Still Waters Mike Nierste

Copyright © 2022 by Michael Nierste

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Dedicated to friends and family

ISBN 9798360220978

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A long note about brevity

There are several very short poems in here. Many are more traditional lengths, contained to one page, never more than two pages, but there are a large number that are very brief. Some poems are comprised of two or very few lines. Since something this short does not match more traditional forms I thought I would try to explain myself.

Part of what I like about poetry is that it states an idea in very few words. I feel the same way about jokes, move to the punchline already. While I have a lot of longer poems in this collection, I cut many to or wrote them with very few lines. As I read poetry, it is frequently only a very small turn of phrase or succinctly stated idea that I treasure about the work so I have tried to emphasize only or almost only those key expressions and ideas. The refrain that sticks with you after you hear a song, or that so called “hook” in modern songs that captures the core idea is an essential component I value. You might think of the short poem as the refrain. Yes, sometimes I need or want to hear the whole song, and many of these poems are longer versions, but I frequently prize only the key phrase or idea.

Many poetry forms change from the first popularized and later traditional formats. For instance, sonnets were almost always 14 lines of iambic pentameter for centuries, but frequently these days every rule, including sonnet length, rhyme and structure are frequently broken. This collection has various short forms including; concrete, cinquain, Fibonacci, rictameter, limerick, naani, gogyohka, modified sonnet, modified nonet, haiku, senryu, tanka and other unspecified short poems that are not designated with any “form”.

Brevity is part of what appealed to me when I first started writing haiku. Most of the included are “American” haiku, senryu, and tanka forms which also vary from the structure I was first taught in school. As mentioned in grammar.yourdictionary.com, rules for haiku have changed, The Academy of American Poets asserts, "As the form evolved, many of these rules - including the 5-7-5 practice - have routinely been broken. However, the philosophy of haiku has been preserved: the focus on a brief moment in time; a use of provocative,

colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden enlightenment and illumination."…are present in this short form. I put them in a separate section since they are untitled. While some of my shorter poems cannot be read in one breath, I tried to keep them short and more focused on the point.

I allowed myself a few extra lines to wax poetic on occasion. For instance, in A Poem Is (which is a poem about poems) I wrote several extra lines to help complete the idea. It is one of the longest poems in the collection. I complain about overwrought ramblings in one of the poems called We Watch TV and it is, ironically, a little longer than most.

I wanted to prepare you for the fact that there are some shorter length poems in here. So, before I go on for too long about brevity, maybe it is enough to say I hope that in this brief collection, some short portion of a poem or a shorter poem will stay with you for a while, or at least linger in your mind a little longer.

Freshwater

Lake Michigan

This Tiny Drop

reincarnated as it has been again and time again persisting until stones turn tiny cuts into creeks slowing, flowing falling suddenly becoming waterfall filling rivers with the rest of the restored billions of millions of times becoming slack tide and roaring ocean waves this tiny drop resting in the palm of my hand pooling in the crevices of my life line

I swallow

I Dream

Falling asleep problem solving is slowly supplanted as reason surrenders to random thoughts of who knows what or where.

Wondering, wandering far, to and from the dark sculpture called sleep.

Scattered seeds settle into slumber’s soil, yielding what comes when letting go.

Finally finding rest while not pursuing anything. Drifting, fragments don’t quite fit daytime sensibility. They are faint images or sensations riding a river from this afternoon’s walk from the dive into the deep end of the pool from a moment two weeks before from some place green I can’t quite make out from many memories and imagination to a place unknown.

Some ashen shades form nightmares haunted with ghostly white nightgowns.

Sometimes I fall, or search in vain for something lost. Rarely dreams are color-scaped, scraped from some recent recollection. Another slice sweeps in from many days gone by as memories fill till they’re an eyelash under full.

Fleeting feelings fly by or float to the banks of some murky pond or ride an ocean wave where thoughts are restored, where recollections sometimes stick till morning through the plays that play out behind closed lids. Though most escape and then I wake and dream again.

We Are Paddling

gazing at towering limestone walls overhead reflecting sunlight blends with shadows showing years of wearing down to form a place where we are

wondering how water keeps soothing and deepening the cuts accelerating through deep waters and slowing in shallows, sometimes we are

grinding to a stop pushing out, only to find stony protuberances tipping us from their hiding place beneath the surface as we are setting a course not intended driving to a shore, unexpected until bumping the bank, pausing again we are

climbing into shallow waters finding boot-sucking mud carrying canoe bottom from stream belly back to flowing waters again till finally we are

tipping on giant boulders mixing treacherous and bucolic scenes then barely righting the canoe and with all our might paddling to stay upright, till we are

looking up at towering limestone walls overhead and out at waters reflecting what is up and down, in and out, and all around, until we are scraping to a halt.

Fishing (The Lure of Solitude)

The lure starts working when the line hits water. Then you feel that tug. Reeling one in almost casts an incantation.

Fishing is, of course, a little bit about the fish, but not very much. The days when you catch nothing may be the best.

A loon’s call turns your head until you find a raft of loons floating on open water. A blue jay’s cry sends your ears into the cover of trees until a burst of blue breaks through.

Ospreys dive from overhead, and emerge with a fish of their own or empty claws.

A woodpecker’s tapping echoes from the shoreline filtered by the water’s gentle splashing on the rocky bank.

Water crests and falls transforming wind to waves as breezes blow inducing hypnotic enchantment.

Surrounded by so many sounds and sights of nature, there almost seems to be a crowd. But what sets the hook and then reels you back in is Solitude.

