People have asked why do your poems rhyme?
I search for an answer, one that takes time.
So I think and I think but I can’t offer a clue,
Why do my poems rhyme? Oh what should I do?
There must be a reason why I like words to have cadence, a smooth mellow flow,
I think that they focus me and help me create each tale of woe!
They said that spring was in the air and I believed that to be true.
But the days they pass and nothing changes, I’m ready for something new.
Winters chill is hanging on, refusing to let go.
So every day I open the door and hope there is no more snow.
But springs arrival keeps being thwarted, this we know is fact,
To expect some warmer days and greener grass we have to make a pact.
Let’s agree here and now, by decree or proclamation,
That spring has sprung and is here to stay and to all else fire and hell damnation.
This is one of my favorite photos. The Appalachian Trail has only one passenger railroad station that stops on the trail about one and a half hours north of NYC. Many thru hikers have taken the train and made the journey into the city as a a temporary break from the long days of hiking. The photo was taken looking north.
The photographs below are all from one of my all time favorite hiking spots. Ward Pound Ridge Reservation is located in Northern Westchester County, NY and offers many miles of excellent hiking. The photos represent a time period from summer until the beginning of fall.
The skies are frigid, a cool cobalt blue,
Winter won’t leave, we know that much is true.
As I lay in my bed with my eyes closed so tight,
I think of a warm spring all through the long night.
But then I wake up and look out the door,
I sincerely believe winter will be many weeks more.
Every day that passes spring should be in the air,
Where is it you ask, this really isn’t fair.
The air is still frigid with snow in the sky,
It will be here shortly you say with a sigh.
Yet another day slips past and you still hope it comes soon,
But by the way that it looks it won’t be until June!
Frigid
Warm and sunny days
Still a distant memory
So tired of snow…
Kids watching clocks, hoping they’ll move.
The lesson progresses, they’re still in the groove.
As time marches on, young eyes they become glazed,
Nothing can move them in their permanent haze.
They still think they’ll pass, without having a clue,
What should they remember? Time passes, will you?
Dreary fog settles
Rain falling day after day
Blue skies would be nice!
The seas they did churn, with obvious delight,
Boat fairly bouncing amid winds though the night.
Up and down in the water it rolled,
Mother nature was never so bold!
So I held on and hoped that I would live till the morn,
Sails on the mast ripped, frayed and torn.
As the sun slowly rose and the winds did die down,
It then slowly dawned on me, I wasn’t going to drown!
The Zen Hiker 