ghost, Who dost indwell the saintly host, A temple fair and holy, we Who now are set at liberty. For hovered Thou o’er waters deep, And by Thy power the oceans heap’d To bring dry land upon the earth Before mankind had had his birth. Thou…

After Canada Day

Tiny Beach, July 3, 2021 After the lockdowns, After the ragged works and restless days Of these many months, Between four walls amplifying Each slight and jab Each offence and outrage Each rumor and testimony, Old grievances rubbed raw Beneath the added weight of waiting, After all this, and more, and less, My family and…

(c) 2019 North American Anglican