can’t feel the rain on their face any more
can’t go to war
I pass the stones
one by one in the storm
and when the rain has stoppped
there’s no need to warm
in the sun
what’s done is done
but the rows are alive
with memories. This one
traveled here, this one there
one breathed his last
in Normandy air
whether it’s spring, or roses
doesn’t mean a thing
none of them is alone
only me, watching water
on the face of a stone
Larry Keegan
it’s Saturday night
and all is well
nobody’s going to heaven
and nobody’s going to hell
there’s road rage on the highway
600 waiting on death row
for some the spring is coming
for others - I don’t know
there’s a war that’s killed ten thousand
it started because no one said no
some hope it will turn out well
there were lies, and a command to go
it’s Saturday - people head to church
on Sunday they will say their prayers
steeples make good cell phone antennas
millions bow their heads
but there may be no one upstairs
Larry Keegan
she’s a ninety pound beauty
in a two ton S-U-V
I’ve got to teach her
what the accelerator’s for
she don’t know how to spell it
she don’t know how to use it
honey - it’s a gas pedal!
you got to push it to the floor
just a ninety pound beauty
in a two ton S-U-V
it’s only a quart of milk
she’s goin’ to the store
so what’s that 300 horsepower for?
sittin’ twelve feet above the road
like riding a tank
in Afghanistan
but she can do it
if anybody can
she’s a ninety pound beauty
in a two ton S-U-V
Larry Keegan
we are between storms
in Massachusetts
late February sun
streams through lace curtains
as high noon approaches
we are between storms
in Massachusetts
late February sun
streams through lace curtains
as high noon approaches
Corelli is playing on station 102.5
I taste cashews, almonds, walnuts
and some nuts I cannot name
a sip of Shiraz - ah!
a nibble of Vermont cheddar
and (if you don’t like this
you don’t like my poem)
a chomp of sweet gherkin pickle
we are in between storms
in Massachusetts
late February sun
streams through lace curtains
I am seventy-four
I am happy!
It is high noon!
Ilze’s Toyota Tercel
1983 model
travelled 278,000 miles
that’s more than from
the earth to the moon
Ilze’s Toyota Tercel
1983 model
travelled 278,000 miles
that’s more than from
the earth to the moon
Original engine.
Color was Autumn Sunset.
Some called it orange.
I drove it to the junk yard
you see there was a
crack in the windshield
and front and rear wheels
needed brake jobs
and oil sometimes
seeped thru the crankcase
on its last ride
on the highway
it purred like a kitten
right up to the giant scale
in the car yard in Chelmsford
they weighed it
I gave them the keys
they gave me fifty-three
dollars and fifty cents
Only a car.
But saying goodbye
is saying goodbye.
Somewhat after the holidays
when a white layer of snow
covers the ground, winter
begins for me. I am alone now.
Somewhat after the holidays
when a white layer of snow
covers the ground, winter
begins for me. I am alone now.
Sitting around the fireplace was fine.
Feasting at Yule tables, chatting
over bourbon with relatives
down from Barrington was nice.
But now winter comes, wild and white.
We are alone again. In city streets,
the wild wind eddying through every
alleyway, on hillsides, sculptured
with blown snow, men
will live their lives for real,
now facing time as it first
dawned. January and
February will drive in
like thundering herds.
Fair scarlet flower and yellow of sun
memorial of mercy and the primal sweetness
Fair scarlet flower and yellow of sun
memorial of mercy and the primal sweetness
never in man's soul totally undone,
still waking brightly in the fleetness
of the years; sing gently, gentleness
almost never lost in the wild rocks of fear
cling like hope on hope's lost precipice
and teach us love is still here.
when Maxwell barked
his mistress scolded him
Dachshund type - miniature
when Maxwell barked
his mistress scolded him
Dachshund type - miniature
he growled on June’s last day
Maxwell so unkind to bark at
the stranger passing by
Maxwell’s mistress in such way
favoring the stranger
no bark, no bite. the friendly
flowers of June will hum a tune
neither bark, neither bite
Maxwell sit. Maxwell be kind.
