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three local poets: jean casey, bill jacobs, susan peterson
THREE LOCAL POETS:
Jean Casey, Bill Jacobs, Susan Peterson
I stood transfixed in my kitchen window
which looks toward the east
and a stand of birches in front of woods.
It’s where I see a full moon rising
under a rack of clouds in a navy blue sky,
but yesterday afternoon there was a sun shower
which had caused a perfect rainbow…
a full crescent dipping down, ending in the meadow
near the first stone fence,
the other end concealed by the trees.
Radiantly defined colors, all of them
which I recited like a prayer:
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet.
The violet was startling, almost fuchsia.
My camera was my eye.
Who deserves such a gift!
Autumn in Door County
Soft cotton sweatshirt and pants,
sipping that first cup of coffee,
bundle up for a dawn walk
with the dog,
cold air in the lungs,
stars soaring in black
tinged with purple gold sky
and silhouetted trees,
shoe leather crunching down
into the damp dew dropped
leaves tugged by the leash
of my invisible friend..
Queen Anne’s Lace
I see that flower all
around me, this summer-
see everywhere its beautiful
intricacies, a close constellation
….like delicate mandalas
….waiting to be looked at, a language
….to be learned.
Often I lose myself in fields
spread with lavender, the blue
of flax, and again that circle
of antique lace, like a nun’s tatting
silently demanding something of me.
Last night I saw from top of the hill
the half-moon, haloed curve of light,
watched it sink quickly into black, and
again saw, pushing close to where I sat,
white flowers, waiting,
like holy spiderwebs, in the dark.
[from: PREPARING THE FIELDS, Spoon River Poetry Press, 1985, $4, illustrated/drawings by Charles Peterson
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