Waves

gently lapping, laughing against the shore, each splash sounds nearly like the next. Calls of a pair of loons emerge to join in. From where I sit, the pair are indistinguishable.

Murmurings float down from the cloister of Adirondack chairs. Further inside the human sanctuary of screened-in porch a 2-month-old expresses a need for feed.

A matching towhead blond whose two-year-old eyes already turned blue waits for his brother’s eyes to follow and fill with color.

They repeatedly protest while being led to bed. New generations appear repeating nearly the same sounds, similar shapes with only subtle changes from one to the next.

Minor variations show and go like the wind and lapping waves, one following the next and then the next.

We Were City Slickers

We were city slickers, though only 10 and 8 years old when, with permission from our parents, we were taken hostage by our uncle and taken for a ride with hair blowing out the window of the pickup truck.

We were hoping for a soda pop from the Sinclair gas station where a cooler of Royal Crown Colas and orange or grape Nehi sodas awaited but we were shuttled off to be reshaped in the image of clean cut local folk.

We found ourselves in the Freelandville barber shop. where clippers buzzed and soon the effect was pronounced. We were looking back in the mirror where we could see what was done for us, to us.

We were still in our barber chair booster seats when we gave the once-over to the back of our heads. We were looking at another stripe of contrast white against our sunburnt red necks.

We were staring at close-cropped white walls ‘round our ears and from the side view. We were looking back in the double reflection where we saw we were shaped in their image, verified a second time from the hand-held mirror behind.

We sat shocked as corn at harvest time. Our stay on the farm was shorter than our summer crew cuts. We grew up as fast as our hair grew out. We were unaware that cut would make such a lasting impression.

Holding On

to rabbit ears of our black and white TV

I was amazed that the signals that flowed through me into the television set made the picture clearer!

Frequencies that passed through my body were converted and transmitted through picture tube and speakers. Magic electromagnetic invisible waves translated in real time to sensory signals for ears and eyes!

Mystified I wondered what super powers I had discovered, what supernatural skill I held, what powers pass through these charmed arms and hands?

How many untranslated, unconverted information signals pass through Me undetected? What I could know if I just knew where to touch another enchanted box and how to keep on holding on?

But I let go and soon realized I was easily replaced by scraps of aluminum foil.

We Walk

as wind blows through our hair.

My granddaughter takes two quick steps in Velcro sneakers to match my slow synchronized strides in padded running shoes.

After a lunch capped off by fresh picked strawberries we both nap. We prefer to spend our time together playing blocks, swinging, or stacking empty boxes.

For now, it is enough to compare colors on fall trees to crayons, relishing yellow, orange, and red or simply pointing up to the sky and saying blue.

Together we walk. It's easy to see how the two of us match.

Strawberries

Witness the Wonders

Watching jets fly by and safely return another visitor it’s hard to believe they left the ground or safely return.

Humans soar in rocket ships, walk on the moon and return. A rover roams on Mars exploring a planet we can hardly see.

From light years away new stars appear. Our star, the sun, shines glorious as robins fly and swallows dart.

In seas and oceans are color changing octopuses, blue whales and bioluminescent jellyfish.

In frozen tundra we spot polar bears, fox and rabbits, mostly wearing white, creatures of diversity beyond imagination.

Treatments for cancer cure. Vaccines prevent deaths. Antibiotics fight invisible infections.

Man, woman, and child win wars against infections invading our bodies surviving attacks from creatures we’ve never seen.

Drugs course through veins, keeping us alive. We survive heart attacks and strokes and much more. Medicines and procedures save and extend lives.

Every moment brings new marvels, quick as a tick of the clock. Time passes presenting another flight, another star, another creature, another beat of our hearts.

Witness the wonders.

A Poem Is

prose aspiring to song.

An introduction starts and a few notes make us linger longer to hear, as Coleridge says, “the best words in the best order”. Sometimes they rhyme sometimes they contain something sublime.

Words evolve to form a verse with variations, repetitions, or tangents with distinctions in intensity and intention uncovering the underlying groove building drama and anticipation until we are moved or move.

to a chorus sung by few or many. It might be that earworm we repeat capturing a story cruel or sweet capturing what lies between margins of earth and sky, between margins of a page, between

or across a bridge of memories to a sonic centerpiece of magic spell. A nursery rhyme or enchanted tale of some other place and time where form and repetition make the composition as Billy Collins said “more than the sum of its metaphorical parts.”.

A door opens to a climax

It may call out in anguished or joyful cry with drumming pounding beat or final fade quieting, until it closes and silence takes its turn as we turn the page.

Writing

Guiding the nub of a pen igniting sparks meeting paper starting fire.

We Kiss

We cannot expect, to see that stars will move on our account while glancing upward.

We hope we will feel warmth intense as the white hot fire of stars.

We wish that we are Rising in love for a single moment while shooting like a star.

We close our eyes because we know we can only imagine we move the stars, or keep the warmth forever.

We wish, but know we cannot hope to hold the light, but perhaps, we can hold the thought of Us.

Why do we kiss with our eyes closed?

You Are

Through your translucent body first flickers of light flutter to your unborn. Our world shines through the prism of your form.

Through your blossoming belly a sensitive stethoscope sends and wakes first whispers, songs and quakes.

Through your muffled chest, stomach rumbles and heartbeats are deftly drummed to newly formed ears.

You are every tactile fiber and neural pathway. Each taste, touch and smell move from you, through you, are you.

