Five Poems by Michael Carrino

 

Tsukimi

           -viewing of the moon

 

Find the moon in early autumn skies

when nights are cool. Find

the best place to gaze

 

at moonlight with intention.

See the rabbit in the moon pound mochi

rice cakes, have a moon viewing

 

dumpling, drum performance, tea party.

Have golden lace flowers,

pampas grass in your home.

 

Rejoice. It is harvest time again.

 

Ease into impatient winter.

 

 

One Autumn Morning in Montpelier, Vermont Many Years Ago

 

I was on Main Street outside Bear Pond Books carrying my satchel

that held the collected poems of Lynda Hall, as well

as a bottle of black ink, one envelope, some Art of Magic stamps

plus unlined thin, white paper, prepared to write

 

a letter to you, now living in Kyoto, as I sipped green tea

at The Horn Of the Moon on Langdon Street. I'm sure I'll mention

how yesterday I asked a woman relaxing

on the State House lawn the name and breed of her dog

 

that was sniffing the clear air to find a scent,

the scent of some lost pleasure. “Lana,” the woman said,

“a brindled Plott Hound, Highland Terrier mix.”

The dog was sweet tempered. The woman lit a cigarette and after

 

she and the brindle had left, I believe I was imagining

Lana Turner and Frank O’Hara when a fire engine

sped by, its siren sheer confidence.

How extraordinary to directly interfere with any careless mistake.

 

The wind was brisk, the dead gold and red leaves

scuttle across the pavement. I wanted to write

 

how winter might arrive early, craving autumn

might be longer, milder. I believe I wrote

 

there need be no rush to respond, since the mail at times

arrives late, or not at all. I must have written

 

I was content to wait.

 

 

Hotel Vermont

 

One winter night now a reverie

in shades of blue.

 

Coin, ring, book and key. One last

spark and hush.

 

Heat in every breath.

 

 

In The North Country

 

There is no spring No spring

worth chattering about

at length while

 

you hope to feel the light

cut of a first warm

breeze that might 

 

mingle with mist or rain

while snowmelt

brings flood warnings

 

some from Lake Champlain

most from the rivers

both the Ausable and Saranac

 

When you grow hopeful

there is instead

an April snow You have

 

been fooled again must tromp

all that deep mud

more rain until comes a day

 

drenched with sun a scent

convincing you

winter might be over

 

 

You Want to Know

 

how many friends I have.  Autumn moonlight

over the Hotel Iris. Young writers

direct questions. Green tea

in the morning chill. True

 

friends stab you in the front

wrote Oscar Wilde.

One hopes.

Michael Carrino holds an M.F.A. in Writing from Vermont College. He is a retired English lecturer at the State University College at Plattsburgh, New York, where he was co-founder/poetry editor of the Saranac Review. His publications include Some Rescues, (New Poets Series, Inc.) Under This Combustible Sky, (Mellen Poetry Press), Café Sonata, (Brown Pepper Press), Autumn’s Return to the Maple Pavilion (Conestoga Press), By Available Light (Guernica Editions), Always Close, Forever Careless (Kelsay Books), Until I’ve Forgotten, Until I’m Stunned (Kelsay Books), In No Hurry (Kelsay Books), and soon to be published, Natural Light (Kelsay Books), as well as individual poems in numerous journals and reviews.