I’m in the dental chair
the assistant with some tenderness
slides the bib about my neck
adjusting it with her fingers
I’m in the dental chair
the assistant with some tenderness
slides the bib about my neck
adjusting it with her fingers
If this was another world -
if things were different -
she’s just about my age
I walk back to the monastery
light snow is falling
there is a clothesline
with panties and a bra
the cups are filling up with snow
it bothers me, but the lady
who owns them does not
seem to care
it is not my calling
to stroke the convex of a breast
but to feel the concave
of the cups - to empty
them of snow -
a lady’s panties - no
they would never fit a man -
these thoughts are out of line
perhaps I will see the Master
of Novices, confess - just in case -
ask the Blessed Virgin for help
and say a rosary.
you played softball Sunday morning
de-ox-y-rib-o-nu-cle-ic acid
(after all that, I’m not an acid but a salt)
like an old lady’s beads thrown in a purse
I live in a dark nucleus
you walk in the sun around Horn Pond
you played softball Sunday morning
de-ox-y-rib-o-nu-cle-ic acid
(after all that, I’m not an acid but a salt)
like an old lady’s beads thrown in a purse
I live in a dark nucleus
you walk in the sun around Horn Pond
I am polymerase and replicate the ribbon of life
I am an enzyme that reads a section of the code
you smile and talk with a fisherman
I am a protein rolled up from the blueprint
in a segment of the string
I know who you are
you look up and see the morning clouds
the cytoplasm is my home.
I am a membrane
I manufacture ribosomes
that read the orders
and give commands
you read your book
a new thought enters your mind
sugars and carbohydrates, that’s
all we are, like a chain of crystal
six feet long, wrapped in a coil
we hold the numbers
now you are driving your car
I am a million years old
only carbon oxygen and hydrogen
and elements of nitrogen in the plan
we were there when it all began
you scratch your head
you think you’ll write a poem
in Auburn fields
we found new adventures
beyond the gates of life
in Auburn fields
we found new adventures
beyond the gates of life
3 poets - Longfellow, James Russell Lowell
and Oliver Wendell Holmes
but not a line of verse
maybe I will return
with some bronze plaques
inscribed with my favorite lines
I am filled with a new thirst
for sung rhymes and metered song
in this valley of the requiem
lamentable though it be
we must transgress
into the very fields of death
to find a solitary peace
here in Mt Auburn
the dead are numbered.
Is this ungracious?
liberated from ID’s and
social security
there last bank checks inscribed
they thought they were free
but unkindly architects
chiselled 2493 and 3224
where they lie
they thought they were free
but still they are numbers
of the numbered dead
the Latin is softer - mortuus
but the Anglo-Saxon is final
dead sounds like
done
or
dumb
or
dull
in Auburn fields
we found 3 poets
Longfellow, Lowell and Holmes.
an - ni - ver - sar - y
has 5 syllables
like 5 ticks
on the mantle clock
an - ni - ver - sar - y
has 5 syllables
like 5 ticks
on the mantle clock
which my wife gave me
after twenty-two years
of married life
tranquillity
has four sounds
like after the storm
when the wind has stopped
and the river
turns to glass
I like words
that march across the page
in - comp - re - hens - i - bil - it - y
( a charge sometimes directed
at my poetry)
the living room clock
begins to chime
so I will end this
on a beat of
clo - sure
still no stone for Janice
gunned down a day past Christmas
there is a marker by her grave
still no stone for Janice
gunned down a day past Christmas
there is a marker by her grave
but how quickly they forget
a gentle voice is not heard
six months to the day
butterflies and blackberry blossoms
are alive but Janice sleeps
the cruel caliber of steel
has silenced her name
brief notoriety - a day’s fame
the perpetrator’s trial
has been delayed
insanity prevails
in a universe of meteors
and crashing comets
final silence will prevail
a stone that could proclaim
the etching of her name
has not appeared
and Janice sleeps
Note - in September a heart-shaped
rose marble stone was put in place.
allegro (matter of fact)
I have been indoctrinated in days and litanies,
and yellow autumn afternoons when childhood
was warned that a calling from the Lord
allegro (matter of fact)
I have been indoctrinated in days and litanies,
and yellow autumn afternoons when childhood
was warned that a calling from the Lord
(as leaves fell in a long white buzz of breeze)
could not easily be ignored without
the danger subsequent after years
of losing grace, perhaps to fall, perhaps
to call down attonement in unending
penitential fires - but not to worry -
as winter sunlight after snow
filtered in between the classroom
shades, and sister’s soothing voice
(perhaps replacing mother’s) had us read
“The First Snowfall” by James Russell Lowell.
lento (lower voice)
The lady in blue
can rest a bit perhaps.