You may cut the cord, but are tethered to another for all time. Welcome to the beginning of never being disconnected.

A Seed

makes any patch of earth a place to hatch, transforming nearly nothing to a marvel to watch, to sprout, to shoot, to bud, from dry earth or mud, shallow or deep, it wakes from sleep.

A seed rises up for us to see a wonderous world and what might be bursting free, waking up, breaking through, shaking to new height through and out to growing light.

A seed shows us one iteration, of numberless regenerations. Revealing the wonderous transcending of birth from earth, of life’s mysterious rejuvenations.

Maplelawn Garden

Anticipation

On a white lace tablecloth porcelain cups decorated with flowers await tea with lemon and honey and we are all filled with the joy of what we anticipate at her baby shower.

Though the pineapple size fetus inside is bigger than his nickname we call him or her tater tot. For a while, we called the sex unknown guest Oliver or Olivia since the vegetable analogy that week was olive. Then it was just four more weeks to pumpkin and a miracle way bigger than an olive, a tater tot a lemon, a pineapple, or a pumpkin, and we hope sweeter than honey.

Teacups

The following poem is intended to be read three times. Once along the left crescent edge, and once along the right crescent edge and finally all the way across each line that includes the middle purple text (across the full moon). The first word on the top line (One) and last words on the last line (We are connected) are read each time. The middle text is not intended to be read separately.

An Ode to the Moon and Those Who Helped Us Arrive

Dreaming

of Going and

Walking on the Moon

One Wonderful Look at this Moment shows us a Luminous moon Finds us hoping Finds an astonishing reality Lifting our gaze to the sky above We’re walking on you Dreaming like children flying flags and Soaring high Standing on the shoulders literally lifted On the accumulated accomplishments Of those that tired but tried again progressing from The gains of generations Looking to the future and finding that the future Started so many yesterdays ago Started while wondering what is the price to pay and what will be the final prize This is what is The next step in this spectacle and what is Found What surprises wait while dreaming of you When boundaries are burst Flying to you to now know what is possible This is where we were unable to stand From a giant rock’s connection to earth Beyond the Surface through space to the Previously unreachable Reflections shining on your face after being held down by something lighter than wind Through space So we can see that as it turns out, we can cross through the near empty dark To see The man on the moon beaming and find , What drove us We realize watching you wax and wane that What was Still as the stone that some stand on while most of us view you from So far away Out in space here on the moon Is now where we are In silence where sounds were unable to penetrate Through the vast vacuum of space What goes on in the night earthbound no more We see what comes to light We are thinking about the time when some find Ours is not a flightless fate We will not see you from afar Instead We will only see that We find we were We are connected

Surviving Another Winter

sweet earth covered in long shadows cast later each day as spring marches in reemerging as winter’s memory fades like snows that yield to nourishing warmth returning south winds bring birds on wing thaws frozen ice-covered earth reborn are sprouts that burst into color to fill my eye or belly renewing buds of green turn to leaf restored by sun and rain lightning calls the thunder sweet earth reemerging, returning, reborn, renewing, restored

Tulips Relief

At long, long last. the winter cold subsides. Its frozen moans are washed away. Warm showers shake off shivers and shudders. Unpredictable cold retreats, no longer stealing breath and words away. Relief .

Mountain View

From a few miles away, the views are whites and blues. But up close, the majesty of mountains transforms to brown and red rock canyons with shades of gray and pigment, wrapped in jade water companions. It becomes clearer as I grow nearer that rivers and stone yield a bounty of purple, yellow, white, and red wildflowers where I may wonder for hours among the green pines and brown hardwood trees swaying in the mountain breeze.

La Sal Mountain View

Swallows Dance

In the distance as I glance cutting through blue skies expanse I see swallows’ swift advance.

Drovers dive through pestilence through the swarms they slice and lance graceful in their dinner dance.

Seizing evening’s circumstance they feast on wild abundance.

Summer Sunset

A summer sunset turns a scorching day cool and sweet and red as watermelon

Sunset

Cooler Than

Richie Havens singing Freedom at Woodstock.

One of My Kind

His t-shirt read “Kind people are my kind of people”. Then he reached down to give a boost to a small child on the playground.

And I thought to myself those are my kind of people too.

Retire

Sometimes I see what's stored in memory. Both rainy and sunny days have passed but some recollections have amassed to form a moment of serenity.

In this treasured time, I finally find some rest in places where I set aside most former forms of test. I’m sharing joys in a place I stay as finally I stop to say this time - at last - is best.

Bonita Beach

Abundance

Forsythias bring bright yellow buds in spring announcing the coming of sweet rose and the countless other bloom that grows foreshadowing the dance of spring’s repeated chants.

A dance that always brings rich lustrous abundance.

Four Thoughts That Encouraged Retiring

Galaxies

There are more than one hundred thousand million stars in the Milky Way galaxy, which is only one of billions of galaxies. Our sun, one star in that galaxy, is the size of 1,300,000 earths. The earth will not be moved. No stars will be moved no matter how hard I work.

You can’t take it with you. How long after retirement age must I work to be considered a workaholic?

I told an acquaintance that I have a buddy who is thinking about going back to work because he is bored. He said, That is kind of sad. Can’t he think of anything he would rather do?

There were a few dinosaurs from the Jurassic period who could have made a more lasting impression if only they had sunk a little deeper to form trace fossil footsteps. Found in Navajo sandstone formed 250 million years ago, their footsteps are slowly eroding and will soon be gone anyway.

