Love handles

Dale Robinette,
where have you gone?
Where have you been?
Has life provided you love,
like the love we once had,
like the love I would give,
if I were given a chance now?

Dale Robinette,
aren't you curious to see
what time has done to me,
the grey hairs, the age spots,
the spare tire, the love handles?
What about the gentle touch,
the romantic heart,
the Christian soul,
the music?

Oh the music! So much music.
Lonely heart and eyesight for beauty in the world - the greens & blues of life, of earth.
Won't you come see them through my eyes?

You & I are different people now,
thanks to 25 years of change,
of treading on different paths.
And I KNOW that all that is left are the good things,
the memories of young love,
days spent at Gilford Beach,
early morning wake-up calls.

To see one another now is to build love on love, build life on life,
merge body & soul, to become whole.
At the very least, or perhaps most,
it might chase you from my dreams
and me from yours.

*Dale Robinette*
*only a dream*

Only a dream
that love handles.

Juncos

A flock of slate-colored juncos have alighted at Cedar Eden for a spell.
Their white tail flags flashing as the flare to a stop.
Pecking and hopping in the green, long, bent grass.
Shattering to flight at each little scare
then returning when it all turns out to be nothing.

Fall is late this year,
dark damp days and hillsides of muted colors,
narrow gold cherry leaves plastered along the driveway.
Yellow school bus groans to a stop and happy boy dashes out, runs down the drive, sending the little grey flock treeward.

Angels

The prettiest angel must eat & shit.
And might still lonesome loving be.
An ackward glance on the face of it
falls deeper than the likes of me.

Blond & pink, she draws the eye
and checks upon the note of I.
Between us comes a young buck bold
and I another tale untold.

A poet unread is nothing.

Autumn Calling

I stare out on a darkened day,
forshortened and chilled,
damp and grey.
But realize I needn't fall
to autumn's desolation call.

Colors bright or colors dim
can all reflect upon a whim.
I cannot blame the tides of fall
for autumn's desolation call.

Indian Summer

A day feeling so much of summer that it awakens a jubilant spirit within.
A thousand and one memories flood my mind,
the most prominant is sitting at a table with my little sister in Nana's garage, door open and a warm breeze sighing steadily in the high pine boughs.

Fluffy aphids began to loosely swarm at the end of last week, followed by the major swarm of obnoxious mexican ladybugs. These creatures are harbingers of fall as much as the amphibians are of spring on that first warm night rain in April. How they know the days to take flight is a mystery to me. I suspect day length and temperature intertwine in their feeble response circuits. Unlucky to thrm would be an autumn that plunges straight into icy winter conditions.

Even a few hardy crickets have something to say today. It really is a spectacular day, a spectacle of life.

Eve

Long day at camp
Boy scouts at the lake
Smell of campfire wafts from my person
Sun & shade & loons off shore
Good times with good people.

But here now, home
Loud & bright & distracting
darkness outside envelops me inside
Leaving the campfire behind
a neccesity but not a desire

Rainy Late September Day

Time moving glacial slow
Wind bowing piabald trees
Skies that reminisce of snow
Long grass waves like troubled seas

Traffic churns this troubled air
. .

Midnight Moon

The moon lights a translucent sky
o'er Donnelly's hill faded.
Shadows cast of tree and I
as in sunlight pallor jaded.

Autumn

A lone monarch on aster clings,
then sails away on auburn wings,
preparing for what winter brings,
a promise to all of coming springs.

Ice ages

"It is mildly unnerving to reflect that the whole of meaningful human history— the development of farming, the creation of towns, the rise of mathematics and writing and science and all the rest— has taken place within an atypical patch of fair weather. Previous interglacials have lasted as little as eight thousand years. Our own has already passed its ten thousandth anniversary."
[A Short History of nearly Everything - Bill Bryson]

White Mountain Memories

Traveling the backroads of the Great North Woods
White Mountains calling me home
Leaving is something I'll never regret
But I miss them whenever I roam
(chorus)

I left on a day that was rainy and grey
The mist filled the valleys all around
With each turn I take and with each sunny break
Beautiful vistas abound

(chorus)

I dream of the granite cragged steepy rocky slopes
Where eagles and osprey still fly
Trees fill the valleys where clear water flows
through rivers that never run dry.

(chorus)

White water lilies abloom in the ponds
Moose graze contently on the shore
I see it while leaving and dream it while gone.
It's there when I return once more.

(chorus)

My children and I where the Lost River flows.
Exploring each bouldery cave
I look in their eyes and I see it and know
This is one of our most special days

(chorus)

Colors of fall, you can't touch them at all
The reds and the purples and gold
The mountains loom over the seasons that change
It's scenery that never grows old.

(chorus)

Winter is special, a blanket of white
Life all around seems to freeze
Stars sparkle bright over crystalline heights
The wind rattles slumbering trees.

(chorus)

written August 27, 2005 while returning from Meadowlark Music Camp, Washington, ME * words and music copyright (c) 2005 Michael R. Martin

Download and listen to the rough recording at ftp://cedareden.com/pub/mp3/WhiteMountainMemories.mp3

August Rain

Gentle summer rain falls
and bounces leaf to leaf.
A soothing eternal sound
linked to memories across
so many years.
It'sjust so wonderful to hear.

I grew up walking in the rain:
in love, or lost, or deep in pain.
A therapeutic remedy
strengthens heart & soul & knee.