HOMECOMINGS
AND GOINGS
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, . . . ,”
Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
A class reunion brought us home
From our many roads
Seven decades after we began
To work our way
Through schools
Toward what we would become
I witnessed those roads converge
Across a cocktail aisle
And could not suppress the urge to smile
Gracious hospitality
Friendships refreshed
Noisy stories voiced and heard
A few beers shared
The weather, perfectly clear
Plenty of sun
And a candle was lighted
For those whose courses had been run
We remembered the teachers
Who taught us skills
Today, looking back, those skills
Tidy and useful though they became
Have largely done with me
It’s questions now that freshen me
Urge me to look ahead, not back
For the new, the next
Not the past
Eventually, weekend done
Our internal officers sorted through
Our happy traffic jam
And sent us on our way
Back down our roads again
Mine, dimly lit, suggest to me
There still may be
Something new to see
God’s prod -- past seventy -- to seek maturity
May you enjoy good health and well-lit roads
I remain grateful that my way
Has always been and will continue to be enriched by yours
To the FHS class of 1955
Dennis Keefe
November 21, 2015
Wednesday, October 4, 2023
Monday, September 25, 2023
TWEAK IT
Poems evolve
Read one and wonder
Is it done?
New idea
Tension!
Without it, I’d be nervous
Must be tweaked
How about you?
And your projects
Those flowers that you planted in the spring
Are you enjoying them now?
Or are you anxious to start raking them away?
Why is it so hard to let things be?
Recall something just for fun?
Must be tweaked!
Dis-eases need casting away
New needs allayed
Where would our future be without them?
DRK
11/4/22
Wednesday, July 12, 2023
THE PELICAN PATROL*
cruises the gut,
gliding,
steady as she goes,
heads erect,
eyes low,
looking for
shore life breaking the law.
Silent monitors,
eye-in-the-sky radar,
reporting, for all I know,
with CBs, cell phones or
hush-hush devices not yet available
in the stores.
The pelican patrol
cruises for guts,
fannies and more --
old yankee candles
burning both ends
flirting with heat,
sunburns --
excesses provoking
Mother Nature’s immutable
sunshine laws.
Merciless messengers,
no guardian angels these,
pelicans plead no one’s cases --
burn, baby, burn;
just do their surveillance
then return to their roosts
and place in the sun.
DRK
3/24/11
*
In Lansing, MI, when young people drive their cars up and down the main
drag, looking for whatever young people look for, they call it
"Cruising the gut."
SPACE ETUDE
A summer breeze stirred the boughs
of a Douglas fir
and scented the shade settling from above
while from our feet,
cascading down,
a hillside of grape vines
advertised
years of cultivated love.
Crosswinds of charcoal-seared aromas
teased noses
with picnic promises,
while the circling host and hostess
decanted vineyard hospitality.
The day’s camaraderie, once stirred,
seemed to parade
lingering first at the baby’s crib
then, circling, radiated outward
to the perimeter.
At moonrise
solar lamps directed
the darkening, angled
walk back
down
between tangled
vines and lives.
Thanks to the Gladharts
Dennis R. Keefe
September 21, 2004
THE LAST BIRD WORDS
The roll was taken from the porch,
in whispers,
of those who came to our backyard vespers.
Neighborhood redbirds
and red breasts arrived
with the slipping evening light
to claim their first-come, first-served
roosting rights.
An evening duel ensued
o’er who would have
the last bird words.
The redbirds, last at the feeder,
chirped it shut for the night,
but couldn’t out-wait
the robins’
slow, drawn out antiphons,
warbling down from the trees,
trailing silence through the leaves.
These psalm-like prayers
prompted "Amens"
from those below
not too busy to care
who sang when
or if the last solar lantern
came on before ten.
Dennis R. Keefe, 9/30/12