Still Surviving

Shed of all leaves anorexic trees are nearly incognito in this freezing gloom.

Barely recognizable but unable to shed their skin or uproot to new locations, they’ve forfeited their leafy glory.

Still surviving, swaying, but unable to run from winter’s wind

I call them by name but they do not listen or at least I cannot tell if they do.

Rise and Fall

Foaming white arms of water rise and fall formed from spring rains surging merging with melted snows they thunder down till summer’s drought cramps and atrophies stout limbs that fall flaccid. Once thunderous arms thin and straighten till they whisper and wither to a trickle.

But summer storms bring rain’s renewals till foaming white arms of water, rise and fall again rise and fall again.

Still Life with Water Fall

Variety Show

Enjoying another variety show. This scenery is shaped by sunset shades on red and white rock that change hues as variations on views unfold.

Cliffs seen from a distance as tints of blues are seen dotted with greenery. Sun settles on walls where shadows stretch revealing more colors from where I sit.

I hold still. The backdrop that I see transforms to tapestry of colors changing to gray then stripes in shades that turn to black.

Stone Tapestry

Salty

She says, The dog likes salty things and quickly, seamlessly and politely as possible adds or lotion, trying to explain that the dog also likes to lick people wearing lotion as if there was any question I am a poorly moisturized old salt.

Old Salt

You Are Not Alone

Remember me when in your travels you find you’ve lost you. Spinning Gravel under wheels may require action to regain traction.

Grateful

I am grateful for abundances bestowed for friendship, love, and joy that flowed for tenderness and kindness sowed.

Better Never Late

There is no use jumping to avoid the lightning after you hear the thunder.

How High Can You Jump

Driving

in a little sports car, with my left arm out the window, an open hand flies palm down, catching the wind, gliding my arm up and down, as it streaks down the highway. My arm is swooping like a tree swallow on the wing

I drive past a farm for sale where a peacock lives with its hundred eyes on display but I'm not looking over or making eye to eye contact nor have I bought the farm today. I mosey past.

I consider a stop at the ATM but no one is telling me anything today, at least not here and I have no need of money today. So I don’t stop. I keep on driving through the drive through.

I pass a hospital, unhurried, unworried, my arm rises up on the breeze as if to volunteer or wave at those I’ve known but no one notices as I slip by.

Down the road a bit, my arm catches the wind, and rises up as if to signal a left turn. This time I slip past a cemetery. But no headstones or heads turn. There is not a nod from me either. No one hears my nearly silent slicing through the wind as I shuttle past.

I drive till dusk, arm whisking through the wind, driving into another sunset until it's dark except for some thousands of stars in the sky none of which will be moved by me or the gusts across my palm.

I slow the pace. With my arm rising up, finally signaling my intention, I make a left. I lower my arm one last time. It is no longer rising up and down, and flying through the wind like a tree swallow.

Joy

Oh now is our time to celebrate!

Oh, If I could coddle and cuddle a cutie!

Oh, I can! Oh boy! Oh joy! Oh!

Oh Boy, Oh Joy

Simple Joys

sitting by the fire wearing cashmere staying warm under blankets waking to a clear sunrise emerging from a soft bed eating buttered fresh baked bread

Campfire

Fibonacci Day. (11/23/58)

Oh

November twenty-third is Fibonacci day. A day that comes once a year. I hope I will see that date in twenty fifty-eight.

Potions and Lotions

An old man sat watching the ocean drinking a very fine potion. I'll just sit here a while he said with a smile and rub on a little more lotion.

Better Than

ice cream and cookies sun shine old friends rosebuds your last first kiss May and September taming a rose wine and chocolate wheels on a suitcase the sound of a smile in your voice a faithful friendly dog cool clean water walking in mint red skies at night fresh air a warm meal a slice of gratitude a little hand wrapped around a little finger

Cookies

Harvey

In the 1950s movie Harvey, Elwood talks to a rabbit that is 6 ft. 3 and ½ inches. Having shrunk to that height sometimes makes me wonder if my next step will be becoming invisible. So far, I'm still holding out in the visible spectrum.

I Lost My Head

this morning but I’ll get it back tonight said the pillow.

Pie Dough

My nose knows the scent of baking pie doughs

Memory

You bring smiles to my face, tears to my eyes, thoughts to my mind, joys to my heart, but cannot be seen.

What Has Been Whispered?

Secrets. Sometimes some things that should remain unspoken.

Whisper and Shout

Whisper the rain. Shout the storm. Treasures

All the curses, the verses, the stories and the plays on words cannot capture the treasures we held.

Saltwater

Florida Gulf, Bonita Beach

A Wake

My life has only rarely been tumultuous. Referencing raging storms encountered is not so much descriptive as it is exaggeration. Not that there haven't been a few stormy moments.

Looking back with the space of time between event and reflection, the rainy days and thunderous times were more often annoying rain than monsoon. I frequently find myself scurrying quietly back to safety

unharmed and soon reflecting on what passed by. Reassured, I sleep again till restored. Happy when my eyes open that I am not looking down at my wake.

I only find that once again, instead I am awake.

Your Limo Is Waiting

Listening to a sermon on a hot afternoon we sat in church with other innocent children, without air conditioning. Time seemed to drag out longer than that stretch black limo waiting outside.

Afterwords, we joked about quiet comfy cushioned rides in chauffer driven cars with windows tinted so dark we couldn’t see out and no one could see us.

