Golden

Golden lay light upon the sill

after lunch, after school.

Day lingers slowly, a patch of light,

time pursues day retreats

but the moving trail is still new

and I wonder at the golden pool.

The window still speaks of sun

after night after years, decades of time

I see that golden time, still.

                                               Guy

Genuis Loci

The desktop gods Ganesha, Hanumazn practice stillness

laid down in the carving, one arm so, trunk askew.

I admire their stoic motionless contentment with their place

beneath an old master postcard and family photos

as one more day moves imperceptibly

but inexorably towards some twilight resolution.

I harvest the silent monument, unspoken words,

sculpt contentment, confinement into my bones.

The world may spin for me centred in my web

but I will turn instead to the filed word, unpaid account,

my compass the world of desktop gods, paperclips

and not let guilt or gyration carry the day away.

                                                                 Guy

In My Field

Sleep Rabbits

So I should recount to you

the passing day.

The bandaged wrist of the

server at coffee.

The death of family frail

amid the tubes.

Ending with an ovation to

important immediacy.

or

In the early winter morning

four rabbits sleep in the field I pass

appearing or disappearing like the snow.

Foot traffic drives them out during the day

they crouch amid gravel bed and shrubs

chivvied here, there, somewhere.

That’s where they go but what is it

about this cold dry windswept field

that brings them back?

                                       Guy

             

Days of Construction Paper and Macaroni

Office bound how often the seasons, years go unremarked.

In the younger grades you decorated the classroom.

Iron autumn leaves between sheets of wax paper and it is fall.

Black cat cutouts, Halloween, an accordion turkey, it is Thanksgiving.

Cut out intricate snowflakes for winter, macaroni trees, it is Christmas.

February and there are Valentines for everyone for once.

Easter eggs, paper tulips, it is spring and change is in the air.

And in the summer you ran thru an endless twilight

until the street lights called you home.

                                                                                        Guy

About Face

For each small sad thought, another.

Late summer, young magpies gather in the yard

pulling frantically at the tags on the shrubs.

Two crows perch on the skyward 4x4s

the barcodes are treasures beyond price.

A pine siskin runs joyously through the yard

collides with a blade of grass, down then up.

                                                                 Guy

                                                    

Paths

                                                  “Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,”

                                                        Tintern Abbey  

                                                                   William Wordsworth

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Time was I did not walk this path alone, but words uncounted

could not tame the world to hold your shape once more.

Gone now, like so many, gone and I await some future call,

but until then I am here, remembering a questing spirit,


who pads the pathless night, the trackless starfields,

the wild aurora, thru great winding fields of light.

But remember to return by way of these tamer fields

so that one day we may take that walk together.

                                                                Guy

                                                                    

Lost Things ( decorating with)

They said keep what you like, within reason.

But my backyard is too small for tank like ankylosaurus and the great

stegosaurii with spear backs and spiked tails.

So I settled for a single giant sloth who is nibbling the unruly

caragana bushes by the passenger pigeon’s dovecote.

The kitchen is raucous with Carolina parakeets who perch more

comfortably on the high backed kitchen chairs than I ever could.

The tub enclosure is given over to Labrador ducks and countless

anonymous orchids so it’s showers from now on.

My living room is much improved by an aquarium of paisley trilobites

(who said they were black),

and the little rodent guy asleep in his terrarium

(who  is after all family) .

I am sure given a proper nurturing environment the

Tasmanian wolf pups will learn to coexist with carpet.

In the library the dodo (over by the Lewis Carroll) helps me shelve scrolls from 

Alexandria , early episodes of Dr. Who and the remaining verses of Kubla Khan.

And on Saturday nights you and me and the australopithecine, resplendent in his

bright red jersey, will be in the den watching a Red Wings game.

                                                               Guy

I took the photos from of a series of books I have

by J . Augusta illustarted by (the great) Zdenek Burian