From the Pages of a Notebook

Corona Borealis, Summer Triangle
Waves gently lapping
Moon rising
Let me not cease to awe

Winter wren
Such a voice
For so little a one

From the dark trees you sing

But a streak of pink
Left in the dark grey cloud
Over dark waters you sing loon

Bald eagle
Flying at night
How will you know to land?

Write a poem
On the impossibility
Of taking it all in

Redwing blackbirds
That congregate on the reeds by the thousands
Where do you all disappear to?

The snipe knows why it spends it's winters away
I know not how I spend my summers

In my tent
I am surrounded by the sound of water

Eagle feathers
Are you given as a gift
Or do I merely wish so
Stream by my tent
You speak in many voices

Nasturtiums, what do you have to do with the sailboat?
I sit watching you both
And now in winter those were summer thoughts
And the stream by the shore I visited then
Do rotting cedars still lie by your banks?
What curtain can I draw aside to penetrate deeper the evening sky?

Hands saintly folded
Encupped the purple washcloth a blossom
The shower flows over these
I stand and feel beatific

Cormorant in the rain
Beak raised
Continually expectant

Jupiter, your wildest beating heart
And whirling moons
How painfully slow your sidereal day

Goldfinch, heron
Your abodes
A gentle rippled lake apart

Leaves like little boats
Sail on the water
A kingbird alights on a branch overhead
Peers at me
Then flits away

By what flux do our paths diverge
That the other has passed on

Scattering leaves
Grey fall clouds
This morning my heart is full of sadness

The wind blows in the hollowness of my soul

The embarrassed rose tint
Of the evening sky
Can I be so beautiful?

Gentle persistant
The slow rhythms of the waves
Through the closed window
Come to my ear

Empty sky

Shoreline as a metaphor for
time stretching forward and
back. Death, that momentary
place where we are laid
upon it.

This evening, times strange
Stiller than I remember
Green leaves bud anew
April 28/98

A little goldfinch hit the window
Slept in my hand for a while
Pooed on my finger
And then when it was time
Hastily desired to fly away
April 10/99

Pin-apple full of blossoms
Gently raining down to the pond
Goldfish lazily flit about
June 5/03

At the ponds edge
Beautiful Irises blossom
July 14/03

The lush green leaves resplendent with drops
Chickadees calling, ducks fly by
The bay speckled with raindrops
All in the womb of the grey sky
August 2/03

I lie in my bed
Yet I can feel and smell
The dry pine needles
Gathered on the ground
By the cottage
April 1/04

Sailboats on the water
Like the last few wasps
That linger in fall
September 23/10

Beautiful golden sky
A heron lands in the tree
October 4/10

The first thunderstorm of the season
Rain dimpling on the still waters
Flashes in my heart!

Juhan Puhm, 1997-2010