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Two Poems by H. R. Coursen

 

15 September 09

 

I.

 

It is one of Keats’s days, touching

fruitfulness and wild blossoms.

The Goldenrod and Queen Anne

are forgetful (a section of strings)

drowsy with autumn’s song,

diminuendo down columns of final light

coming at last to cold,

deep now before the crystal quiet.

 

II.

 

A hint of winter

in the wind,

as sunlight rides shadows past,

awash in the blue auditorium

of autumn’s long

slide past leaves coming to gold,

and losing grip on any season.

 

III.

 

It is one of Keat’s days, touching

a hint of winter,

fruitfulness and wild blossoms

in the wind.

The Golden Rod and Queen Anne

(as sunlight rides shadows past)

are forgetful, a section of strings

awash in the blue auditorium,

drowsy with autumn’s song

with autumn’s long

diminuendo down columns of final light,

slide past leaves coming to gold

coming at last to cold,

and losing grip on any season,

deep now before the crystal quiet

 

 

 

18 Revisited

 

Shall I compare thee to a winter storm?

No. Wind will ease and sun will touch again

on crystal mountains, and, at last, the rain

will rinse the ice away, and May will warm

the earth for flowers and the thrush will tell

the twilight to wait upon a longer sky.

And fair weather cumulus will skim that high

horizon, above the lilac and blue bell.

 

Thy eternal winter does not relent.

Your bare December does not yield, no,

but shrivels to a frozen field, so

no step is safe, no smile is relevant.

When once our love was young, and far away

was winter weather. But that was yesterday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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