I strolled along the Seine to look

I strolled along the Seine to look
At scenes I'd gazed at in a book;
The solid strength of Notre Dame,
Quick boats that cleft the river's calm,
The Left Bank's bustling, lively throng,
The passing hubbub like a song,
The Eiffel Tower's silhouette,
Made Paris real, and yet, and yet...


I thought I'd lived here once before,
So long ago...familiar lore
Recalled on every narrow street,
With memories so sharp and sweet;
Was it my past, or did I see
An alternate reality,
A time that I had never known,
A place that I could never own?

Itr was quiet in America a thousand years ago

It was quiet in America a thousand years ago,
On a normal day, so still, you could almost hear the flowers grow.
The only sounds occurring by the woods or by the sea
Were the daily sounds of nature, singing out in harmony.

On the ground, or in the air, it hardly mattered which,
The silence was astonishing, its texture was so rich.
The forest sounds included those of deer and mountain lion;
With luck, when they were still, you might hear the soft breeze sighing.

The eastern natives had long-houses, built with sturdy trees,
They wielded home-made axes to erect their homes with ease.
In silence women tilled the fields, soft-treading men sought deer;
Each summer's menu featured fish, caught in a rustic weir.

The world you navigate today reverberates with sound,
From screeching brakes and honking horns, your ears are being drowned.
A million voices try to shout above the traffic's scream,
While quiet seems a precious prize you yearned for in a dream.

No way has been discovered to return us to the past;
You wouldn't be the first to hope, nor would you be the last.
But every now and then, it's good to leave the telephone,
To take a walk in silence, and enjoy its quiet tone.

They marked me down for 10 o'clock

They marked me down for ten o'clock.
Not eight. Or nine. I had a lock.
I walked in early, per routine,
And signed the sheet; I knew the scene.

They put me in a little room,
I checked my watch, began to fume.
Ten minutes passed, and then ten more;
No doctor walked in through the door.

When sixty minutes' time had passed,
The doctor came! Oh, joy! At last!
I fixed her with a steely stare,
As she walked in without a care.

"My time's as valuable to me,
As yours to you, and it's not free."
She blushed, and muttered an excuse,
In fact, her reasons were profuse.

Exam time came again this year;
I thought I'd made my point quite clear,
But nothing changed, and she was late;
She held me up and made me wait.

If I were tardy, I would hear
Some silly nonsense hit my ear.
They'd try to charge a penalty;
How unsurprising that would be!

When I first looked and saw her eyes

When I first looked and saw her eyes
Were not a green I might devise,
Nor blue reflected in the skies
That arch above a pleasant day;
I have to think that they were grey.

Wine-dark and deep was Homer's sea,
On sun-filled days, both light and free,
But storms could void that tendency
And sometimes cast that tone away;
I have to think her eyes were grey.

Her eyes could never even hint
A color I could hope to mint;
No flower has that subtle glint,
Not green, not blue; how can I say?
I have to think her eyes were grey.

Perhaps I'm telling it all wrong?
I could describe her eyes in song,
The melody would be quite strong;
Yet somehow, music's not the way,
So I'll just say her eyes were grey.

Nostalgia strikes us now and then

Nostalgia strikes us now and then,
The same for women as for men;
The "good old days," when we were young,
The fun recalled, the sweet songs sung.

In memory our youthful dreams
Were innocent, or so it seems.
Our parents taught us right from wrong,
How we'd succeed, and get along.

The life we lived so long ago,
Before we learned what we now know,
Sometimes was hard, and never tame,
Nostalgia's just a pleasant game.

January

Snow, drifting higher,
Black night making love to earth
By the forest wall