Relations

He is relationship
Of Math and Physics
And things that Einstein
Never could know.
Greater than any human mind
Will ever know,
Created us,
And gods
And satans,
But as soon as the gods
Created Good, Love, and Order,
Satin made it black.
Could he do otherwise?
In the center of all
Stands man.
Dominated by the relationships;
Fair prey to gods and devils,
Organizing love,
And turning it to hell.

6/28/05 I have run into some old poems that were mostly written when I was going often to Newbury to see my parents.

The Woman

The woman sitting beside me
Wore her gray hair short.
She must have been older than I,
But you never know

Are you traveling to see your family,
She said. How did she guess,
My Mother, she’s in a rest home.
Sad, How is she doing.

Better, I said,
Than in her last years at home;
She likes the action;
Her mind is not sharp, though.

Since father died
She hasn’t been the same,
Knows me, and some of the family,
But little else;

Her own world,
Seems happy.
I wondered:
Will I be there a few years hence.

The Other

The heart of emptiness
And longing must find
Diversion to survive.
The full moon awakens,
But leaves nothing.
Darkness envelopes the other
In fear or hurt.
What monsters play
In that depth;
Unremembered memories
Haunt. The imp himself
Happily works his malevolence.
A gentle touch, the tool;
Not his, but stolen from life,
Taken from Good.
Heart leaves
To struggle anon,
Wrestle with the rascal,
And implore triumph.

Sun in the face

The sun, this cloudy day
Shines brightly in my eye.
The cover breaks,
I think for spite.
Yearn for the warmth
Of the springtime sun,
Too cold for comfort,
Too bright to write.

I could find shade but
Habit keeps me here
Next to the tracks

Later I’ll run,
Brave the cold;
I must do that.
Then I’ll want the sun.

The House

This will be the last time
I will go there, most likely.
The old two story house
Where I spent my youth.

We moved there right after
The great war with Hitler and
The warlords of Japan,
A pupil in the sixth grade.

Sunnyridge Farm, we called it,
Though only an acre;
Elsewhere there were
Twenty planted to crops.

I moved away for college,
And two years with the navy,
But not for good ‘till later,
Then across a continent.

The old house went on;
Father and mother lived there,
Then my brother and his family
In a built-on house.

Father is gone now, mother
In a “retreat,”
As the rest home is euphemistically called
Come to think about it
Rest Home is that way too.

Now my brother is moving
The old place is to be sold;
I think my mourning
Is long since finished.

Still, the shape of room,
And window, and door,
All the little things
That make a memory
Will be a little hard to leave.