Edith

At night she sits by an open window,
waiting for a knock
that she prays will never come.
Footsteps approach, recede,
she covers her heart
remembers to breathe,
but even the shadows
have substance.

This one gone for a soldier
lies garroted in a field of wire;
this one gone for an airman
spun out in a sea of fire---
voices call, no answer
only the emptiness
of air.

(Image:  Umberto Boccioni, The Noise of the Street Enters the House, 1911)

The Ecclesiast











All that stands eventually falls.
The house my father
built basement to attic
bare-fisted --rough timber
hewn, sanded, nailed --
overtaken in the end
by the obstinance of ivy.
Vanity says the Preacher,
All is vanity.
My father was a fighter
and a giant of a man,
but nature is omnipotent.

(Image: Dave Leiker, Blue Door, http://www.prairiepathways.com/PrairieDust/)

Time folds, a
fallen tapestry
whose layers hold
happy scenes from childhood,
camps pitched on pine green,
the endless blue of cornflowers.
Wheat fields overgrown
become newly mown,
feed kings and shepherds
whose kinship shouts
in the twinkle of an eye
or the unruliness of
an untamed brow.
Courting couples
whose clasped hands
form an unbroken chain
stretching ever into eternity
and all the possibilities held
in an empty universe
and an unformed star.

Image: Marc Chagall, Bride and Groom of the Eiffel Tower, 1938-39

OIL!









Smoke moon on the rise
oil spill presages the fall
of the greatship earth.

The gods raise warnings
dire omens overruled by
dollar driven kings.

Black moon on the rise
and the gold of the sun slain
overcome by oil.

Faith














The evening of her last day entered quietly,
soughing in on feet shod in silence and purple.
She listened for the rustling of the lilac branch,
the whisper of the breeze through the silver birch.
She listened in vain for the nightingale's call,
the shrill cry of the killdeer.
Hearing none she raised her voice--
sent up a song to the Father of Silence,
sent up a song in celebration
of the silence that was
and the silence that was to come,
and when she was finished
she listened--
to the slowing of breath
to the slowing of heart.
When it was finished
she listened and waited
in silence.

(Image: Jim Strong; Empty Chair)

Rouge,
Detroit











We were a city built on war
a city built on ashes
stone statues hacked to pieces
mixed in a river that overflowed
spat blood fire and ash
spat sand brick and stone
and the gods of industry took it as tribute
built railways boatyards a bridge
built Highland Park Cadillac Piquette
The Rouge
and the gods of industry genuflected
at the altar of the De-troit dollar
but war reclaims her own
and ashes return to ash
the spirits of the statues prevailed
rose up shattered
sand brick stone
rose up and shattered
sinew and bone
but the soul of the city still burns.
We are a city built on war
a city built on ash
crushed automobiles
rust in heaps
dreams lay dead and dying
violence in the streets
but in the end
we have nothing left to do
but rise.

(Image: Andrew Moore, The Rouge, Detroit Disassembled)

Cooper Elementary School
East Side

Nature wages war in empty halls
windborne erasure of blackboard
ghost voices echo
children long gone
Brick Book Stone Slate
Earth returns Earth
man’s work falls
conquered by crowns of daffodils
and the majesty of
Queen Anne’s lace.

(Image: Andrew Moore, Cooper Elementary School East Side; Detroit Dissassembled)