Category — Poem

Driving home, I saw this sight
and stopped to watch and stare
With camera quick, I caught the light
with you, I knew I’d share.

The sun slips down to start the show
while clouds obscure its view
light reflects in orange glow
that bleeds through red and blue.

Looking back on days events
while evening dims the light
extinguishing my discontent
if only for the night.

Weathered and wooden and boarded up tight

this window stands guard through day and through night.

Its glass long departed now all that remains

is this wooden reminder and its painted blue panes.

Ivy envies all that’s tall

and fights for light

in heedless sprawl

Emerald bright

and forest green

It paints the world a jealous sheen.

With the chill now subsiding the birds seem to sing

just a little bit louder as we coast into Spring.

Riders and bikes grow in numbers by day

as do walkers and runners and children at play.

There’s something so incredibly sad about a home or even a shed or out-building in disrepair.

This building is at the corner of Stony Hill and Langhorne Yardley Road. It appears to be leaning to one side as if it were just about ready to lie down.

Here’s a poem I jotted down as I thought about some of these leaning, aging structures I’m finding around Yardley.

When your days gone by outnumber days yet to be

and you reach for the ground from the strain

When your face shows its age

and your frame feels the pain

and your roof will no more shed the rain

When you lean as you stand

with your lines now askew

and you no longer know what you thought that you knew

Find peace in the winds

that you blocked as they blew

all the days you withstood

skies of grey, skies of blue.

The Delaware has breeched its banks

and spills into the street.

As water rushes swiftly by

dry land declares defeat.

Fueled by rain and melting snow

the river surges faster.

This beautiful but dangerous flow

that threatens with disaster.

As darkness paints this quiet town,

the sun retreats for night.

Heading home to settle down,

I catch its final light.

In life its final fleeting fire

swiftly fades too fast.

But here it lives to be admired

its beauty ever lasts.

Plump and sweet and out of reach,

I watched this goose pursue

a frozen treat, she’d love to eat

without quite falling through.

Two roads exist to this dessert

both equal in reward.

One requires cunning

the other leaves her bored.

To swim her way through broken ice

and snatch the berry quick

or find the only frozen path

on ice that’s firm and thick.

Today she’ll choose MacGuyver’s way

and test her will to win

treading lightly, dry she’ll stay

without quite falling in.