Scientific evidence tells us that in the history of life on Earth there have been five major extinction events, at least two of which were aided/caused by the impact of rather large space debris.  Our universe is, apparently, not unlike an unimaginably immense pinball machine with projectiles beyond number darting to and fro.  Science also tells us that it is only a matter of time until one of those giant pinballs finds us again, quite probably ending the game.

     In early March of this year, two such objects passed our planet within viewing range - both extremely close, astronomically speaking.  The following poem was written after these close calls.  You'll notice the title of the piece is somewhat lengthy.  Call me crazy but I've always wanted to assign one of my poems a heading almost as long as the verse itself.

On The Approach and Subsequent Departure

(in a Short Period of Time)

of a Comet and an Asteroid

 

Your visit, understood

to be a calling card,

reminds us that someday

must come.

 

But not today.  You leave

behind a world alive

with fear, wondering when,

not if.

 



 

 

     Today is Friday, May 17 - the eve of my daughter's college graduation.  Remember what I said about time?  I forgot one important fact: there is never enough.
     I'd like to share two poems today.  The first is from my book, A Simple Gift (PublishAmerica.com). It is the first poem I ever wrote for my daughter.   I was a stay at home dad for the first five years of her life.  I will always treasure those years and the time we spent together.  It's only natural, then, that when her first day of school came around I was the one who cried.  I still do. 
     The second verse is a piece I wrote two years ago for her 21st birthday.

     Always, Sara.  No matter what.

Sara's Gone To School Today

 

Sara's gone to school today,

the first in her five years.

The day that once was far away

now, suddenly, is here.

 

And she was in her finest dress,

and brushed her long brown hair,

and it was anybody's guess

who she saw standing there.

 

And just before she left my hand

I gave her one last kiss,

for she will never understand

how I'll remember this.

 

Sara's gone to school today.

Where have gone the years?

While her wide eyes were bright and gay,

my own were filled with tears.

 

 

 

For Sara on Her 21st Birthday

 

In the almost evening twilight

two deer spread a hillside.

The elder, motionless but for

a steady rise and fall

of breath or beating (breaking?) heart,

looks after the younger

who, walking, moves on, lengthening

the distance between their

long Autumn shadows.   Nature's way,

and anyone watching

closely could be forgiven for

mistaking them for us.

 

 

Always, Sara.  No matter what.

 

 

     The arrival (finally) of Spring has reminded of several poems I wrote a number of years back.  The verse I'll share today is one that was first published in a little book of 100 of my original poems.  The book is titled A Simple Gift.  It was published in 2003 by Publish America, LLLP, and because they continue to own the rights to the book they have graciously granted me permission to print three of my poems here in the hopes that it will promote sales.  So let's get that business out of the way: you can find A Simple Gift at www.publishamerica.com.  There are a number of good poems in the book which I believe justify its publication.  There are also a number which probably could have used some more fine tuning.  The rest lie somewhere in between.  As for the book's title, it comes from a piece of music which my daughter first heard as a child and which we have both come to love.

     Here is the first of those three poems.

Squatter's Rights

 

 

Again, that blue jay roosts atop the pine

which I may lawfully consider mine

because it chanced to grow within the yard

that I have fenced.  Perhaps he's standing guard

 

over the feeders on the Shepherd's Cross;

security against excessive loss

ascribed to squirrels watching from the trees.

They regularly take all that they please.

 

The wrens alight en masse, speaking their minds.

A woodpecker has left his branch behind,

instead to pull the suet from its cage

where these same squirrels once provoked his rage

 

by fleeing with his meal, having pried

the sliding door to reach the feast inside.

Small wonder, then, that now a sentry stands

above the yard to keep it in good hands.

 

The sun slips, sadly bidding us goodnight.

The woodpecker and wrens take to their flight.

And still the blue jay governs from on high,

and still the squirrels wait for him to fly.

 

The deed says this is mine, but on my word

I'd say the proprietor is that bird.