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Charmed
a couple of green geese we are
alone with the evening light
thunder and lightning it seems
everywhere else
Poèmes sur le thème : goose
Poèmes sur le thème « goose » sur Poets.by.
Quarantine Walk
quarantine walk
stopping at the sound
of a jet
I can’t stop marveling at how quiet it’s become under lockdown. In normal times I find the close horizons of this narrow hollow in the hills a bit claustrophobic, but now that there’s so much less noise echoing around in it from adjacent highways, the nearby quarry, and factories and businesses in town, it feels more spacious. A pair of local Canada geese fly over at dusk and I hold my breath, listening to their wingbeats. I no longer envy animals that live underground their superior soundproofing.
last week’s rain
that hush
in the moss
Canal haiku
It’s sandal season—
you bring back a blister
from the canal.
Light from the water
plays on the steel girders.
A train’s screeching wheels.
Leading a crew
of gnomes and potted plants,
the jolly roger.
After the canal boat passes,
the huge floating leaf
reverses course.
Lowering their heads in threat
again and again: geese
with a single gosling.
Where the high-speed
Barter
Hey, can you see these?
These beautiful geese?
I kept them in the light
For them to show their might
I let them fly around
And let them sleep in the mound
They gave me a beautiful gift
And that is their gift
Can you see the gift?
The gift in their beauty
As well as their might
But I lost one thing; do you know what it is?
Before the Eggs Hatch
Before the eggs hatch
two Geese walking nearby,
eating dead grass.
Sixty-Eight
Across the river
geese arrive
by a moon's light,
setting its image
dancing beneath
trees — and so
we know joy
though the world
has no use for us.
Snow Geese
When geese venture forth
they have an innate sense of direction.
Soft wings straddle stars
stroking snow flaked skies with certainty.
There is a heartbeat
coursing the air with life, a determination
to survive, to reach
the sun, to shrug off winter's baleful eye.
That is why they scythe
moon slivered nights with screams, leaving
black northern skies,
and crystal lakes, for rum soaked seas.
In spring, a beckoning
beneath the skin, to answer the call
of the great white north
the instinct to return, to be reborn.
Wisteria
Why do you peer at me, old man,
With eyes half shut,
From underneath the purple lanterns of your wisteria vine?
Your face is but a mask,
Showing neither joy nor sorrow;
But I know you bend your head to listen
When the wild geese go honking towards the south,
And your eyes grow wide with sadness,
When the last petal falls from the wisteria flower.
You, too, love beauty,
Or else why twine the purple wisteria about your door-posts,
Or pin a yellow gem upon your lilac gown?
Helga
The wishes on this child's mouth
Came like snow on marsh cranberries;
The tamarack kept something for her;
The wind is ready to help her shoes.
The north has loved her; she will be
A grandmother feeding geese on frosty
Mornings ; she will understand
Early snow on the cranberries
Better and better then.
The Wild Geese
Over my home-sick head,
High in the paling light
And touched with the sunset's glow,
Soaring and strong and free,
The unswerving phalanx sweeps,
The honking wild geese go,--
Go with a flurry of wings
Home to their norland lakes
And the sedge-fringed tarns of peace
And the pinelands soft with Spring!
I cannot go as the geese go,
But into the steadfast North,
The North that is dark and tender,
My home-sick spirit wings,--
Wings with a flurry of longing thoughts
And nests in the tarns of youth.
Road to the Yoshiwara
Coming to you along the Nihon Embankment,
Suddenly the road was darkened
By a flock of wild geese
Crossing the moon.