Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
A Hike at a Bluff’s Edge
April 24, 2012
An apparent pause
Pulls the trail to the bluff’s edge
Ancient, carved limestone
Overlooking the river winding far below
Loose gravel invites a peek
Beauty fills with fleeting terror
In my throat
A metallic tingle holds me still
Behind and away the path descends
Through deep forest ravines
A lone woodpecker’s distant tap
Reveals a welcoming and comforting silence
© 2012 Thomas W. Cummins
Visit to Donna Brown’s – Door County
April 21, 2012In August, 1994, we visited the art studio of Donna Brown in Door County, Wisconsin. I wrote a brief reflection at that time on her working environment and the paintings hanging on the walls. We purchased one painting which hangs in our guest bathroom.
The cats looked like little rags On the rocker near Stretched out sound asleep Yellow lab taking up Rug by the work table She sat there so peacefully String trio competing Rattling windows, bent hollyhocks He sat painting – motionless Hanging among the flowers Golden hair peeking earlier Under garage door saying, “Hi.” Eating berries, cat held Head by face full length Down body hanging Later “helping mom” at Hardi© 1994 Thomas W. Cummins
Brick Patio
April 21, 2012From my desk drawer archive:
Moss takes over as One might who owns these red bricks Always damp, shady
© 1995 Thomas W. Cummins
I’m reminded
April 20, 2012Another blogger’s work reminded my of several haiku languishing in my desk
Mark Twain knew them well Paddle-powered beasts of Burden spewing ash
6/24/95
A Small Upper Window
April 15, 2012A Small Upper Window
A light is seen through the treetops A small window on an upper floor It’s late Someone must be reading Or can’t sleep Perhaps an attendant is there The building looms in the dark Like a castle Sitting on a hill Stone Stories tall and a block long But that one small window … there’s a light on I imagine a castle keep A safe place, caring, secure Or a tower A prisoner’s room, lonely, confined Possibly either or both Only the occupant knows on a particular day Maybe that’s my room someday In that old nursing home on the hill How will I see things? Filled with hope and gratitude or despair? Grace-filled or having been forsaken? In peaceful surrender or stubborn resistance? That light, that window So peaceful looking Against that immense silhouette Light does that to darkness Even the smallest glow Brings reflection, imaginings, questions© 2012 Thomas W. Cummins


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