Late Trio

(c) R.L.K.

1. Haiku

A windy morning;
bare branches bend as if to
touch their own shadows.

2. Somebody's Refrain

Take that bottle of whiskey down from the shelf,
Pass it around and let's sing us a few
Of the good old songs. What can we do?
December is here and winter is going to be itself.

3. Tanka

Cold rain. The year is
winding down. You are reading
a book you have read
before. Outside, on the hill,
the pine trees bask in moonlight.

November Syllabics

(C) R.L.K.

(Autumnal)
-+-

Days of dusty sunlight
and threadbare memories.

(So Long)
-+-

Rains of yesterday
remembered today.

(Lost)
-+-

Hear the wind's ragged song!
The trees have thinned to air.

(The Neighborhood)
-+-

On these old streets
the buildings were
made for sunless
days; they are things
to be seen through
falling rain, dream-
like, yet real.

Lakeside

(C) R.L.K.

1.
Chilly afternoon;
Someone picks up a pebble
From a wave-washed shore.

2.
After the downpour
The first ray of sunlight slants
Across a tin roof.

3.
Night. Between the clouds,
A pale moon pours light down on
An empty harbor.

The Poet in the Realm of the Philosophers

(C) R.L.K.

....
We could say a symbol is like a rock
Dropped in a pool, sending out ripples
In every direction. We could speak of the need
To search for a metaphor, words of power,
Whatever it takes when confronting reality.

....
Think of it: a summer afternoon when
The rain comes, and with it the smell
Of dampness and dust that links today
With yesterdays on quiet side streets.

....
It's a world of things, and things in the world
Can slip away, or change in familiar ways,
As when a blue sky goes gray on an autumn day
While you sit on a park bench, alone, considering
The fall of the leaves, the briefness of it all.

....
There are nights cold enough for snow, yet cloudless,
When the moonlight falls into place, in an old place,
And the sound of the wind is the sound of the world.

....
Consider a day in spring: the geese
Returning, the willows swaying together,
Merging green with green, the sun
Lingering a little longer...

Prose Poem

(C) R.L.K.

Keeping in time, there’s a song we might sing, ‘Tis Autumn, season of change, of loss and of gain, a mosaic of summer and winter and spring; blue haze in the air, rustling red yellow gold leaves relinquished, afloat, afloat, falling, falling then returning to the circling winds. Now come the mists in the morning, the quiet afternoons when the brook drowses in its stony bed, the caws of crows in the dusk, the harvest moonlight and the stars’ frosty twinkle. And again, the last creakings of the swings, the thin old brooms sweeping the porches, the roadside grasses ripening with seeds, the sunlight streaming down on the asters, the orange gleam of the sugar maples, the far hilltops shimmering; rare days, days of coolness and calm.

Lunar Quartet

(C) R.L.K.

a moonlit night -
shaky old boxcars roll
slowly over the bridge
.
beside the still lake
the vagabond takes
the moonbeam path
.
weariness…
a thin white moon hangs
over the gnarled trees
.
at dawn
a high wasted half-moon
lingering

Dreamer to Dreamer

(C) R.L.K.

(For Gloria)

Here it is, another Sunday. The morning is almost gone,
A morning that has done little more than make rain puddles
On the sidewalk, and here we are, sitting on the front porch
Of an old house in an old neighborhood. Summer, too,
Is almost gone, and some of the trees have started
Tossing their leaves into the wind. Going, gone…
So much is already gone, yet here we are,
Waiting for a rift in the clouds to let sunlight
Shine on the damp grass, waiting for the rare leaf
That a smiling child will catch in flight.

Sestet

(C) R.L.K.

This August Sunday lingers long;
From hill to meadow, grass stems leap
In a bright wind. Birdsong
Fills the air. The sky is a deep
Blue. No cloud comes or goes.
Under the bridge the old river flows.

Especially Now

(C) R.L.K.

1.
morning clouds part -
a sparrow on a pine branch
welcomes the sunlight

2.
afternoon warmth -
now & then a tune
from the wind chimes

3.
midsummer night -
after her train departs...
stars & silence

Mostly Blue

(C) R.L.K.

(pieces for accompaniment by saxophone and piano)

....
It rained today, a soft steady rain,
falling from morning on into the afternoon,
falling slowly, surely, soaking the summer grass.
....
And here it comes again:
Another blue melody,
Another song about the rain
And the distance between you and me.
....
lines
of
rain
inching
down
on
an
empty
street
....
And at night, in the backyard,
the sound of rain dripping
from invisible leaves.

Materia Poetica

(C) R.L.K.

