The following poems were read by their authors at a poetry reading in the Library on April 21. (See photos.)
The poems appear in the collection of writing
and photography entitled
Pennsylvania Seasons: Commonwealth Images and Poetry.
Copies are available in the Osterhout collection for checkout or use in the library:
Call number: q811 SMI.
Lost Geese in February
Seven erratic geese
Like static in flight
Dark silky shapes
Against a pale pewter sky.
For a moment, I believed it was March
Then snow mounting clouds shifted
And cold enveloped the sun,
The geese disappeared like ghosts
by Anne A. Thomas
A Frozen Moment
On a crackling, dry
Rusty, leaf tip.
On this wonder
Giving it momentary
Life in death.
by Esther B. Davidowitz
that clings and is cool to the touch
also, given enough time, cuts through rock.
Water, the cradle for all living forms,
created Ricketts Glen in the time that
it took for the fish there to evolve,
so slowly works the water on the stone.
And the water falling over the stone
has been gushing and rushing for so long
that even we have finally heard.
Its sounds jog our primordial memory,
our memory of being in the trees
of a lush African jungle, the streams
of which lead us to civilization.
by Richard Aston
As If Summer Needed a Room
Welcome finally to this place,
where private talk is an elegant flurry
on a nonchalant portico of hours folded back
so that summer can move in on its wings,
and simply unpack its petals
to ripen in the white Panama chair
with golden cushions and lift its hand
to order fragrances
from the sun falling through
white laurels in lace on the mountains.
Solemn satisfactions are filled
with the four winds and early names
match faces of strung clover necklaces
under the perch of the lady cardinal
whose crowded liberty throbs
the leaves of the maples.
The mirrors of mountain lakes shine
without giving notice to the lily pads
of any preposterous beauty
while we trade red strawberries
for reserved rooftops
and dewy lemonades
for schedules from the fireflies.
by Barbara Tomaine
Roger’s Environmental Ed Center
The purple grackle are more timid
than the redwing blackbirds.
They eye our bread, then eye us—
a lesson on hunger and boundaries
in their bright yellow eyes.
They wait for us to walk away.
Rachel stirs clouds of sediment
into the stream with a stick
then stops to watch the water slowly clear.
The stream feels the quiet upper pond
where a tree leans over the water—
higher and deeper handfuls of blue air.
We gather and float goose feathers,
dip our hands in cool water
and wave our breeze borne ships
back in a backward swirl.
Rachel dries her hands on my shirt.
Afternoon sun beside the middle pond—
we watch the park employees drag
a tennis net through the water
herding the rainbow and brown speckled trout
into a small area by the spillway.
They scoop them up and race
the thrashing buckets to the lowest pond.
The man with the buckets lets Rachel
help release a two footer. It lies stunned
near the shore a few minutes then swims
for the clear, deeper, open life.
by David Chin
A Season Past
A gust of wind
scarlet leaves fall
It doesn’t seem
autumn could catch us
although it is September’s whirl
seeding the earth,
the scattered shuffle
a slacked walk.
And though the seasons dance
in one round,
waving golden rod,
it is without you;
a sigh of seasons past.
by Charles Failing