I heard it fall
It was just a leaf
A tiny dried leaf
Yet when it fell
Alone on the wood porch
I stopped
On that warm, sunny, summer day
A slight chill
Fall foreshadowed
Another season
Suddenly present
© 2016 Thomas W. Cummins
Another Season
September 21, 2016Analemma
June 29, 2016It’s that time of year again. Always eye-catching, thought-provoking.
Analemma
The other morning The PietaA small replica On a shelf Found by the sun Bright and full The sun Straddling the culminating point Of its northward journey Peeks through the window Just so Twice each year Just before Shortly after The summer solstice For a couple of days It warms That lower shelf Why the intrusion? That draws my eyes An intrusion Into my time My time for solitude, contemplation An intrusion
© 2012 Thomas W. Cummins
Staying true to self
October 4, 2015Turmoil and pain from events, even if separated by 30 years, can be reawakened by the words of a poem.
In Desert Run, Mitsuye Yamada reflects upon her family’s time in an internment camp during World War II. In the last stanza are these words:
I cannot stay in the desert
where you will have me nor
will I be brought back in a cage
to grace your need for exotica.
I write these words at night
for I am still a night creature
but I will not keep a discreet distance
If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.
When I re-read those words a few months ago, moments of shunning and rejection came creeping back out of dark passages in my life. Most assuredly, there have been times when I couldn’t/wouldn’t, or can’t/won’t, dance to the tune of someone else. To have done so would have been sacrificial and destructive to my own sense of self and well-being. This isn’t about following instructions or performing job expectations. Rather there have been behavioral and performance expectations of the most unreasonable and servile nature.
What is most interesting to me has been the astonishment and rage, punishment and revenge, observed and experienced as a result. Not bending in order to conform to a misinformed and delusional notion of who I am, or who I should be, comes from my unwillingness to be an enabler. Been there, done that, the ‘walking-on-eggshells’ thing.
As you can see, Ms. Yamada’s poetic reflection struck a nerve with me. Much suffering has come from my resistance. But I must not create a false self to meet unreasonable expectations of others. Nor can I sit idly by and await the next page for me to recite from an unshared and unexplained script. I’ve never been very good at playing guessing games.
If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.
A North-woods Walk
October 1, 2015—∞—
If only words could let me share
But what can they do?
Re-imagining a morning walk
On an hilly dirt road
Through the woods
Past driveways leading down to the lake
To hidden cabins
Early morning rising sun
Leaves bursting with color
Light flirting with shadows among the trees
Aspens shimmering in an unnoticed breeze
It was very cool, if not cold
Hands taking turns
Between pocket and hiking stick
A deer’s follow-me white flag
Bounding, bounding, bounding … gone
At the bottom of a hill
A pair of ducks exploding from a small pond
Little flocks of tiny birds
Gathering something for breakfast
Amidst the weeds and lingering wildflowers
Unnoticed before
The breeze has picked up
And plays with the holes in my walking stick
A horrible flute
Producing a tone that is simply beautiful
Appearing then vanishing
With the rhythm of my gait
An hour later
Back at the cabin
Warm
Invigorated
Sitting by the window
Steaming cup of coffee
Sparking lake beyond the sheltering glass
© 2015 Thomas W. Cummins
Hopeful Anticipation
June 14, 2015An indifferent lake early
Foggy
Monochrome gray
Offering no invitation
To look closer
Approach
Enter
Ride upon
Yet filled
With possibilities
Latent beauty
Much to be revealed
Later
Sparkling blueness
Drawing laughter
From children playing
Those fishing
Waiting in hopeful
Anticipation
Copyright 2015 Thomas W. Cummins
Only silence, stillness, a pause in the dawn
June 11, 2015Morning view at the lake. Only there for a moment, and seen by no one else.
In a dim light... 
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