We speak of such things: the dreamy song
of a sparrow on a June morning
when fog hugs the shadows, or
the clouds that skim the rooftops
on a December night. We consider
what we consider: a season and its weather.
We speak of things, and so we speak
of the state of our world, at a given time.

hours (contemporary haiku)

(C) R.L.K.

morning dew --
the softness
of a parting word
….
low clouds all afternoon --
alone in the town square
a wet sparrow
….
the willows at twilight --
old friends
sharing the silence
….
hazy moonlight --
in the distance
a lone boat on the lake

Solo Renga

(C) R.L.K.

Warm windy evening --
The streetlamps shine
among the maples.

Few and far between:
glistening raindrops.

The leaves shake,
stop,
then shake again.

A door opens;
someone goes through.

Far off, a train whistle --
the old dog on the porch
continues to doze.

Patches of shadow
on damp pavement.

It’s this world,
it’s a different world…
here.

Untitled, Perhaps?

(C) R.L.K.

Something like this, if it happens, can happen
when least expected, perhaps less than a week
after the funeral of a close friend. One day you notice
the window brightening early. You rise and look out
at the redbud trees in full bloom against
a sky blue beyond blue. There is no sound
but birdsound, and no need to wonder what comes next.

Triad

(C) R.L.K.

JUST SO:
over the willows
a great blue heron climbs
toward the sunrise

THEN:
day clouded over --
we step off the porch
into spring rain

AND:
at gilded twilight
a silence slowly stretches out
across the pond

Tanka

(C) R.L.K.

1.
How strange , after all
these years, to think of her now,
just because the wind
is warm and the moonlight is
pouring down through the young leaves.

2.
Just one of those days:
sitting here on the porch with
little to do but
watch the sky turn hazy blue
after the rain ends.

Listening to "The Last Mile Home"

(C) R.L.K.

It is a Saturday morning and a soft rain
is falling on the grass in your grandparents’ yard.
Your bicycle, leaning against the old shed, will be ready
when the time comes (for surely the rain will stop falling
and there will always be time to ride laughing
through the countless tree-lined streets). For now,
there is the big chair on the porch to sit on,
there are the shapes of the clouds passing by,
and there is that sweet melody you hear
coming from the radio in the kitchen, and you,
and the people you love, are humming along.

Winter Fragments

(C) R.L.K.

1.
Morning radio
Bleats the news that is no news.
Wind rattles the panes.

2.
A few white snowflakes fall
On a few black trees.
Someone has gone away.

3.
Chilly night.
A weary moon drags itself
Across a cloud-ragged sky.

One More for the Old Philosopher

(C) R.L.K.

This possible world is the real world,
For now, and nothing but the world of things
Experienced every day-- this world
In which we move and have our being.
Ask this: can this possible world possibly
Be improved by imagining it improved?
Think of those moments, as in the morning,
When the shadows of pine trees
Patch the hillside grass. Think
Of those moments, as in the evening,
When moonlight glistens on the rooftops.

Back Then

(C) R.L.K.

[For Gloria]

We were as innocent as we were going
to be, that cool windy day, standing
on the shore, watching the fog blanket
the distant city, knowing that the sound
of the surf was beautiful, needing nothing more.

Saying Goodbye

(C) R.L.K.

["For her soul and the souls of all
the faithful departed..."]

What is there now? This damn damp weather,
this too-gray morning soon to be lost,
the space in a world that is emptier,
and the silence inside this funeral car
while broken raindrops slide down the windows.

Cinqku

(C) R.L.K.

1.
empty
moonlit beach -
for a moment
the evening is merely
itself

2.
color
of a cloud,
lost flying ghost
of sadness: the gull in
winter

3.
tonight
a cold wind,
and once again,
a sense of the old coat's
thinness

Jottings

(C) R.L.K.

Winter twilight.
Boxcars silhouetted against the sky.
….
The season and its weather -
something emerging from mere potentiality,
something we chance upon.
….
The frail fleeting days.
Crescent moon, cluster of stars,
so many lives in motion.
….
Don’t you wonder sometimes
where the next train’s bound?
….
Bridges. Distance.
The sound of the wind.
….
Where to go,
beneath what lonely cloud
to wander?
….
How
softly
the
snow
falls
on
the
cobblestones.

Departing/Arriving

(c) R.L.K.

1.
They are gone, leaf &
blossom; now a moon of ice
shines on the bare trees.

2.
From the depot roof
crows stare at the sleet falling
on the empty tracks.

3.
A quiet moment;
dawn's bright colors dance across
the snow-cloaked prairie.