A few of them this time. I’d like to hear what you think.
<b>Trees</b>
The maple has her syrup,
the birch her slender grace,
but only the weeping willow
grows hair to hide her face.
<b>Phone Call</b>
I clenched and set my fist and thought,
“Enough with patience!
I who once raved and fought
sought an alternative
in love, awe, inquisition and for what?
An emptier pen,”
and tossed away the notebook.
"The scholar, I hunch, tap the inkwell,
finding no time to start the life
for which I turn sophisticated.
Escapist through and through, and rife
with late depravities,
compounding on a melancholic nature
to cause long-winded blandness,
which I might call ‘preciser nomenclature’ – "
The phone broke out in song.
“Hi, I thought I’d call <i>you</i> tonight, --”
Emptied, I dimmed the light
and all was well, all would be well.
<b>This to Say</b>
Some claim we see by <i>contrast</i>, nothing else,
but I can prove exceptions: The soprano,
who sings with human warmth till sorrow melts,
becomes angelic when attuned to piano.
A tanned and haggard trooper on patrol
shows bravery to guard a harried region,
but only attains full splendor in his role
as common soldier in a ponderous legion.
Yes, love too works by such a miracle,
eking a secret life in isolation,
till paired with love that seems identical.
Marvel most! that this rule of combination
pertains as well to beauty – This to say,
your eyes are stars, your face is radiant day.