Poetic Glimpses From Late Summer
As late summer careens between drought and rain, there is a sense of things recovering slowly. They have a difficult summer to recover from, hence this first poem, written when the heat once again seemed ascendant.
Everything is brown.
Everything's burnt pale or dark,
Tan or umber,
Gravel or char,
By the sun's ferocity.
The only gleam of color sings
From the deep green wings
Of a dead fig beetle.
Nighttime storms or, more often, just clouds and wind, bring quickly changing visions of the sky.
I have written two poems that wonder about the moon as it passes overhead during these nights.
Set the storm adrift,
Breeze by breeze,
From the black of the clouds.
Set the rain adrift,
Droplet by droplet:
And the moon’s looking down
Through a puff of white cloud,
Through a screen of green leaves,
Wondering what the weather will be
On her travels tonight,
As she crosses the unseen bridge
That the storm skies make
Between the mountains.
The second one is in a different vein…
The Moon paused in a rainbow maze,
And peered down, musing, through a haze
Of clouds and night
Of dark and light,
Of midnight blue and moonlit grays.
“Why doesn’t someone staunch and tall
Wash clean the clouds and haze and all?
A lovely sight–
All neat and bright?”
But no one heard the plaintive call.
Ah no, before the moon had set,
The clouds and night grew darker yet.
So Moon took flight
Along the height
Beyond the storm, where star paths met.
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