LEGACY

Wake-up coffee

And

We’ve got mail!

Somebody sent us

A word puzzle

With family clues

HAPPY ANNIVESARY!!

December 21

Golden!

            How did they do that?

Outside, Aaron

Staking up yard signs

Boldly announcing to passers-by

“Happy Fiftieth, Dennis and Carole”

            His own idea

            Or a three-sib conspiracy?

The neighbors, prompted,

Stopped by

With “Hellos!” and “Congratulations!”

           

That evening

Dressing for dinner

What?

In our yard!

Luminaria!!

            I counted seventy-three

Each with a lighted candle

Sneakery with industry

            Thanks to Aaron and his daughter, Emily

At dinner with friends

And their champagne

A server’s alert --

Save room for dessert!

            Marya called it in from Chicago

At evening’s end

Tired, we tried to put to bed

Ourselves and our memories

From this special day

But the next morning

A sunrise surprise

Church friends who, unlike us

Had read the morning paper

Brought our attention to

            Our picture and anniversary story

            Who did that?

We looked pretty good in our finery

From Louisa and Mike’s wedding last year

The luminaria, which delighted

Were removed the next day

De-lighted

And our life goes on

But with a persistent grin

Confirming again

The blessings

Of our legacy

Hail to these three

And those in the future

They choose to regale

DRK

1/30/2019

MY WIFE

multiplies life.

    Beware her fertile ground
    or grow.

Children top
but don’t exhaust
her list.

In need,
the one they call.

Indeed,
anticipates,
calls.

The rest of us know

God’s good deal.

    The two, in league,
    unwritten,
    nods, winks.
 
    Warm rains
    freshen her gardens. 

Tend-er.

DRK
6/18/13

TWO QUEENS    

Gargoyles perched

on Mary’s church;

buttresses flew

o’er fenestration blue.

Chartres’ ancient hands extend

to yet one more pilgrim band.

Saints, sinners, citizens,

common and royal --

statues, weather-grained,

usher visitors through portals

to darkened

mystery spaces, designed

by masons.

Crusader booty from Arabia,

they crafted pointed arches and porticoes

with compasses and

arcane mathematical ratios.

The gray ghost-lit columns

prop pointed arches --

and greet,

guild by guild,

         window by dedicated window,

the furriers, the tanners

the carpenters, and coopers,

the stone workers, the shoemakers

glass makers and bakers:

         first come, first served builders

still attending Mary’s sacred maternal court.

We approached the crossing

with measured steps:

nave, apse, choir, transepts.

Honoring Mary at center court.

Mother of Him,

mediator for all who seek,

patient moderator of their childlike rivalries

(Rose colored political volleys

launch across her throne.).

Her grand vista: round windows,

roses,

ancient glass

passing left, right and center,

jewel-lighting her sacred space.

Back home,

in a white  lighted,

         medic space, mystery free,

a town lined up to see

a dying country queen.

Unaware of her care-giver court,

and white curtain vistas:

         children, friends, waiting,

         assisting,

         time running short.

No eternal favors to give,

her family not divine,

she still united her pilgrims one last time –

a collected expression

of today’s goodby,

missing mysteries of the yesterdays,

that fed her generation

and led them to their time to die.

Events

would send her

through parlor, church, procession and tent.

We came to honor and remember

an old  life newly spent.

Atop the earthy end

of what remained

roses’ pained aromas

were left to ascend. 

Dennis R. Keefe

July 2, 2007

Those familiar with Henry Adams will recognize ideas from his Mont St. Michel and Chartres.

YOUR PLACE OR MINE?                                      

        

Do people perk your brew?

Motivate, energize, and keep in touch with you?

Are you on the phone, the net

Know who’s where and doing what?                       

Good at sizing people up?

Like to meet, team, schmooz, socialize

even when relaxing?                

I have friends who find that taxing.

Bad to take a rest from the rest of us,

they are on the roof shingling,

instead of at receptions mingling.

Like to get physical, morphing things with tools –

flowers on the patio

or easels in the studio.

Klutzy me, a putz with things or people.

My muses entice me inside

to dream and wander,

ponder thoughts, not groups or pots.

What excites or comforts you?                                          

Do you dabble between talents,

change leopard spots?

Your genius may be . . . balance.

Wherever you like to hang your hat

may you visit it often –

and get away from where you’re paid

to race those rats.

Dennis R. Keefe

Dec. 22, 2008