The litanies in her
behalf have slowed.
Mother of Sorrows.
Queen of the Sea.
Gate of Heaven.
As dust gathers on
the organ top
and stained glass
light falls into
a silent church
in Maryland
perhaps she can
find some quiet
in October.
The “pray for us”,
the “save us”,
the “we beseech thee”s
have almost ended.
andante (relaxed voice)
The perfume of spring flowers
surrounds me.
I walk through a small wood (but
like King Arthur’s realm to me).
Heavy Jim and Dominic bring jars
to mix secret potions and construct
a laboratory in the forest shade.
Last fall - ages ago - we gathered
hickory nuts,
brought them as prizes to display
proudly in the dining hall.
The incense of the heart
still lingers, and smoke
rises like painful
memories - sort of -
from Sunday afternoons.
Altar boy surplice,
unending strains
of “Tantum Ergo”s, a
chorus of nuns
and now it seems
the whole world
suffers, for one
reason or another,
from Sunday afternoons.
dramatic (full sound)
Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
It is my voice that echoes
in the apse of the stone church.
Today is the twelth Sunday
after Pentecost (somewhere
in the unending nowhere
in the year of liturgy).
I like the sound of my
deep voice speaking
slowly - and cautiously -
(the topic designated
by the Bishop is the Trinity).
I will never utter
words I cannot believe.
lyrical (female voice?)
O the bells ring
the organ thunders
the Pascal candle
in symbolic glory
burns. Red-robed,
the celebrants parade
from the vestibule
of church to high
altar, a censor
swinging, its golden
chain ringing, the
smoke of Resurrection
rising.
philosophical (pensive)
They have trained me from infancy
in the telling of the beads,
midday visits to the most
blessed sacrament, Mary’s
supplication. I have often
walked out feeling clean
from the box of the confessional
with the sun seeming brighter
and the wind crisp through
my hair
andante (matter of fact - reflective)
What can I save
from this house of God?
The organ sounds -
Mozart, Bach - this
was their noblest theme.
The statues still stand
silent in the clerestory
light - men and women
parading endlessly
in our dreams
through centuries
of whatever this was.
Icons of mosaic
with rainbow colors
and gold, gazing
down on me through
my steps as a child
till now - when, I suppose -
I am old. The language
of Latin and Greek
in great red-leather
colored books -
bibles with poetry
of Ecclesiastes and Job,
Psalms sung by
choirs while bells
thunder, carol and
chime in all the
cathedrals of the
world.
agitated (intense)
An old nun smiles.
I walk by graveyards
with names that surprise
me - my heart squirms -
as I remember them.
There is a book opened
to a page where
November sunlight falls.
I gaze upon the words.
Like a bird, I have learned to fly.
I say goodbye.
LAWRENCE TOWER, SEVEN SIERRA GULF
REPORTING 2 MILE RIGHT BASE
FOR TWO THREE
LAWRENCE TOWER, SEVEN SIERRA GULF
REPORTING 2 MILE RIGHT BASE
FOR TWO THREE
SEVEN SIERRA GULF
CLEARED TO LAND
CLEARED TO LAND
SEVEN SIERRA GULF
Even bishops have a chair.
Here I am floating in the air
four parts nitrogen, one part oxygen.
But everybody thinks
there’s nothing there.
LAWRENCE TOWER. WIND CHECK
FOR SEVEN SIERRA GULF.
WIND IS ZERO TWO ZERO
AT ONE FOUR
Roy’s grandma was blown down
at Hancock Towers.
Should have held onto a lamp post.
Could she walk on my wing?
(Air speed is 78 miles per hour.)
LAWRENCE TOWER. CHEROKEE
THREE NINE FOUR FOXTROT LIMA,
OVER ROCKINGHAM WITH
INFORMATION ECHO.
FOUR FOXTROT LIMA. REPORT 2 MILES
RIGHT DOWNWIND FOR TWO THREE.
TRAFFIC IS A SKYHAWK DEPARTING
TO THE NORTHEAST
RIGHT DOWNWIND TWO THREE.
TRAFFIC NOT IN SIGHT.
