The Joy of My Youth

The morning is cold,

the moon slung low

lighting the snow

iridescently blue

In the dark, glowing church

red votives flame

throw bright prayers

to the ceiling

Introibo ad altare Dei,

The old priest intones

“I will go

to the alter of God”

and I quickly recite

Ad Deum qui laetificat

juventutem meam

“To God,

the joy of my youth.”

The church is empty,

but still we go on,

chanting the ancient love-songs

to the One who lives

in the flickering flame

to the One who rises

in ascending incense

and hears our words

and becomes them.

Graduation Dance

Graduation Dance

The gym was dim.

Red and white balloons
glittered in the dusk
while flashing lights writhed
on the dark floor
like enchanted water-snakes
gliding through scented fog.

This was a celebration dance!

Eighth grade done at last,
they stepped, hesitant, into the roiling
teen-age sea,their synchronous, bobbing heads
attuned to the be-bop rhythms of the city (not their city),
and the lusty calls of the hood (not their hood).

Smooth gym walls echoed the dj's mechanical angst
endless, relentless beats, the racing heart of the machine,
artificial sighs, nano-seconds long and gigabytes wide.

The boys, spinning on heads and leaping from hands and
flailing legs, showed an athleticism
never seen in PE,
while the girls huddled in their own dark corner
and planned their move;

their fashion walk,
legs strutting ahead
of swaying hips,
heels clicking the hard, dark floor,
as they stalked right up to the foul line

where boys were spinning and leaping
through throbbing lights
to the tribal, primal beat.

So the girls turned,
hips flung in defiance,
and sashayed back to the wall,
staring hard at the gaping boys
over their swaying shoulders.

(28 May 2009)

Above Berkeley (For Connie)

Past stone houses Along the dangerous road We raced, top down Past the homes of the rich Laughing We flew into the night To the top And when we stopped The March wind still filled my hair And lifted my breath High above the bright city (its streets were constellations  Carelessly glittering Diamonds Cast into black waters) But walking past dark bulldozers Beyond the battered, red, warning sign Our laughter suddenly fell Startled by the silver presence Above the trees. We climbed to the peak As a halo encircled the full moon Silenced at last We heard an almost-human cry. Nearly invisible, we saw them, The plaintive, grazing deer. Image: Deer in the Grass courtesy of Ron Jensen 4/28/2013

French Park Creek

Deep in the woods

down the steep trench

we call to each other -

to the creek we descend

through green shadows rushing

over shallow, smooth stones,

to deeper, dark  pools

where love lies, alone.  

Hand in warm hand

we run, holding tight

and laughing we fall

to our own secret night.