Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Whispers of Autumn's Shade

Black Rock Desert, Nevada
—Photo by Cynthia Linville, Sacramento

—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

Welcome sky
and earth
desiring to catch
an early sun
flying high
from night's veils
of oblivion,
dazzle us
between clouds
in a starry manner
for the dawn's edge
of day,
announce spring
to the pale child
sulky and sleepless
and alone
afraid of the cold
by the corner fire
with a red bandana
sewn for Christmas
staggering to sing
a French tune,
writing tales
of ghostly nightmares
in his notebook
by his feral cat
on the window sill
in front of the sun.


—B.Z. Niditch

Wood wandering
like intruders
among restless leaves
and feral cats in heat
silence wounds
from immense darkness
by treetop circles
of thick Evergreen
clustered as wrestlers
together in rings,
yet floating
over high branches
loud performancles
from yellow bird voices
with unfamiliar sounds,
as wings expand
shadows will rustle
our Fall jackets
in earth-wise bush
wishing for water
in backward roads
absent from time
in untraced brambles
locating blueberries
matching the shine
of fiery sky color.


—B.Z. Niditch

A bird in mid-air
dances on a branch
of Evergreen,
at an hour
not knowing
when the soul
in a blue coat
holding up traffic
with the Slavic
says "After you,"
and holds you up
down the road
also saw the bird.


—B.Z. Niditch

In the middle
of a long platform
Autumn's shade
whispers inside us
from whitened sun
wrapping its dawn
on denuded trees
an absence of mist
in a horizontal mirror
clears landscapes
at first light
on great blue hills
where a poet climbs
upward of nowhere
but sky
on large silences
along shadows
of breeding oak
leaping over visions
and bird branches
in yellow distances
of solitude.


—B.Z. Niditch

Nature pardons
every memory
its forgotten miles
of snowy loss
as you trudge up
the great blue hillsides
trying to find that crevice
of your love poem,
it's spring now
time is in absentia
with a new watch on
bidding a farewell
to a curious letter
framed to the earth
into innocent oblivion.


—B.Z. Niditch

Remarkable fast
from an empty
picnic table
except for an apple
in the image
of Cezanne
among a lexicon
of discarded words
to pass on
my nature's embrace,
slowly resting
on a grass coverlet
until a whirlwind
of words
blankets the day
full of sunshine
near the youngest branch
of disarmed oak
by green saplings
on russet ground
hearing hills
of songbird sopranos
moving in first light
with their own notes
and unseen itinerary
between sky and earth.


Today's LittleNip: 

The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.

—George Carlin



Black Rock Desert, Nevada
—Photo by Cynthia Linville