There Is Within My Happenstance

There is within my happenstance
An unshed innocence,
Not rare among those buttercups
Whose sun is fueled by shame.
No matter what the circumstance,
My heart must hie me hence,
For all the quince of Nottingham
Is squandered in my name.
Extant there are no photographs
Of who or what I am,
For they were in the sandwiches
We ate one moonlit night.
Instead my mirror must reveal
The marmaladed ham
That lies atop the tabletop
And stuffs itself with light.
Ay me! What might I do that might
Undo my unfelt pain?
My life must gorge on life, and yet
I sorrow for my mice.
Ay me! The cherubs hunger as
My goods are shipped by plane.
And I must dance with polar bears
Across the shrinking ice.

To A Terrier
HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Dog thou never wert--
That from my door or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Louder still and louder
From thy throat it sparkest,
Like a clap of thunder;
Outside my home thou parkest,
And barking still dost stay, and staying ever barkest.
In the golden light'ning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost woof and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Sets off your terrier white;
Thank God there aren't seven
In the broad daylight.
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear,
Although we cannot see, we hear that you are there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.
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Thirty-Five Years Later He Was Gone

Thirty-five years later he was gone,
Leaving her with just an empty hole
Where once her life had been. Bereft of meaning,
She rode the ancient fury of her grief.
So many years of loving him, a garden
Dissolved into a wild, wasted sea!
So much of life now waiting to be buried,
Poisoned, lying putrid in her heart!
And yet she could do nothing for awhile
But lie upon her bed of writhing pain,
Knowing that in time she would be healed,
But never, never quite completely whole.
Always there would be this frozen anger
Waiting to be placed upon the table.
No matter her attempts to be forgiving,
She would again consume that bitter meal!
And even in the sunshine of her laughter,
Her life returned to her by time and love,
Even in the meadows of her joy,
There still would be the place he left behind.
Twenty-Two Years Later They Were Dead
Twenty-two years later they were dead
And nothing was resolved, nor would it be.
Life, as is its wont, had gone ahead,
But both of them, though freed, were never free.
Both remarried, loved, fell ill, and died,
Buried separately, with space reserved
For those who mourned them most, the two outside
What once was home but could not be preserved.
What bitterness and blame, forgiveness, rage,
Guilt, shame, fury, impotence, and sorrow
Sloshed against the walls of each's cage,
A storm that never yielded to tomorrow.
How beautiful and sad, the love of youth
That, though it could not last, outlasts the truth.
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Rest in Peace, My Loved One, Rest in Peace

Rest in peace, my loved one, rest in peace,
Eternally, essentially at rest.
Sleep the sleep of those who do not dream,
The dark oblivion that knows no pain.
Interred within my heart, you will remain
Neither fixed nor flowing with the stream,
Part me, part you, part child by angels blessed,
Embraced by those in whose arms sorrows cease.
All my wakeful nights, my days distressed,
Called to account, your slumber will redeem,
Even as I haunt you once again.
Several Days Before I Was to Die
Several days before I was to die
A white dove flew into my garden.
It had one black spot on its tail,
As if a drop of ink had soiled
Its purity. It looked at me
As birds do: head sideways,
Neck twisted, almost upside down;
Then went the other way, fluttered,
Cooed, straightened, and stared at me
With more than human stillness. Our eyes
Met, and I felt some understanding
Pass between us, as if it sensed
I was to die and felt compassion.
And then I knew that I would live.
Weeks after my miracle
The dove returned, nesting near me,
An ordinary bird. Of course
I hold it dear. But who lived in
Its eyes? Whose compassion sent
The silent thoughts that turned my will?
I know my own imagination
May have spoken through the bird,
Lifting me from death. But surely
What we'll never understand
Far surpasses what we know.
The dove knows more than we. And I,
Returned from death, am like a boulder
Lifted up and left upon the shore
By some majestic wave.
Some Losses Seem to Augur Endless Night
Some losses seem to augur endless night,
Years and years of darkness unrelieved.
Mourning knows no morning, nor does pain,
Peeling like a bell through windswept rain,
As those who grieve have cause to be aggrieved.
Take comfort, then, in hand-held candlelight,
However dim or distantly perceived,
Yet shining with what hope might hope regain.
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Nothing Is, but What Is Evident

Nothing Is, but What Is Evident
Nothing is, but what is evident.
In truth, the truth appears but to the eye.
Could one but understand what might be meant,
Opening one's heart to pure intent,
Love the answer to one's what or why,
Angels would towards Bethlehem be bent:
So one might believe, though gingerly.
Perhaps It Was the Wind That Sang like Angels
Perhaps it was the wind that sang like angels
Anchored in a star-besotted sky,
Ululating round right-reasoned corners,
Lunging at three kings careening by,
Abroad with wonder, not quite knowing why.
Pets Are for Life, Not Just for Christmas
Pets are for life, not just for Christmas.
Each of us waits for the joy of a home.
Take one of us in and you'll never go kissless,
So long as you treat us as one of your own.
The Druids Thought the Mistletoe
The Druids thought the mistletoe
Would stop the meanest witches,
Cure the most severe disease,
Keep cradles safe from switches.
Enemies laid down their arms
Beneath its pungent spell.
For one whole day they could not fight,
Though hatred fire the will.
In later centuries it served
To force a willing kiss.
For those reluctant on their own
It was the door to bliss.
Today it is a symbol of
The mystic powers of Earth,
For when the sun's about to die
In love we find rebirth.
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Make the Most of Every Christmas Morning

Make the Most of Every Christmas Morning
Make the most of every Christmas morning
Even when the weather's not so clear.
Riches come and go with little warning,
Rendered only to what souls are there.
Yet some would spend their Christmas at hard labor,
Choosing to ignore the gifts of grace,
Having much, though little that they savor,
Resigned to serve the lords of time and place.
In Christmas there is work and there is pleasure,
So interfused one cannot separate
The labor from the loving, common treasure
Made from giving, much beloved weight,
A burden and a blessing both, that one
Should relish till the precious day is done.

Make Not Much of What You're Missing
Make not much of what you're missing;
Each gets gifts as they come due.
Rest assured, regarding wishing:
Riches are reserved for you.
Years of want require wanting;
Christmas gives what one receives.
Happiness ought not seem daunting,
Renting space in what one grieves.
In your heart is all you need,
Sustained by giving it away.
Though you burn and break and bleed,
Mere suffering's no place to stay.
As you are is as you will,
Sure of winds that wish you well.
How Lovely 'Tis to Take This Time
How lovely 'tis to take this time
To greet our dearest friends,
To wish them health and happiness
Before the old year ends.
Darkness comes late afternoon
And winter lies ahead,
But friendship is a glowing fire
When all seems cold and dead.
Just as in some vacant barn,
Unnoticed in the night,
The whole of human history turns,
So we, too, make things right.
We must keep alive the flame
Though darkness grip the Earth;
For in the love we find in friends
Is our chance for rebirth.
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I Had a Rough Time with Three Kids by Myself

I had a rough time with three kids by myself,
And I know that I didn't do well.
Counseling, fights, children's services, courts:
What I put you through must have been hell.
But I loved you - all of you - all of that time,
When my heart seemed to break every day,
When crushed, and crushed, and crushed against stones,
I would that the wind were my way.
And I tried - how I tried - to be what you needed
And show you the love in my heart.
But often the fantasy crashed and exploded,
And all that I was came apart.
And now you are grown, I don't ask forgiveness,
Just some understanding will do,
Of the person, however imperfect, whose life
And whose love was devoted to you.
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