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Old Sentinel
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Quietly, he watched
With clear, beady eye
Toward snow-freckled landscape,
Ghostly, grey sky.
Frigid wind knifed
Into feathery bone.
Old Canadian Goose
Now completely alone.
Southern fly-ways beckoned
With their annual ring.
Members of his flock
Disappeared on strong wing.
Too old and weak,
No strength left to fly.
Instinct forbade him
To even try.
He honked farewell tiredly
With his remaining might,
As last departing stragglers
Disappeared from sight.
Primary flight feathers,
Ragged, unpreened —
No protection from freezing wind,
Unchecked, unscreened.
Soon white snow
Would blanket the land,
Bringing silent death
To hapless animal and man.
From gosling to maturity,
Years long since gone,
He would die where he hatched
On this small lake he knew as home.
Autumn Leaves
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Father Time once again waves his wand,
Signaling season’s change.
Warm, sunny days surrender quietly
To oncoming snow and rain.
Leaves of multicolor profusion
Play tag upon the wind.
Her arms spread wide, Mother Earth
Awaits patiently for their flight to end.
Carried haphazardly by the winds
And scattered all around.
The winds die down, while leaves still fall,
Fluttering to the ground.
Mother Earth nurtured the trees that gave leaves birth,
Now she will stop and rest.
The leaves will decompose
In time to nurture Mother Earth.
Tree limbs now bare
Move in the wind like long but skinny whips.
Words take shape
And blend on the poet’s lips.
When leaves do fall and the wild goose calls
Backward from the fold,
Brings foreboding melancholy
Creeping o’er my soul.
Unknown to many,
Father Time has his secret reasons.
Falling leaves are just one way
He signals the changing seasons.
My life’s companion strolls beside me
Through the crisp, cold breeze.
We both exalt in season’s change
As we crunch through Autumn Leaves.
Together At Last
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
We’ve traveled many miles,
Both you and I,
Always searching
For when and why.
Our pathways meandered
In different directions,
Overcoming many obstacles,
Mixed with objections.
Dark clouds and emotions
Fulfilled our days,
As we struggled along
Our own separate ways.
The hunger never died,
Instead it actually grew,
Propelling us forward
As life turned its screw.
Let others hoot and moan
Their pitiful dirge,
Because, by mere chance,
Our pathways did merge.
Together we stand
As a powerful shield,
Radiating sunshine’s rays
Which we both wield.
What’s mine is yours;
What’s yours is mine.
We know “who” we are;
Let the others mark time.
Let’s not say forever,
Who can fathom that deep?
Today is enough…
Forever ours to keep.
Random Thoughts
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Oh, Merry Go Round of life,
Treadmill of my dreams,
Concrete jungle,
Polluted Streams.
High-rise buildings blot out the sun,
Smog-filled air,
Slum sections teeming decay
And suppressed life, despair.
A question, urgently stirring
About wings spread and whirring.
Freedom to move in uncluttered space —
Tiny forms darting and blurring.
Will the swallows care to come back to Capistrano?
The Path
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
A son of the dirt since my birth,
I look back without rancor or mirth,
And — I remember.
Polished words did not pass my lips,
Nor fine clothes touch my fingertips,
And — I remember.
Without inheritance in the land,
Through struggles and hunger, I grew into a man,
And — I remember.
Beaten but never bowed,
In the School of Hard Knocks I was endowed,
And — I remember.
Wealth and power were never my goal.
I wanted water for thirst, food for my soul,
And — it happened.
No longer hungry or thirsty, I’m fed and gird.
I’m finding the answers, written in the Word,
And — I won’t forget.
I’ve found the path that’ll take me home,
And I’ll go in peace, remembering,
As I say, “Shalom!”
Wapiti
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
I’ve climbed snow-capped mountains,
Searched lush valleys below.
I’ve trekked through high aspen meadows,
Drinking where hidden streams flow.
I’ve climbed over lofty crags
And walked through wildflower meadows where you roam.
I’ve smelled spruce-laden air
In the untamed beauty you trod and know as home.
I’ve searched when hot and thirsty,
Muscles crying out in pain.
I’ve hunted while wet and hungry
Against your allies, snow and rain.
When matching wits, my hunter’s tricks
Have all seemed to fail,
Yet your courage and strength never falter
As nature helps you prevail.
Each year, aspen trees
Begin wearing coats of red and gold,
When campfires flicker in the mountains
Against night air, crispy cold.
My ears strain to catch a bugle call,
Which splits the clean, clear air.
The mighty stag, Wapiti,
Is moving in his lair.
Yes, I’ll answer his ringing challenge,
For not to respond would cause me pain.
It’s time to once more play hide-and-seek
On his terms, in his terrain.
Outdoorsman
This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:
Open country, clear streams,
Fresh air, wild life and green trees,
Rugged beauty,
Fresh sights and smells
Enter the body in two’s and three’s.
Clarion mating call of the bull elk in rut.
Outdoorsman life style —
That’s the one for me!
wfosterwelborn 