INDEX

  1. MAIS OU SONT LES NEIGES D'ANTON
  2. EBBTIDE
  3. SEAGULL
  4. ANNUNCIATION
  5. CHRISTINA'S WORLD
  6. TO LUCY
  7. THOMAS
  8. THERE WAS LOVE
  9. I WALKED
  10. TWO COUPLETS
  11. ON WRITING POETRY
  12. BROKEN ECHOES
  13. GROWN OLD
  14. SHARING
  15. THE MIRACLE THAT NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE
  16. THE LEAVES AND I
  17. THE MEASURE OF LOVE


DICK AND BARBARA MEYERS LEAVE FOR OKLAHOMA

It was August 6, the Feast of the "TRANSFIGURATION". I drove to Seneca Pointe, for Mass with my favorite little congregation. It was a bittersweet moment. Dick and Barbara Meyers were heading for Oklahoma at the end of the month. Dick had served and read at the Mass for many First Fridays. He was kind enough to share his poetry and his brother's music with me and I was privileged to print his poetry (ABOVE). I presented Dick and Barbara with a couple dozen home-baked Ginger Snaps and a poem (actually a rhyming verse). Dick presented me with two porcelain franciscan friars. After the service, I was treated to a dinner at a nearby restaurant. The picture to the left shows five well-fed people. Since it was Friday, I ordered a fish-fry which was scruptious. That's Dick and Barbara next to me. Next pictured are Eleanor and John. They introduced me to Dick and Barbara and the congregation at Seneca Pointe.


Below is a slide-show of the little community. God Bless us all. Bon Voyage to Dick and Barbara.














MAIS OU SONT LES NEIGES D'ANTON

Where are the silent peaceful rolling seas
Where waves roll on until they meet the sky?
Where is the comfort of a salt sea breeze,
With leaping porpoise, or a seagull's cry?
Where are the blue waves rolling with the warm
West wind, a strong breeze blowing from the land,
The blue waves breaking, where the whitecaps form
Then rolling like a whisper on the sand?
Or where are green leaves growing in the wood,
A spring breeze whispering it's wood-wind song,
The spring brooks running where the ice once stood?
But where are all those dreams for which we long,
Those dreams of loneliness where people are
On seas, on shores, on trees beneath some star?




















EBBTIDE

The ebbing ocean ripples from the shore,
Taking her exit with a gentle wave
That smoothes the troubled grains of sand. Once more
The ocean leaves us, taking what she gave.
Each wave that beats upon the smooth dark sand
Is restless, always moving, seeking high
Or low, but never satisfied to stand
Still, and neither am I, neither am I.
The sea is running where the moonbeams are,
Rising and Falling, Rolling down the Coast,
But aways following the big night star.
The sea or I, which one has wandered most
upon the midnight waves to seek the light
That draws us, through the darkness of the night?















THE SEAGULL

Up there! There in the sky! The white gulls climb
From tidal estuaries by the sea
To fly home. Beating drums could not keep time
With fleeting wings that take them out to sea.

Wings fleeting, beating, as my heart beats too,
My heart beats with them, longing for the sea,
And sinks to hear again the seagulls mew,
The sea birds crying, calling to the sea.

What is there on the sea? And who has called
The Gull -and me? The silent sea is free
Where sea winds whisper low in water sprawled
Between the east and west. Yes, there the sea-
Winds whisper silence in the ear of those
Who hear him calling, where the west wind blew.



























ANNUNCIATION

There is the White Bird falling from the sky,
Sweeping earthward through stars and bits of clouds
That stain the heaven's velvet blackness! High
Above the circles, thrice, then chooses from the crowds
Of would-be lovers, one whose heart imparts
A love that will accept the diadem
Of twelve stars. So with wings beating, like hearts
That waited years for love to come to them,
The Dove descends, and earth opens her arms,
Receiving love and light and the White Dove.
Earth kneels before the tree on which the charms
of childhood melt in memories of love,
When Whiteness, falling on the purist white,
Announced the coming of the Christmas night.



























CHRISTINA'S WORLD

This is Christina's world of dreams,
A house hanging on a wind-blown hill
Over fields of yellow wheat;
A two-track mud road
Leading to the village
Where lonely people come
To be Alone,
Together.

                                                                          

This is Christina's world.
A dream
Drifting on moonlight,
Dim distant Stardust
Twinkling in darkness
Salting a background of black.

Then light breaks on reality,
Waves on ocean coasts,
Water giants
Foaming phosphorescent
For an instant,
But gone again,
Broken waves
Lap helpless
On smooth sand,
Then slide back
Lost

This is Christina.
Wheat waves no more!
Only the winds of winter
Blow across the fields
Where she lived.
What streams flow beneath the sea?
What power repairs the broken waves
And mends memories.
She found a warmth that broke
The crust of dust.
She found
Christina.




























TO LUCY (buried in the glen)

What are you looking for, Charlie Brown?
-To see a million windows blinking bright,
Those little windows of a far off town
Where good folk sit by love-light late at night.

What do you think you see there, Charlie Brown?
-Those lights are different sizes, big and small,
Yet all gleam like sequins on the gown
My fairy princess wears at Castle Hall.

