Home in Wartime

Oxbows round the lower pasture wall;
new-mown hay and honeysuckle sweeten
the bitter modern air;
sunlight waterfalls over the woods;
life is a dream.

The phalanx of pin-headed turkeys parading the meadow
ignores the war, but the birch leaves shake with fear
and the mountain burns with reprisals.
Give me your hand. Trust it like love
down the hall at night.

If I die first, gather the lost years
with the late September apples. At sunset ghost me
beside you on the steps to watch
the tangerine-lavender clouds turn gray.
Go on, go on.

If you die first—the sheets as cold as fish,
the dogs whimpering their loneliness each morning,
the old walls cracking the silence—
I’ll lay your ashes on top of the hill
where the sky begins.

                          F.D. Reeve      +2013









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verdant reflections

 



                    


                    Solstice High

 


Campfire flames warming my face--
 flickering beyond closed lids. 
      Perfect first eve of summer breeze off Sagatagan
            cooling gently from behind.
Angelic voice from a welcome stranger
                out for a stroll. 
Rich baritone of Br. John
              as always... soothes and lifts.
 Smooth draws of bow across the bass strings
              resonates deep in the soul.
 Prayers offered in song. 

Intermitent lighting of the sky
                 followed by
deep rumbles from the storm
         on a journey east... 
Family. Loved ones. Strangers. 
Community and hospitality.

 Welcome summer...




                        Susan Meyer   (  local poet   )











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