The Outdoor Poet: "Turning 70 at a B&B at Clear Lake"
http://hilltromper.com/article/outdoor-poet-richard-levine
Levure Litteraire: Several Poems
Turning Seventy at a B&B on Clear Lake
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And the jagged hills didn’t monitor my heart
Nor the grebes on the lake float their separate ways.
Lost friends and lovers flitted through my mind
Like the yellow-bellied warblers in the sedge.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
I was reading a book about Caravaggio
Short-lived sinner/saint of light and shadow
As the grebes on the lake fluttered their separate ways.
Then two of the birds paired off, their fluid necks
And pressed breasts forming a heart that soothed my own.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
My wife and I held hands and stared in wonder
As the mates dove down for some grass to offer each other
While the rest of the grebes floated their separate ways.
They rose to their feet and skied off together so fast
And so far they left a wake of winking water.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And seen the grebes on the lake dance away.
—First published in Tule Review, Fall 2012; nominated for Pushcart Prize.
Peek-a-Boo
At two he likes to crawl
Under people’s sweaters
And stare out at the woven room
Womb-warm in muffled expectancy
Between dreaming and being awake
Disappearing and being seen
Wiggling his legs to draw you
To his secret place saying
“Peek-a-boo, I see you”
While he giggles and giggles.
I too like to sit
In cafes in mid-winter
Where the warmth of gathered bodies
Mists the windows over
And people talk to one another
Or stare at their phones
Luring them to ring-a-ding
So they can shout “I’m here, I’m here”
As I peek at them while reading
Needing to be found out.
Turning Seventy at a B&B on Clear Lake
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And the jagged hills didn’t monitor my heart
Nor the grebes on the lake float their separate ways.
Lost friends and lovers flitted through my mind
Like the yellow-bellied warblers in the sedge.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
I was reading a book about Caravaggio
Short-lived sinner/saint of light and shadow
As the grebes on the lake fluttered their separate ways.
Then two of the birds paired off, their fluid necks
And pressed breasts forming a heart that soothed my own.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
My wife and I held hands and stared in wonder
As the mates dove down for some grass to offer each other
While the rest of the grebes floated their separate ways.
They rose to their feet and skied off together so fast
And so far they left a wake of winking water.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And seen the grebes on the lake dance away.
—First published in Tule Review, Fall 2012; nominated for Pushcart Prize.
Copyright 2014, Richard Michael Levine
Turning Seventy at a B&B on Clear Lake
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And the jagged hills didn’t monitor my heart
Nor the grebes on the lake float their separate ways.
Lost friends and lovers flitted through my mind
Like the yellow-bellied warblers in the sedge.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
I was reading a book about Caravaggio
Short-lived sinner/saint of light and shadow
As the grebes on the lake fluttered their separate ways.
Then two of the birds paired off, their fluid necks
And pressed breasts forming a heart that soothed my own.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day.
My wife and I held hands and stared in wonder
As the mates dove down for some grass to offer each other
While the rest of the grebes floated their separate ways.
They rose to their feet and skied off together so fast
And so far they left a wake of winking water.
Suppose for a moment I hadn’t turned seventy that day
And seen the grebes on the lake dance away.
—First published in Tule Review, Fall 2012; nominated for Pushcart Prize.
Copyright 2015 Richard Michael Levine . All rights reserved.
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