Poem for the Solstice

Sunlight before seven and birds begin singing

clear music from a shy thrush deep in the woods

then orderly cadence   a song sparrow's greeting

uproar like a bazaar in orchard and bramble

proud are those song birds with established estates

brave red winged blackbirds riding on hawk's backs

purposeful finches mature in a season

Listen

a quince bush is scratching the window

pollen from pussy willow   daffodil   alder

settles dry and dusty on the skin of her throat

as mallards wedge the lake he moistens her kisses

hands gentle in movement    calloused by fence posts

hard work   molding and smoothing year after year

it's good to plant borage for long honey flow

and people also should sing

©  Dick Russell, 2017

An earlier version was published in Whidbey Island Loon

                                Near Nevern Square

She who tormented Yeats' middle years

plaguing his dreams with dying swans

with visions of blood and mascara smears

wanders unnoticed   a walking recluse

with golden hair and flowing robes long sleeved

she lives on   who once was Yeats' muse

her powers ebbing because unbelieved

in Earls Court   London   near the Great West Road

she listens for nightingales in vain

no flash of fiddles    but punks in woad

when at evening time Yeats spied her

by railings guarding a tree-filled square

waiting for someone to bring her flowers

or notice the spangles in her long  long hair

he passed on by

                        hurrying to his room

to confront despair in the long night hours

a modern theme    where poet and muse commune

divorced lovers on whom fortune glowers

©  Dick Russell, 2012

To a Taoist Hermit

Today   at work in the White House

I felt a sudden chill in my heart

you who live alone on the mountain

gathering wood beside a plunging stream

will be boiling white stones for food

I want to bring you a gourd of wine

to cheer you in this time of rain and wind

but the empty mountains are vast

falling leaves fill the paths

how could I find my way again

                                    Wei Ying-Wu

                                    T'ang Dynasty

                                    translated by David Sen, Dick Russell
                                     revised March 2017, Dick Russell

                                    Published in Chapman Chinese Issue, Scotland, 1972

Ode to a Paper Clip

                        -i-

Paper Clip   the name of a horse running

in the third race at Belmont   out of Steel

Thread by Shapely Curves   losing to Dunning

Letter and Your Check Attached     no payout

so unless I please the gods with this ode

Paper Clip goes to the glue factory

                        -ii-

Sing to me of the paper clip   O muse

tell the glory of this print age item

tell how paper clips saved the nation

tell how they imposed order on chaos

Usefulness    that’s why paper clips survive

they sheaf together key facts of life

original signed documents   the scrip

of legality   birth   citizenship

a marriage

Useful

 in more ways than one they thrive

if Zeus had had his papers clipped to Hera’s

they’d still be together not all alone

unworshipped

each in a void of absence

each growing older   indistinguishable

from iron dust staining the stream bed red

where water trickles down from Olympus

Ease of use

Paper clips come as they are   with

no prohibitions against misuse

Plastic paper clips   more prone to snap than

the metal paper clips I prefer

can be strung into necklaces   bizarre

gifts perhaps   but effective therapy

Always pick up a paper clip if found

under employed   alone

& put to work   else anarchy ensue

disorder dominate your day

They work well with an opposable thumb

in moments of stress they can be straightened

Don’t use as a pick   don’t pierce an eardrum

straighten two a day in case of burn out

©  Dick Russell, 2012

Sand

They lay long side to their love
              sand       an elbow hard in the rib
                      sea soft and vulnerable

they clutched and twined fingers
            easing the pain    tell of the time
                      when lovers lay in the sand

memory tells him he counted from ten
            wind graining abacusand
                      the sand has subtracted since then

if they were children
           they both might have cried
                    their child-like castles built in the sand

for sea swollen waves met and crashed
          and they drowned with their hopes
                    as they lay in the splash

©  Dick Russell, 2012

Green Eyes

Green Eyes

                     for EM

Green eyes in the swing
of her long black hair

she sat enclosed in a tear
rolling his cheek

green eyes   a blue dress
wild  black hair

she left him a coin
he threw at the moon

Celtic   gleaming
green were her eyes

in the swing of a strand
of her black   wild   hair




© Dick Russell, 2012