We all hoped to hop in for a ride but as it turned out we found ourselves respectfully waiting in a line of our own vehicles and followed what turned out not to be a limo.

We Watch TV

I am sorry to report that frequently my TV suffers from verbal incontinence and diarrhea.

If I could taste it, I suspect the news would leave my palette with a lingering strong taste of vomit regurgitated again and again as it is and tasting a bit worse each time. News has become a kernel of truth that looks like a kernel of corn run through the body. Broadcasts are words riding on the back of a dog beaten by hail, running without escape. I sometimes wonder if I am observing fetid smell-a-vision and newscasters cannot sense strong stenches through their Pinocchio noses. Their hair must surely be on fire. Smells of reeking scorched hair rises from the commentators, as one too many doses of the same story incites neurosis. We sample again, what could have been a bite of news, delivered as a medium rare juicy morsel, but became a not so well, over-done bite to be spit out.

Faith

is sometimes a lie you tell yourself.

Hope

to be

converted to reality, requires some ability. A vision from one must be transformed to plan and then begun.

Love

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Paul 1 Corinthians 13:13 New International Version And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three. But the greatest of these is charity.

Paul 1 Corinthians 13:13 King James version

Translations vary. Love is often simply charity

I Am Not a Betting Man

but I asked someone if they would be willing to bet a dollar on one condition, that if they die tomorrow, I will give them ten dollars but if they don’t die, they pay me one dollar. They were unwilling to take that bet.

Then I asked if they would take a bet if the stakes were a little higher?

I told them I will give them ten thousand dollars if they die tomorrow, but if they don’t then they would pay me one dollar. They didn’t even want that bet either.

So then I promised them eternal life if they die tomorrow, but if they don’t die, they would pay me one dollar. Then they said I am not a betting man as they put another twenty in the collection basket.

The Egocentricity of Prayer in Four ACTS Adoration,

Contrition, Thanksgiving, Supplication

Adoration

Admiration for and approving a higher power uttered to an omnipotent being that does not need praise.

Contrition

Resolution not to fail again and regret of past failures pronounced to a god who has supposedly already forgiven.

Thanksgiving

Utterance of appreciation for fateful conditions that have allowed survival and thriving voiced to a force that does not request thanks.

Supplication

Expressing and exhorting a need to be fulfilled articulated to an omniscient god that should already know but frequently does not appear to come to our aid.

Religious Prognostic

There was a religious prognostic with hellfire predictions so caustic that they drove a believer to leave with a fever and instead, they became an agnostic.

Convictions

Many with ordained convictions tempt converts with heavenly predictions. That promise beams bright but is so far out of sight that some gave up their religious subscriptions.

Conversion Perversion

There once was a twisted perversion disguised as religious conversion it warped truth so bad that all that we had were believers left in confusion.

Perplexed Pooch

Reflections

Reflecting on reflections in polished dark marble already inscribed with my family name I see sometimes it’s not the dying, it’s the pain of living that makes them wish they could pass.

Sometimes passing on is the price of relief. A break from the aching caused by breaking body parts that failed requires at the end, stopping the breath to breath suffering by taking a last breath. It’s one way to stop the pain. Shortness Of Breath is an SOB.

Sometimes life is measured by how deep we have descended into the depths of despair and mercies are not bestowed. Knees throb from needless kneeling suffered in wooden pews petitioning for intercession that does not come. Chants are futile though repeated

till they are longer than a novena. Sometimes the mercy of dying only comes when getting carried away but not like drunks who can’t stop laughing in a party limo but rather in a hearse for their own wake.

There comes a time when it is easier to change the past than make choices that lie ahead. They may stop asking for ways to continue this life, nearly paralyzed by their inability to change or choose by pain.

Instead they wish for the end. Now I’m the one left with the pain of living, reflecting on reflections of lives and names in polished dark marble as another is carried away.

As We Age

there are more candles and fewer cards. Hydrated, caffeinated, vaccinated vitamin fortified, and exercised, but we are still not ready for what comes next. In the seasons of our life spring does not follow winter. A glimmer of winter starlight does not have the radiant warmth of summer sun, nor does it shed enough light to see clearly, that we are still not ready for what comes next.

Sunlight is a disinfectant too weak to be effective during the shivering months. Fewer infirm friends attend as more candles burn. They’re not easily extinguished nor can they be left burning unattended. While we may tend to the flames, we find we are still not ready for what comes next.

Birthday Cake

Cracks In the Concrete

become conduit to corona virus contagion. Dreading the end, feeling the arm fatigue of five more minutes of CPR spotting purple bruises on the ugly blue grey color of suffocation.

Finally we find we’re fine but he has reached the end, another flame run out of fuel leaving only some molten seeds of memory.

Sod swallows and seals some remembrances surrendering fewer and fewer recollections to resurrections but memories of black crescent moon shadows under his eyes remain.

Surrender

When you lose a lover, lived in grief, and suffer sometimes there comes a longing for another so we can patch together pieces of the tender connections we surrender.

Palm Sunday Tornado (April 11, 1965)

red sky at night sailors delight red sky in morning sailors take warning

That morning's first red rays were beautiful to behold. A glow, not so scary at first became a war party charging over the horizon in blazing bloodshot war paint stirring up shrouds of black clouds.

Wind whipping white caps onto normally quiet waters transforming Kodachrome colors to silver halide portraits of funeral processions with mourners dressed in black and white, which from a distance blended to make those days gray.

