The Old Tracks
In my town and only
90 feet from my house
Run a pair of old tracks,
Railroad tracks older
Than my house, even
Older than me, and I
Am become old, very,
Very old, like a tree
Whose branches
Betray it with
Every strong wind
And fall to ground
Leaving less and
Less of the tree.
I used to walk in
Between those
Carefully laid
Iron rails, stepping
On the worn wood
Of the old ties as
Though they were
Made of glass….
I walked the length
Of my small town,
I walked the world.
I walked where
Passenger trains
Carried lives and
Their once warm,
Now cold, dreams
And I was part of
Each life, now gone
To ether and mist,
And so too my
Lonely soul will
Ride those rails
One bright day.
Still, a freight train
Comes by once or
Even twice a week,
And I thrill to hear
Its wailing horn as
it cries out for a
forgotten glory,
and the ground
still shakes a bit
as the old train
lumbers slowly
by my house and
I wait a holy wait
For the music of
Its rumbling and
The cry of its old
Heart as a young
Engineer pulls the
Whistle and sees
Not that he is
Driving eternity.
THE TIME OF NOSTALGIA
We went to visit our old neighbour
after they moved her to a nursing home,
an old English lady of ninety-one,
still with that accent of east-end London
and the sweet pleasantness of the kind.
She was too old, too alone to live alone.
She would forget to turn off the gas range
or how to turn on the thermostat or TV,
She had trouble following a simple talk,
but remembered the Blitz, 75 years past,
as if the Nazi bastards were still at the door,
and London was in turmoil: as though Hell
had crashed through the gates of Heaven.
So her family moved her, leaving empty
the house next door, empty of our friend
of 30 some years, empty of her lilting
English accent and her sharp sense of
good old fashioned English humour…
and it seemed like someone had died.
After a few weeks we went to visit her,
my wife and I, taking some sweets and
a small plant-- oh yes, and our sadness
too-- though we made sure to leave it
outside, unattended to for the moment.
We entered a very large and rambling
sort of building, with pleasant lawns
and locked doors and intercoms for
some voice to decide if you can enter.
It was like sort of a prison, you think,
but a very nice and very clean prison.
Our neighbour was in a special wing,
called rather romantically, ‘Cedar Cove’
and as we entered through yet another
set of stout doors, we greeted her and
she smiled back, but very much as
one might greet a total stranger….
FALLING LEAVES
I always feel a little sad
watching dying leaves
tumbling to the ground,
each bravely making
the journey alone as
it dances its final dance
until it lands with grace
on the ground, joining
the fallen myriad….
Leaves are lucky: they die
fulsome with beauty, red
or yellow or orange, and
the tree always left lesser--
something we humans
might envy….
Breathe Close to Me
Breathe close to me,
Let not your head droop
Nor your face grimace
In fierce grief, for when
I must leave, all will not
Leave with me, I promise.
The memories we made
Together will sit safely
Inside your mind’s nest.
I’ll leave the photos too—
I can’t take them with me,
So you’ll have the proof
We were young once,
Both pretty and foolish,
Drawn together like
Two bees put in a jar,
Buzzing around each other
Until their disparate sound
Becomes a kind of music.
The photos and memories
Can take you back to all
The places we loved in
Italy and France and that
Windblown prehistoric
Southern beach where
Our hearts first linked
In tandem as flesh merged
And the monk-like sun set
Slowly, silently o’er that
Endless and holy ocean.
Yet they lie, those photos
And remembrances of our
Youth and middle years,
For no canvas or brain
Can seize our love, the
Living thing it is, unseen
But tangible as a hand,
Vulnerable yet enduring
Past anger, illness and
Even death, because time
Cannot diminish this
Being born between us.
Ego Or Soul
You always have to choose,
between your ego or your
soul--
one will deceive you every
damn day, because ego is
a trickster,
a liar,
a cheater,
telling you how great you are,
how smart, how kind…
while the other will always
be honest with you, if--
and it’s a very big if--
you listen to it….
