GHOSTS IN THE QUAD

We                                                         

drift in unseen

to view vacant places

when others leave.

Podiums, distinguished chairs,

or various labs –

once our commands –

now, haunts,

hallowed campus spaces

through which we used to volley

lectures, handouts,                                  

and other old tools of the trade

at targets

claiming to seek betterment.                

Now we catch our wind,       

amazed at today’s ways

passing through

our faded substance.

                              

With no grindstones to nose,

we enjoy the pleasures

of gardens, bookstores, libraries,

old pathways and cafes, 

and scavenge for hints of the leavings,

we once thought useful –

enough to will to a future –

which now requests

money.      

DRK

7/29/09
7/7/16

   NOVEMBER EXTRA-
ORDINAIRE

The best November asset
just may
be the ride one gets
when Advent’s cusp is passed
and it’s a downhill thrill
to Christmas day.

A young man,
three years in public service
    . . . promoting service . . .
stirred us up
with indiscriminate love affairs,
attracting followers everywhere
and cascading consequences
down to us today.

Never mind the fears that had him treed.
We cling to the news
that he was raised and we were freed
to continue his love story.

And as our November now wears on,
growing its darkness and creepy cold
I question my love affairs.
Are they warm enough?  Consequent free?
Do they light up too few?
And whom do I excuse
as too . . . too?

Come in . . . bring some wood for the fire.
We’ll use candles for atmosphere.
And while we’re here
let’s pause.
Honor the mother
who grew that babe
and cradled his desire
to learn to serve.

Y’all come, y’hear.

DRK
3/30/11

    NOVEMBER BETWEEN REVISITED

Went out to the pool to see,
but the grandchildren hadn’t come today
Instead the sun directed me
to warmed breezes
doing hands free massage

In the background, children’s summer noises
Could I use this stolen time?
Maybe compose a rhyme?
But Mother Nature silenced me
It was her turn
Oh, Mama, do your thing
and continue slowly, please

Was it really that good?
Or do I somehow misremember?

This is, after all, November.

Time to hunker down
build a fire and await
the first snowfall

Gatherings for the holidays

Is it too early to decorate?

Will it be that great
or do I misanticipate?

This is, after all, still just November.


DRK
6/11/11

    NOVEMBER REVISITED

Today’s array
of browns and grays
rouses memories
of teenage hunting days -- 
a few pheasants in the weeds,
but mostly cottontails
darting through the brush.
And all the while my buddies and I
harbored dreams of
something WILD.

Above in V’s
ducks and geese took their November leaves --
to exchange icing ponds and chilling air
for exotic who-knows-wheres.
They traveled fast
they traveled high,
like hell-bent SSTs.
We could but stare --
their reach, so far beyond our ken
or youthful hunting expertise.

But any day that we were there,
eager for what came our way,
trophies were bagged,
dragged home and magnified
in the stories we shaped
and would recall.

November, the perfect loom
to weave warp against woof,

imagination and a zest for living,
against autumns coarser fibers.


DRK
6/11/10

 

 

 

 NOVEMBER BETWEEN

                                                          

Spring drama and summer booty, now cached,

once again Mother Nature changes hats

and Gaudy October yields

to muted November’s aging fields.

Their many shades of browns and grays

underscore our shortening days.

At the fence, long rows

of brown corn stubble lead

to a spray of empty trees.

         Fans framing space

with limbs,

once lost in summer’s earnest greenery,                  

now, chilled,

reveal the interstitial beauty

of their gray twigged filigree.

Come inside.

Let’s toast nature’s annual evening time;

         Let fall your leaves,

         and sag your sap.

Enjoy Mother Nature’s windy music in the cracks.

We’ll light her logs and pour her wine.

Anticipate.

         She’ll soon unpack

         her stunning winter wardrobe wrap.                        

Dennis R. Keefe

November, 2008

 

STROBE LIGHT

 

November sky drive

Low sunshine staccato rays

Through denuded trees

 

DRK

11/11/2023

 

 

LIGHTING VETERANS’ DAY

Our oldest light,

long in dim,

leaped,

recharged,

         Our star shooting through the night,

on veterans’ day

         to a site

         unknowable

         but boldly measured.

“Woke up this mornin’ with my Lord

Hang on, Jesus”

– her Lord of the living and now living with  the Lord –

“Woke up this mornin’ with my Lord . . . “

. . . in that lovely dwelling place

where the Son,

withholding no favors

bestows honor

on mothers
among others.

Another light to magnify the Lord.

Another light illuminating ancient words

that bookmark our lives.                                                                     

Inside, we greet,

view what’s left

and ponder the rest.

Outside, in the night,

Christmas parade lights form,

and stretch the street

back up the hill –

glowing lights

blinking, milling,

building

momentum –

some running mini laps

around girl scouts’ caps                                                                                             

then,

illuminating our holiday choices,

move away

         trailing

                  their

                           effects

                                             through

                                                               town.

Christmas will have its due.

Dennis R. Keefe

Oct. 29, 2019

November 17, 2007