The Basement - Poetry inspired by t. s. eliot

The Basement

The basement was always the quietest coolest room

In the house where we lived so long

The pitch of the roof always brought me regret 

In the house where I lived so long

The kitchen though was full of energy and potential

Clocks on the wall tocking loud

The open bifolds to machines ready to go

Or always going moving shaking spinning

The windows to the deck, the door, the glass

Don’t look at them but through.

The door to the den, to the unused berry room

Loud talking voices with no escapes

The work swirls round the island in that kitchen 

In the house where I lived so long

I often stared at the backyard, sighed at the space

Those untrodden trails, pebbles that never fell

Those pavers that held the Adirondack chairs

That never appeared at that house

The trees slowly died, sunshine fed the weeds

I vowed I would try, but life was inside.

The list grew long of memories and forget-its 

In the basement, the art desk grew tall of undone

Still the coolest, quietest spot in the house.

But no matter how large I muraled the sun

The warmth and noise in the kitchen always won

In that house, the one where we truly lived.

Move Along - poetry inspired by Elizabeth Bishop.

 

Move Along 

Those smiles intertwined with a bit of fear 

And mothers combing down that bit of hair

And fathers knowing more than a bit of cheer

And brother sweating as the tie bites his neck.

He’s done well on years of books, essays, tests

His gown is draped in ropes reserved for the best

Of the class. His smile, again, tries to be fearless.

But his eyes can barely see what’s coming next.

It’s hard to believe that it will all be gone 

In a matter of days and weeks  it will all move on.

Homeroom, Homework, HomeEc will all get along.

Then he will stay up late, sleeping way past daybreak. 

And the worries, the waterfalls ahead on this unknown

River,  the lightning strikes from clouds in blown 

From storms he knew would never have shown 

In the covered, sheltered security of his home.

They’ll come, those worries, on both sides of the day

In the morning in the long shower he’ll stay

In the night at the crevice of a book he wants to toss away

Now they’ll come, those worries will blanket him.

It’s hard to believe, through those smiles and laughs

That we all will be wishing for things of the past

In days to come, after the heat of summer’s blast

He’ll move along, alone, to a life that will be his own.

Sub Ek -- Poetry Inspired by John Donne

Sub Ek

----

Sub Ek, something you should know,

it composites and constructs the all.

As my eyes though twins see but one

and ears though too apart do not bisect,

so are we to the angels we can not see.

But also for them we are weak particles 

but wearing armor and dying alone

so in our fear we return to joy, 

a full circle of mouth to tail

of dust to dust and ash for flame.

And then there's God one level up,

the angels swing like mobile chimes

but anchored to that third eye.

And see it is how a grain of beach

is built of more than all you see

And man, of more than bones and blood

and angels more than songs and silence

And in each morning is many days,

time too holds the respect of this sub ek.

So as you think yet still breathe 

and as you pray but insist to kill

Know that I and he and she and they 

and those and God are all the we

bound tight by truth and pushed on by time.