William Butler Yeats - (1865- 1939)
SATURDAY MORNING by Lee Evans
Hand in hand,
Barefoot along the edge of the tide,
Walking along between the ebb and flow,
Going with no particular place to go:
Sea and sky, infinite horizon,
Tracks in the sand following behind.
Forty years do not separate us,
Clasped between our fingers.
Silence accompanied by incessant whispers
Hissing in our conch-like ears,
Soothing, alluring, awakening us.
Sand and tide,
Tracks and memories,
Expectations in mist on the horizon.
In fifty years hence
this old tree will be gone but forgotten
not by Earth's tomb.
You and I, the living, the inanimate
will one day too be of buried matter,
but never can a soul be cloaked by
leaves enough in all the sky.
IVY by John Grey
this ivy could cover
entire east coast colleges -
here it wraps around maple and hemlock^
and rotting fences,
an abandoned cottage in the woods,
hangs from boughs '.
like streamers,
tickles the stream
that cuts through
steep stone ledges,
then tumbles down
into a foamy pool
of turtles and trout
where water skateboards
up the side of itself
and sprays
inquisitive insects -
Away from the band and applause,
folding chairs on the trustees' field,
wedge shoes and flapping gowns,
I'm standing on the boardwalk.
A woodland emerges and immerses me.
I have no time for contemplation,
but I will pass my hand through these fronds.
We have a place to keep. I can give them
every silence. I can confess them
to every heart's darkness, even as the lights fade.
Have you seen her --
a star of stars,
in the blue-black lot,
a missing shoe.
Circle around the water,
circle around the fallen trees.
So go the limping girls,
as steps appear and recede.
At sun-down the far off birds all moved through the sky,
like pepper to an empty porcelain plate, or like us into each other,
all sharing a ravenous hunger for something beyond this...
HOME BODIES. by Lee Evans
Small countries have less people to command.
Although they have machines to get things done,
They choose to do all of their work by hand.
These people study death and stay at home;
Their boats and carriages rust in their yards;
Their weapons gather dust on armories’ shelves.
Their body language speaks instead of words.
Content to be no more than what they are,
They don’t compare their neighbors to themselves.
They don’t believe the news that they have heard.
Though dogs may bark and cocks may strut and crow,
They don’t complain or seek to peek and pry.
How can they know what others seem to know?
How can they see with someone else’s eyes?
Based very loosely upon Tao Te Ching #80