The children’s hour …

April, 1976
the children outside the window …

In the quiet of dusk
the sun slips slowly
behind the trees

I sit and listen
while the children
outside the window
strut along the avenue
laugh aloud
and sing strange melodies
I cannot comprehend

I am content as I sit here
Smile quietly and watch
The hurried traffic below

Could I transform the branch of a tree
The blade of grass
To reach out long, cool limbs
To hold you close to me

I am so peaceful here
Feel the warm blue mist
Of night settle down next to me

And the children outside the window
Raise merry voices to the sky
They run mad circles and chase down
The setting sun
As I hasten to give them
The song I hold near


Fire Island … August 22, 1977
A house in the sun …

I don’t like seeing so much
In the eyes
Housed so perfectly
In the world
Hung so harmoniously
In the universe

So much darkness
In a place of sun

Where is the place
For the human heart
To ache

When do the eyes cry
The arms rest from the
Weight of emptiness

How does cloth weave with the
Loose threads of
Tomorrow’s dream

So much darkness
In a place of sun


Fire Island … August, 1976
A vacation without the children

Soft murmurs of the night
Soft as a baby’s sigh
Like my baby girl’s cry
My little boy’s goodbye

Alone I walk down the lane
Towards the sea
and hear the sounds of night

The busy hind legs of
The cricket
As he beckons his mate
from a darkened bush

I miss their particular noises
Her curly head on my chest
His short legs as they run to
Catch me at play

I sit and watch waves
Move in low tide
Crash land against the white sand
Of the lonely shore

I see their happy faces
As the bright red sun
Falls to the ocean floor

The sounds of small noises
Faint like a gentle rain
bathed in the twilight of
This night

I am missing my
Two mufflers against the outside world
And my nightly visit to the
Electric silent “E”
The mad search for lost socks
forgotten pajama bottoms

I miss their plea for just
One more show
One more story
One more glass of water

While I walk along this
Pristine beach
They happily drive their dad
Steadily up the wall
He’s out of practice

Damn, I miss their noises
And hasten from this
Sun drenched island
To be with my babies once more


fOIS In The City

(1) Outside my window (2) House in the sun (3) Path to the beach


Filed under Poetry Wednesday

5 responses to “The children’s hour …

  1. christicorbett

    You write beautifully and capture the moment perfectly with your words.

    Christi Corbett


  2. DM

    So very nice – pics and poems. Refreshing.


  3. laradunning

    Wonderful poems. I like that you included the date and a small reference. It gave me a sense of perspective and a look through your eyes.


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