As clouds pass by
As willow leaves fall,
it’s like a kind of grief,
but not a particular grief.
It’s for everything we see,
for the evening
succumbing to a dark night.
It’s for the snake,
crawling from his hole,
staring at a frog,
and it’s for the frog
that will be the snake’s meal,
and it’s for you and for me.
Compassion is an end in itself.
The tread of the dead is slow,
But it knows where it will go.
A Cold November Arrives
In the twilight a cold rain
falls like silver needles.
Then snow piles up
into frozen sheets of ice.
The last of October’s leaves
are blown into a corner
of the darkened street.
I lie under stars, where the present
becomes the past.
Here, where nothing lasts,
I try to think of words
to make a poem.
A lone star shines over my head
like a beacon.
But I think it’s already dead.
Another Autumn Day
In a darkness like mud,
the night is a thick pit.
If there’s a moon,
it’s no more than a slit.
Its secrets are well hid.
There’s no one
to share a glass of wine with.
I’ve often written poems
about being alone,
the strangeness of dreams,
and what I think they mean.
I gaze at a heron’s nest,
At the top of a tree,
bereft of life.
I might write a poem,
but what I know of herons,
wouldn’t end happily.
Herons and dreams,
like the loves of my past,
mean nothing now to me.
The closing of the day
I watch the dying sunlight.
When it passes, stars
will light the night.
But sleep won’t come.
My wife is gone,
My children are grown.
I stare at the darkness
as it closes in alone.
A hawk circles
over the rushing river.
The moon has vanished.
It’s unable to light my way.
That hawk is my only companion,
and I won’t be unhappy,
if he doesn’t stay.
About the Author
George Freek’s poem “Enigmatic Variations” was recently nominated for Best Of The Net. His poem “Night Thoughts” was also nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
