On Time
Moussoulini's train pulled into
the station
on time.
The compulsive man,
ticking and squeaking,
like a watch wound too-tight.
climbed aboard,
sat in his usual seat
and lit a cigarette.
Outside,
just missing the train,
a casual person
sat on a bench
near the end of the platform,
where he could see
and smell
the flowers.
Copyright 1998 Don J Carlson
1987
Lover's Lane
Lover's lane is the place
Where the working field
Meets the woodland.
Lovers meet later
When the farmer
Has gone home
Leaving the quiet
Secluded place.
There is no sound
From the growling
Tractor
Churning the land.
Copyright 1998 Don J. Carlson
02/13/87
Out of Darkness
In the dark, I
Cannot see to write, but
It is out of darkness that
Light always comes.
Copyright 1998 Don J Carlson
2-92
The Worst Thing on Earth
The evil side of politics
Is arrogance.
It walks on the weak,
The helpless.
It steals from the poor box,
And ridicules the poor.
Arrogance suffers none,
And is unkind.
So we have these three:
Greed and fame and arrogance,
But the deadliest of all
Is arrogance.
Copyright 1998 Don J Carlson
3-4-92
The Bell House
There is a Bell House in my childhood.
At the sheep ranch, I returned
To a child's Thanksgiving
Waking at night to the ticking of a clock
And walking through the house
Mid the whisperings of other clocks
With another pace, in each room.
The stove rattled as I intruded its floor,
And wondered at a faint sound
Like the trickle of a small stream,
Coming from a weary refrigerator.
I paused awhile before the stove to warm myself,
Staring into the flickering flames,
My feet on the warmest part of the cold linoleum.
I looked about the flickering room.
A bentwood chair at the desk invites me to write,
Beside the globe and the basket for letters.
The glass penholder gallops
As I shake my pen to write.
In the bathroom I remember
A painted white chair set firmly on four legs
And a wooden towel rack reaching out
To hand me a towel.
The vanity with it's silvered mirror.
A low bench to sit and see myself
Darkly.
The earthy smell of herbs, hung on a beam,
Etched in memory like the pictures
Of sheep, and the Good Shepherd
On the walls.
The short, peaked, radio sprang to life
In the night playing the music of love
With it's amber light glowing.
For a long while I enjoyed the silence,
And the friendly hiss of gas jets
Feeding the heater.
Then back to bed with my own love
Of over thirty years,
To hear the ticking of that clock
As I continued drifting back.
Copyright 1998 Don J Carlson
11-29-92
Plum and Grape
Some people search the aisle for plum,
Some shop for grape.
The expeditions I have done
Have largely rallied round the plum,
But if the stocker boy was late,
To leave me fruitless with my cart,
And not a plum to grace my plate,
I've got some smarts,
I'd gulp a grape.
Copyright 1998 Don J Carlson
To Send an E to the Poet
To Send an E to Antonova