FOUR FOXTROT LIMA.
Awhile ago I circled slowly
over a lake watching the wake
of small pleasure boats.
Most people don’t know
how you make a plane fly slow.
(Even with no power, a plane
can fly very fast.)
Medium power, pull back on the yoke,
flaps on full. At 50 miles per hour,
still flying. But after that
she would fall like a box.
LAWRENCE TOWER. MOONEY
NINE ZERO SEVEN SEVEN KILO
READY FOR TAKEOFF. REQUEST
STRAIGHT OUT DEPARTURE.
MOONEY SEVEN SEVEN KILO.
HOLD SHORT, LANDING TRAFFIC.
HOLDING SHORT, SEVEN SEVEN KILO.
Engine quiet. Feathers curved
for slow flight. Wings spread.
For a moment, I am not like
the people down there, driving
in trucks, walking along sidewalks,
standing in fields.
I do not know, really,
where I am. Somewhere in the air.
We say “over Lowell”, but really,
who knows where we are?
MOONEY SEVEN SEVEN KILO
TAKE POSITION AND HOLD.
POSITION AND HOLD
SEVEN SEVEN KILO.
At takeoff I saw a red-tailed hawk
curve arrow-like beyond
my left wing. ( It was a hawk.)
All my life I’ve watched them.
Never seen them furl their wings
and dive. I do not dive, but soar,
waiting for the sound when
wheels hit ground. Then
to put wings away, until
another day of playing in clouds.
CESSNA SEVEN SIERRA GULF
NEXT LEFT TURN WHEN POSSIBLE.
CONTACT GROUND
ONE TWO FOUR POINT THREE.
one and two and three....
goes on to infinity
you don’t want to
hear this from me
I look into your eye
the circumference
is diameter times pi
one and two and three....
goes on to infinity
you don’t want to
hear this from me
I look into your eye
the circumference
is diameter times pi
the limit of the series
one half, one fourth, one eigth
is zero
the derivative of the maximum
is zero. The curves
of your body
form a continuum
from A to B
with a maximum at C
tangere is the Latin word
to touch. The slope of the function
where x equals two
a tangent - one point where
like a kiss
the slope is the the measure
the trouble with hills ?
when you get up close
they become trees.
the trouble with trees?
there are too many.
the trouble with hills ?
when you get up close
they become trees.
the trouble with trees?
there are too many.
one or two
at the end of an open field
would be enough
you don’t think of hills
as having roads
but I remember a hill
where two roads crossed
at the summit
where there were open fields
I wondered why roads
would come to the summit
and then go down again.
there was a farmhouse
where they crossed.
I want to find the place again
but can’t. it’s somewhere
in Pennsylvania. two roads
cross on the summit of a hill
Se movere is the definition of life.
In the world of philosophy
no test tubes or measurements
are needed. Only a chess board
with a bishop and a king.
Se movere is the definition of life.
In the world of philosophy
no test tubes or measurements
are needed. Only a chess board
with a bishop and a king.
Time is the measurement of change.
Mutatio. Matter is extension
in time and space.
I throw on my robes
and walk by the sycamores.
My brother walks on the wall.
It is May. We have spring fever.
Mind and body, form and matter,
Esse et essentia. What a delightful life!
Vivere, se movere.
What is so free as thought?
Move the queen diagonally
in a show of force. Consolidate
the pawns, rally the horsemen
and the rooks.
For my brother and me
it is time for the exam.
We will go before the board.
Doctors versed in theorems,
professors with objections
to each and every proof.
Speak! Display your arguments,
weave words, and then
you will be free.
Vacation!
I and my brother will play.
Let words go for another day.
Collect mushrooms, observe hawks,
write poetry. Philosophy
is not dead, it only sleeps.
a stranger walks on Highland Avenue
and you? and you? and you?
where are you going this day in your life?
to sharpen a knife? to find a wife?
a stranger walks on Highland Avenue
and you? and you? and you?
where are you going this day in your life?
to sharpen a knife? to find a wife?
or are you alone? alone?
and say
leave well enough
alone! alone!
Japanese maples (ornamental)
and apple trees and wind
strew petals on the path
making it a special day
white April clouds
have grown together
changing blue to grey
a stranger walks to the train
in Winchester town
alone? alone?
(a knife? a wife?)
-Larry Keegan