But why do you stand here staring, Charlie Brown?
-I'm waiting for the prince to come again
To make me smile, and wipe away my frown.
He'll wake my sleeping princess by the glen
And take her where the light shines from within,
Like fireflies, a million miles from sin.






























THOMAS

Once you laughed-
My ears strain to catch the echoing ring

Once your cried-
My fingers stretch to wipe your tear stained cheek.

Once you went away-
My salty fingers try in vain to close
my echoing ears.

Now you have returned-
Doubts reecho in empty ears, as tear-most
fingers touch your wounds of love<./h3>



































THERE WAS LOVE

There was love and light and laughter
in the castle of the king

The night the shepherds crossed the hills
to hear the angels sing.

And as the years rolled by for centuries
the name of Christ was sung.

On cold and winter nights,
while chapel bells were rung

There was light in every window
there was love in every eye

There was laughter in the schoolroom
with Christmas cribs near-by.

There was love and light and laughter then
behind each schoolhouse door.

But the name of Christ can not be sung
by children anymore.

Instead we hear some sleigh bells ring,
or see a few green trees,
An imitation Santa Claus
with children on his kness,

Expensive gifts, and mistletoe
and whiskey running free,
and empty love, and broken harts,
and Christless revelry.






































I WALKED

I walked the grey mist of morning
(Lord, give me light that I might see)
And felt the moist grass crush beneath me.
I wished for the wind, a breath-breeze,
I longed for a whisper of wind,
A wood-wind rustle of leaves
Or a wind-ripple on the waters.

Then the breeze came!
The mist vanished and the sun
Melted the gray ghost of dawn;
Weight lifted and wheat waved again;
Leaves brushed aside the dew,
And green grass burned soft
And fresh beneath me where I rested,
Dreaming of the wind and gray mist.

























TWO COUPLETS

I've just been told two couplets must be done
and handed in by nine today. (That's one)
I'll have to hurry. What would Father do
If this were not turned in on time, (There's two)



































ON WRITING POETRY

It really isn't hard to write a poem,
While sipping beer and blowing off the foam.

Begin by writing any simple line,
And if, by luck, it seems you're doing fine,

Then start the next and try to find a rhyme,
And let iambics march in proper time.

PS Many poetic thoughts are left unwrit
By poets who could not make the meter fit.























BROKEN ECHOES

My eyes have dimmed so I can hardly see
The green of spring, the gold of autumn leaves
The white of softly falling winter snow,
Or summer waters lapping on the shore.

And sounds are far away now, like broken echoes,
Like sea waves washing wishes on the sand
Or sparkling whispers on cliff-bound coast.

And yet I know the sun has comfort, warmth,
And silver stars are winking at the moon,
And wood-brooks bubble for the ears of those
Who come to listen and be silent there,
To hear the April tree buds bursting spring,
The breeze, the singing songbirds, - everything!






















GROWN OLD

I have grown old this winter.
The snow has melted
But spring is late in coming.
It is that empty time of year
When there is neither whiteness nor roses.

I wait for time to pass
And etrnity to begin.
But here is eternity waiting for time to end.
All is present.
There is no passage of time.
Nothing to wait for - only
Now

This is the day that the Lord has made
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.






















SHARING

Long ago I loved the sea
When I was free to roam
And be alone with love.
This sea of mine and I would keep it, mine
And mine alone, and I would fight the one
Who tried to take it from me. "Blow you winds,
And crack your cheeks," you can not take it now.
Come rope, come rack, come death as black as hell
...........My love at least is mine, - and mine alone.

Take it! Take it away! It isn't good
For me to want is so! I long to give
And not to hoard this sea in which I drowned.
Help me? Help me to share my restless sea,
For sharing is the better part of love
And loving is the better part of man.






















THE MIRACLE THAT NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE

The miracle that never happened before -
Has happened! Not once, but over and over.
It happend before, too, I suppose,
But eyes and ears did not percieve

The miracle is people - like you -
The giving, not once, but over and over.
Yet more, allowing us to give
For demands of love help us to grow.

And so a bud blossoms and grows,
Till snowflakes fall upon the rose.
The memory of the caring goes
Beyond the redness of the fading rose.






















THE LEAVES AND I

Old leaves came running on a wind-rush down
Between the hemlock, oak, and maple trees,
And nestled in the bottom of the dell
Along the silver threaded woodland stream.
The winds were silent whispers overhead.
The stream pool only rippled from the flow
Of moving water slipping in from nowhere.
Fall's last brown leaf flopped lazy in the pool
And drifted.

I nestled with the leaves within the hollow
And listened to the whisper of the wind
Above me, and watched the rippled cloudlets move
Across the still blue pool - and drifted.






















THE MEASURE OF LOVE

to Barbara

How can we measure the love we share?
The years we lived together, the memories we have?
Events have shaped our lives, bonded us.
At first we were two,
Trying in separate ways to help our fellow man
Then as a couple
We shared our goals
In public careers, in our private lives.
Finally as one
We fled forward
Meeting new challenges as one.
As time moves on
You become more to me, for me
And I to you, for you,
As one.

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