That first sweet smell of rain became a taste of storm, then spiraled up to the speed of tornadoes, who surged to claim names of people and tornadoes I can’t recall, like so many of the 265 dead, whose names I never knew. Storms shook walls and brought them down. Tornadoes are remembered, but only because they are

listed as a cause of death for so many, who are forgotten. Buildings dissolved like sugar in a coffee cup. Skies changed from black to green and back and when this storm subsided,

final phases of squall circled like the vultures, found when skies were near clear.

Fragments of barns and homes were strewn about, spilled like matchsticks. Animals, some of whom were human, lay in fields as well.

Nature, as it turns out, is a teacher who doesn't use only positive reinforcement to make her point. She can show power in thunderous proclamation.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. So say some survivors who scrape up, burn and bury the dead. Survivors who attempt to put pieces back together, who check the sky, this time hoping for a red sky at night.

Red Sky Morning

Pray Prey Pray

I never asked the good Franciscan sisters who pray each day for our troops involved in the war, why we would implore our lord to aid in slaying, if we were forbidden by commandment to kill. Shouldn’t we also show mercy to our enemies?

But instead, so encouraged, without questioning, each day I prayed for victory, death for our enemies and safe return of our soldiers.

Thinking back on the flood of blood, the maimings, deaths, and other catastrophes, I wonder why tragedies that wander between slight and wrong did not make my back bone stiffen to a flagpole of steel spinewhere we could fly a flag at half-mast for all that fall.

I rarely speak of my wish for peace in private conversation or in public forum. My position went and mostly goes unproclaimed. Thoughts like that are rarely shared with anyone, and never once with him.

But again, this year, when I see his name scratched off our birthday calendar, no longer a living name celebrated with candles and cake, I still wish we could celebrate with one more breath exhaled to make a shared birthday wish of our own.

I wish that he did not breathe his final breath with a bullet passing through his brain, wanting inner peace and that he was spared. That we had shared

and voiced a wish for peace. That he never pledged allegiance and joined a vague cause, guided by the rich and powerful, encouraging him to kill while they stay out of harm’s way.

So, I ask on this his birthday and sometimes other days, to make this and all days forward a day without killing. A future without soldiers shot in the head, dead in pointless battle or suicide.

May soldiers who remain, embracing duty for god, for country, for who knows what unquestioned cause, effect or reasons

join me in a fight for peace that keeps all charging and discharged soldiers safe and spared a fate that makes them senseless prey.

Soldier Suicides

What You Promised

Something old, Something new Something borrowed, Something blue

They wrote their own, but borrowed some words for their wedding vows from an ancient Indian treaty, proposed by President Andrew Jackson. They would remain together "as long as the sun shines, the river flows, and the grass grows.” But promises are not always fulfilled as understood or intended as the indigenous people found at the Washita River massacre.

Sometimes a

Door

is slammed shut but the door is also shut that is closed quietly.

Pain Has

a way of killing language, reducing our ability to express to a shudder, a moan, a sigh, a cry, a…

Grief

rides a river till it ends in a salted ocean. Moves fast as a rumor sometimes stalls still till it pools deep.

There Was Nothing to Lose

We lost it. We lost nothing.

Whispers

Wind whispers through the pines but not buried pine boxes.

When the Dark Clouds Opened

lightning’s jagged yellow stripe came flashing down sky’s dark highway crashing into a few-hundred-year-old ponderosa pine, charring, scarring, splitting and twisting it into its’ death shape.

Twisted Pine

Where Does Forever Go?

The forever future the forever past do not go anywhere.

All That We Are

All that we were all that was us all that matters scatters.

Here I Am

there I was, and now in spirit, for forever here shall I always be.

Present

We are negligible amounts of particulate almost undetectable accumulate in the cosmic space where we reside astride our ride wide eyed.

Ampersand

He thought he found an answer and stood up straight as an ! then he thought again and his body bent over his desk, transfigured to a ? and the more he thought, the more his mind & then his body slowly twisted to an &

What I Said

Revenge is a dish best served cold. There is always tomorrow. I’ll only do it just this one time. I’m not responsible. I need to think about that some more. Are among the many lies I’ve told myself and believed.

The Gardener

waters during dry hot summer months and in the fall feeds branches through a shredder.

Garden Edge

Needling

Another needle in my arm. Abeyant nerves, overwhelmed, tempered by other Pain, leaves me numb to the point that as I see the puncture bring bright red flow, I know I should sense Pain but I do not.

Time

Tiptoes

past the sound of a zipper on a body bag.

We Close Our Eyes

only open for a few moments and sometimes with eyes shut we think we see with hindsight. But as it turns out hindsight is not 20/20 and the chances of seeing clearly are not even 50 – 50.

Yet when the fortune teller speaks of fire ants and nettle, of hornet’s nests stirred and infants lying cold as stone, goosebumps rise from arms and legs while cold chills tremble down our spine.

More than once imagination conjures fear from webs of shadows that appear in mirrors while flames of candlelight dance till the fire dies

as we lay awake in the dark quieter than owl’s wings.

Candlelight

Tears She Shed

A hopeful pregnant mother stares into the stove. Someone asks “What’s in the oven?”

Fearing pregnancy's risks, she waits to say “I’m having a boy!” says instead, “It’s not done yet.” Rotating, so no one can see, she sheds a tear.

A child’s reckless run through the house ends. She hears “Who broke the lamp?” Fearing consequence, she shuns blame in silence, finally breaking through her reticence she shouts, “I found a big piece.”

Turning, she runs away, so no one can see, she sheds a tear.

