In September of 2012, my daughter asked me to write a poem which would be set to music and performed by the Mansfield University Sisters of Sigma Alpha Iota, Delta Phi Chapter, a professional music fraternity to which she belongs.  Apparently, it is to be sung after music functions.  I wrote the following piece which was paired with music composed by a bright and talented Mansfield University graduate student named Steven S. Miller.  I have heard only a recording of the first sight reading session, which sounded wonderful to me.  I hope to someday hear the official, polished rendition.

Listen

(Dedicated to the Mansfield University Sisters

of Sigma Alpha Iota, Delta Phi Chapter)

 

Listen

...to four winds playing autumn leaves.

Music.

...to raindrops drumming city streets.

Music.

...to snow brushing crystal cymbals.

Music.

...to flames strumming firewood strings.

Music.

...to ancient mountains echo hymns.

Music.

...to oceans sweeping shoreline keys.

Music.

 

And always voices blending, heard

wherever, whenever, conferred

as promise when you hear one word...

 

Sister.

 

Then you are...we are...one.

 

Listen.

 

 

10/25/12 - 11/04/12

 





     The somber cry of a train haunts me as does nothing else, always bringing thoughts of loneliness and rain.  Even on the brightest summer day or the clearest star filled evening, the wail of a passing train stops me cold as I internalize those mournful notes.  And so I would like to share two short poems inspired by distant train whistles, the first from an early morning walk in June of 2006 and the other originating from a sleepless night in March of this year.

 

 

Monday, 6/12/06

 

The echo of a train

cries lonely from afar;

calling, time and again,

no one particular,

as all who search in vain

for where the others are.

 

 

Night Train

 

Just after 2 a.m., the lonesome train

announced its presence to this sleeping town -

a haunting rain-song reverberating

across the valley as a lullaby

played to the rhythm of wheels on tracks.

 

In the morning, the man certain he had

not slept another night before said "I

heard that train again last night."

                                                      She replied,

"Again?  Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?"

 

 



 



 



 

 

 



 

     If you haven't yet noticed, the sun has begun setting ever so slightly earlier.  It's only a minute or two every other day or so, but by the end of the month we'll all be wondering where Summer has gone (there's that time thing again). 
     I've become aware that Autumn is now my favorite season.  Some years ago, when I was still playing and coaching baseball, I lived for Summer.  Not anymore.  I now look forward to the cool mornings and evenings, and the comfortably warm (no humidity) afternoons Autumn offers, even though the season brings a touch of sadness and regret.  I once wrote in a short poem that "...man no more profoundly grieves/  than with the falling of the leaves."  I hope to find that poem and share it here.
     I wrote the following verse in the late 1990s during a week's vacation in Chincoteague, Virginia, home of the annual pony swim.  This is the third and final poem I can legally share from my book A Simple Gift (PublishAmerica, LLLP, 2003).  If you've enjoyed the poems I've posted from the book it is available at www.publishamerica.com.  Sorry for the shameless plug.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy this verse.

August Evenings on the Eastern Shore

 

Something the ocean said about the night,

about its coming sooner than before,

might have offended the great Eastern light,

for early dusk again shades sea and shore.

 

True, water is not one for subtleties,

too often rushing in to fill the void

rather than asking "May I, pretty please?"

No wonder that the Sun would seem annoyed.

 

Do not suppose the daystar ran so soon

in heated anger - stars know not of rage.

'Twas only handing over to the moon

the spoils of a Summer's ripe old age.