"Teen" (poem about his cousin who died August, 2011)

The Ones Who Went Before- By William Pitt Head

We are drawn to the ones who went before
And to an identical fate only made ours
By some indelible personal trait, a choice
We make that like a birthmark signifies.

Our lids are heavy with sentiment, eyes
Longing to close on dreams which wait
Only imprimatur of unique lore
To make fabulous the solitary life.

Our dreams are linked with theirs
(We were the dreams and they now ours)
And the passage of time drowses
Until, at death, time (and we) stand still

While a mother watches her child
Watching her mother we all watch
The merry-go-round whirl, shine, slow,
Subside in the loss of its own going.

(Lord, how we love the resonance,
Lord, how we loved the ride.)

To Keep The Cold Wind Away

Lest we forget we must remember
Christmases past so that Christmas present.
Which will fade as quickly as the rest,
May retrieve for us some lasting values
And recall the seasons when we had
Little abundance save love to receive
And give. Thoses were the days
Along the way we have had escape us
Not only sentimentality but sentiment
As well. We may sing Noel, Noel,
But what does it mean to us?
Folk who knew the meaning of its verses
Are long since gone; in other regions
Than our own they sleep
And if we dream how can we keep
Their uneasy spirits away from us?
Why would we if we could? Their traces
Are our souvenirs of better limes.
Better people, better places
Than these shallow graves
We live in not always, not for long
Not for long we resist temptations
To bring to bear upon our hearts the need
Of fervent re-dedication and wish
That from out of the past
Those who are missing might re-appear
And teach us their truth in lessons
We still find hard to learn
Have we lost charm and innocence
Forever? Will kindness never come again?
And what of grace? We know it once more
Touches us when ghosts we knew
We now reminisce about. Peace
And mercy flow from meek and merry
Children. We were child-like long ago
Perhaps what we celebrate this time of year
Is the birth of children. We are not wisemen.
We come and go. But the birth of children
Is always with us, always stays. It may be
That those parents and relatives we wish
Might gleam again in their after-glow
Are delivering to us a Christmas message
Christ's birth is to us as it was to them
A treasure we all can share through distancing,
And, although every light grows dim, goes out,
His star shines forth in continual brightest blessing.
In the darkest time of year He came
And in the singing of his name we hear voices
Of those held dear, even ever after - - -
We first heard sounds of children's laughter.

Haiku (Halloween)

Pumpkins carved with knives
Must have frightening faces
To scare ghosts away.

Bill, Hillary, Monica, and the Rest

When affairs of Church
Finally mix adultery
With affairs of State
And the two agree mot to separate
No one will be safe
From the combination
Of religion with politics.
A Holy War will be declared
And ploughshares be beaten
Into swords. Methodists
With aplomb will swoop down upon
and bomb the Baptists so as
To obliterate. Baptists could choose
T use Uzis to strafe
Their enemies. Catholics could
Accrue weapons of mass destruction.
Presbyterians could make certain
Of the predestination, by grenades,
Of other denominations

Changing seasons

May comes and goes as quickly as roses
Bloom and fade. Only green thumbs and thorns
Abide. Rain falls occasionally; from time to time
Bushes burnish, turn brown and die. Their roots
Either thirst too much or founder in a flood.
Some common ground for growing plants is needed.
Fertile does as fertile is. Cardinals select highest
Limbs of trees to nest in, ignore, neglect
Bird houses I have tied with strings or used
Coat-hangers I have straightened and strung
In suspension from branches to hold homes for them.
Grass is kept separate from weeds by intensive
Spraying. Heliotropes seek and worship their god
Of sunshine. Scuppernongs are born, begin
To grow a kind of grape for August harvesting.
Althea blossoms, blooms called hollyhocks.
Some are white alone, some
White with reddish-purple centers. Camellias
Bide their time and wait--their turn will come.
Lizards eat insects in the greenery on my porch.
The cadence here is intermittent rest between
Many flashes of fervid action where going forth
Furnishes attractions that rarely retract themselves.
Constant motion indemnifies its flow from any loss.
Flora and fauna flare and sprout;
In flurries water runs, retreats to its redoubt.
Summer waxes, springtime wanes.
One season's play is nearly done.
Contests of another are just begun.