Newlyweds discuss lost jobs and mounting bills. Uncertain where help might come from, he says “What now?” Met with silence he asks, “More coffee?”

She says, “I drank coffee for free at work.” Stirring and staring down, so no one can see, she sheds a tear.

A seventeen-year-old, considering enlistment., He asks “Grandmother, will you tell me about the war?” Only stoic silence fills this moment. Finally, grandma says, “Maybe later.” Then she asks, “Does anyone need a chair?” while moving out to the living room, so no one can see, she sheds a tear.

Drops

Senryu

hungry on the plane strong smell of peanut butter driving me nuts

a step child running all day his nose kids frolic behind fences with black sheep this baby grows on me like Kudzu

don’t call the cops kidnapping in progress at MeeMaws house

go light, stop light go light, stop light, go light, stop boo boo bear

on the waterslide a little girl wets her pants cool breezes ring the wind chimes of playground swings digesting a magazine literally nap time in soft beds under cover spies just teddy bears

snack time the cheerio kid shoots ‘em down

potty time again this time we get two chocolate chips

pedaling a trike around the great expanse of the cul-de-sac

reading aloud makes story time perfect

elderberry juice smoothies – not so smooth on carpeting

the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round round and round, round and …

trying to teach him to say meemaw …the reply da da da da da

“meemaw meemaw mee maw meemaw” - considers a name change

He’s not embarrassed but Meemaw’s nose knows soon he’ll be bare assed

a full moon show at high noon

no time out - for a butt blowout water table fills and empties with toys, girls and boys no me do it (insert activity here) me do it, meeee, meeeeee black raspberries picked for juice on faces and fingers squirt guns sponges, brushes and buckets paint the sidewalk

pushing toddlers in swings the playground squeaks we want to plump you up feeding time water colors crayons and markers 123s and abc - not so easy when your 3 many white lambs in the meadow and we spot one black sheep

taking a nap mom, dad, meemaw and grandpa and brother makes six Nap Time

singing silent night until it is the sound of old iron bells fade listening through the fog again a bell rings a ghost light shines in the dark dark theater we wish for the bigger half the wishbone breaks

untangled lights show electric flow by those gathered at holidays love, power the power of love the love of power

passing the ages of family names set in stone covid it's not going anywhere it is everywhere moving past moving fast the elder years her eyes glow red in a flash

sunned brow drips a sweat necklace on her shirt collar scratch scrape and claw free from where shadows cannot form till root bound no more

Scratch, Scrape, and Claw Free poetry and music both use a note standing under a bell tower tolling not understanding

Tanka

fall festival site of another shooting passing last year’s record harvest of souls

a pinyon pine stands solitary surviving scorching fires, summers and seven hundred winters

Lone Pine

Haiku

the shade brushes the herb pot a cool scent stirs Mint winter and summer fall like water and leaves along the mountain stream flowing, flowing down and down again

Mountain Stream

exposed to extraordinary crepuscular rays

Crepuscular Rays

hot pools of blues formed by yellow deposits of rhyolite

15,000 steps through sounds of wind in pines then a geyser blast

Geyser Blast

cisterns burp from ten thousand feet below volcanic gas

blue pools steam and flow making homes for thermophiles that glow brown and gold

aquamarine, green and golden thermophiles fill steaming pools from earth

Thermophile Hot Spring

hot springs trickle overflow into mystic river beds gift shop tourism we wander through picture post cards green snake slithers nearly undetected then disappears again

butterflies gather silently sip water three light on me limbs chatter yellow winged grasshoppers fly moving sage brush

perched mountain bluebird flies from fencepost into grey not blue - smoke filled skies

Mountain Bluebird at Grand Tetons

grizzly claw marks scar bark of a lodgepole pine eight feet high rangers wear bear spray to keep grizzlies at bay black belts are ready black bear hangs on branches bend under his increasing weight mother moose and calf walk in a river bed form new eddies

bighorn mountain goats jump from ledges to land surefooted

Mountain Goats at Yellowstone

mule tail deer look up antlers point skyward

Mule Deer

bison bed down and stand up when they damn well please a bison rubs his winter coat on a lodgepole pine

Bison Scraping His Coat

Eagle

cry of an eagle quiets and stirs observers

a red tail hawk returns a memory

Red Tail Hawk

reflecting on stories we select not to tell

Thankyous

Thanks to Barry, Steven, and Maureen who helped revise multiple poems. There are many who helped along the way with workshopping poems in various groups whose names are not mentioned here, most of which I have had the pleasure of knowing as members of Brick Street Poetry or Noble Poets. Poets of both groups provided inspiration, feedback, camaraderie and encouraged me by the simple acts of sharing and listening. Thanks to all who helped.

and thank you and you and you

Index

A Poem Is 14 A Seed 18

A Wake 47 Abundance 28 All That We Are 65 Ampersand 66 An Ode to the Moon 20 Anticipation 19

As We Age 56 Better Never Late 35 Better Than 41 Conversion Perversion 53 Convictions 53 Cooler Than 26 Cracks In the Concrete 57 Driving 36 Drops 71 Faith 50 Fibonacci Day. (1 1/2 3/5 8) 40 Fishing 7 Four Thoughts That Encouraged Retiring 29 Freshwater 1 Grateful 34 Grief 63 Haiku 84 Harvey 42 Here I Am 65 Holding On 10 Hope 50 I Am Not a Betting Man 51 I Dream 4 I Lost My Head 42

