In these bleak times
What sustains us?

Not science.
Surely not politics.

Our connection to each other.
A smile behind a mask,
A good morning,
An acknowledgment of our 
Predicament.

Virtual, high tech;
We work at intimacy
And as simple as 
Willow napping with me,
Samantha bounding towards me, 
And Cathy, the best friend-
lover a person could have.

This morning on the river,
Perseverance in the rain.
Mistakes and unforced errors.
Live to fish another day.

August 29, 2020

Emily Dickenson

(this is a test post and a poem I like)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

Autumn’s chill on the river.

A softening of sunlight;

Summer’s warmth and

Brightness fade.

 

Live in autumn —

Play out your hand

with the cards you’ve been dealt.

 

Fewer moves to make,

Fewer pieces to play with.

Make each move more deliberate.

Make time for love.

 

Do it well.

There may not be another round.

 

And, this morning on the river —

Forget about the one that got away.

 

August 7, 2020