September 2018
Magic Mushroom
Magic Mushroom
September 2018
Entering the park
I am greeted by
a giant yellow mushroom
sprouting brilliant from
an ash tree’s trunk,
bursting with multiple shelves,
a proudly swelling corolla.
My first thought:
someone has tied a celebratory rose
around that tree,
for yesterday the trunk was bare.
But stepping closer
I can see
it’s Chicken of the Woods.
Mother Nature has worked her magic
and left
a gift from Gaea
to lift my spirits,
wake me from my worries
and call me loudly:
attend to the world around you!
Walking on
to the pulse of the cricket,
the hum of cicadas,
and into the…
July 2018
Fairy Tales
Fairy Tales
Dorian Brooks wrote this poem about a class she took in Harvard Extension School, taught by a legendary professor at Harvard and the University of Massachusetts Boston. Bob Spaethling was also one of my Doktorväter and a mentor to me for much of my career. Many readers may also have known him, and we hope that all will enjoy this evocation of his magic in the classroom!
Fairy Tales
for Robert Spaethling
In continuing Ed.,
we read Grimms’ fairy tales
in translation. Herr Spaethling,
Professor Emeritus,
all but dances his lectures.
With charming accent
he compares the…
June 2018
Juneteenth, 2018
Juneteenth, 2018
Walking to the park I hear
the strains of celebration –
Juneteenth!
Booming from loudspeakers
the music of jubilation echoes
across the fields.
The day that freedom came
to Texas, belated news:
the war was won and
slavery dead.
The park is full
of happy revellers,
families with their coolers,
smoking grills and wild balloons.
Their autos line the road.
I leave the pavement
and move into the woods,
no longer hear
the throbbing bass
or beating drums,
but notice with new clarity
that summer has arrived.
The green is almost overpowering –
from luxuriant grasses
weaving…
October 2017
Omen
Omen
Walking through the woods
in search of solace
in need of comfort –
too many friends are stricken
the threats of age loom large
there is no cure
you lose all muscle movement
and yet your mind stays clear
to suffer through
in full awareness
or else your brain surrenders
erases more and more
of who you are
full of tangled twisting neurons
like gnarly branches
black against the sky.
How can one bear the knowledge
the ineluctable decline
encroaching on all sides?
Above my head an owl
glides through the trees
a giant shadow
massive yet silent
graceful and solemn
coasting home.
January 2017
Meditation at Year’s End
Meditation at Year’s End
(with a nod to William Butler Yeats)
Poling along an uneven path
and grateful for my walking sticks,
a bit off-balance,
out of breath,
I ponder what to write;
what message can I send
on this year’s greeting card?
Against a pallid heaven
the leafless branches etch
a dark and twisted pattern:
twilight nears.
Could this be the time,
foretold of old,
when some rough beast
comes slouching to be born?
The slaughter of the innocents,
the reigns of anarchy
and of false gods
appear the order of the day.
Where are the wise men,
where their gifts,
the proclamation:
peace…