Joy 38 Love 50 Memory 43 Mountain View 23 Needling 68

One of My Kind 26 Pain Has 62

Palm Sunday Tornado 58 Pie Dough 42 Potions and Lotions 40 Pray Prey Pray 60 Present 65 Reflections 54 Relief 22 Religious Prognostic 53 Retire 27 Rise and Fall 31 Saltwater 45 Salty 33 Senryu 73 Simple Joys 39 Sometimes a Door 62 Spinning Gravel 34 Still Surviving 30 Summer Sunset 25 Surrender 57 Surviving Another Winter 21 Swallows Dance 24 Tanka 83

Tears She Shed 70

The Egocentricity of Prayer in Four ACTS 52 The Gardener 67 There Was Nothing to Lose 63 This Tiny Drop 3

Time Tiptoes 68

Treasures 43 Variety Show 32 Waves 8

We Are Paddling 6 We Close Our Eyes 69 We Kiss 16 We Walk 11 We Watch TV 49 We Were City Slickers 9 What Has Been Whispered 43 What I Said 66 What You Promised 62 When the Dark Clouds Opened 64 Where Does Forever Go? 65 Whisper and Shout 43 Whispers 63 Witness the Wonders 12 Writing 15 You Are 17 You Are Not Alone 34 Your Limo Is Waiting 48

Credits Photo Credits

Lake Michigan, Mike Nierste

Strawberries, Mike Nierste

Maplelawn Garden, Mary Nierste

Teacups, Mike Nierste

Tulips, Mike Nierste

La Sal Mountain View, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LaSal_Mountains_Pan_(896 8722957)_(2).jpg

“La Sal Mountains Pan”: RichieB pics is licensed CC BY-SA 2.0

Sunset, Mike Nierste Bonita Beach, Mike Nierste Galaxies, https://phys.org/news/2022-07-image-nasa-james-webb-space.html Webb Telescope 2022 (Credit: Nasa, ESA, CSA, and STScI/PA)

Still Life with Water Fall, Mike Nierste

Stone Tapestry, Mike Nierste

Old Salt, Mary Nierste

How High Can You Jump, Mary Nierste

Oh Boy, Oh Joy, Nicole Jasperson

Campfire, Mike Nierste

Cookies, Mary Nierste

Pie Dough, Mary Nierste

Florida Gulf, Bonita Beach, Mike Nierste

Perplexed Pooch, Mike Nierste

Birthday Cake, Mike Nierste

Red Sky Morning, Mike Nierste

Soldier Suicides, Mike Nierste

Twisted Pine, Mike Nierste

Garden Edge, Mike Nierste

Candlelight, Mike Nierste Drop, https://pixabay.com/photos/drop-of-water-drop-impact-ripples578897/ “Drop of Water” by ronymichaud via Pixabay

Nap Time, Mike Nierste Scratch Scrape and Claw Free: https://www.rawpixel.com/image/5945887/free-public-domain-cc0photo

“ID 5945887” is licensed as public domain CC BY-SA 1.0 Universal

Lone Pine, Mike Nierste Mint, Mike Nierste

Mountain Stream, Mike Nierste

Crepuscular Rays, https://www.freeimages.com/download/crepuscular-rays-martinique1888042

Geyser Blast, Mike Nierste

Thermophile Hot Spring, Mike Nierste

Mountain Bluebird at Grand Tetons, Mike Nierste

Mountain Goats at Yellowstone, Mike Nierste Mule Deer, Mike Nierste Bison Scraping His Coat, Mike Nierste Eagle, Mike Nierste

Red Tail Hawk, Mike Nierste Cover Photos, Mike Nierste

Footnotes

From A Poem Is

● Henry, Samuel Taylor Coleridge July 12, 1827 as noted in Specimens of the Table Talk of the Late Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Henry Nelson Coleridge.

● Billy Collins, Introduction to Poetry https://owlcation.com/humanities/Analysis-of-PoemIntroduction-to-Poetry-by-Billy-Collins

Publishing Credits

We Are Paddling, Tipton Poetry Journal, Reflections on Little Eagle Creek, September, 2021.

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Little-Eagle-StreetPoetry/dp/B09GTGRFVD

An Ode to the Moon and Those Who Helped Us Arrive, INverse online by Indiana Arts Council, 2022 https://indianamemory.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/p16066 coll82/search

Haiku (listed by first line of the haiku)

singing, frogpond, Winter 2021

hungry on the plane, frogpond, Members Anthology 2021

cry of an eagle, frogpond, Members Anthology 2022

scratch scrape and claw free, Sunday Challenge, Poetry Society of Indiana, Facebook, 2022 https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=PSI%20haiku%20challen ge

(The following ten haiku published together as The Gift of an Hour with Grandkids, A Collection of Senryu and Haiku), go light stop light, on the waterslide, cool breezes, digesting, nap time in soft beds, snack time, potty time again, pedaling a trike, reading out loud, elderberry juice, The Gift Of An Hour Polk Street Review, 2022 edition https://cearts.org/2022-the-polk-street-review

Mike Nierste’s poetry is published in poetry journals and anthologies including; Flying Island, Tipton Poetry Journal, frogpond, Polk Street Review, Cowboys & Cocktails - Poetry from the True Grit Saloon, Haiku for Hikers, and Reflections on Little Eagle Creek. He has poems listed in Indiana Arts Council’s online collection INverse. He is the author of a book of contradictory quotes and contranyms titled ContraDiction. He is also the author of poetry books; Savor, Discoveries, and now Still Waters .