End of Season . . .
On the road in North America.
I've frequently been moved by the sight of abandoned christmas trees
along the wayside. Here's a little poem I composed some years ago
while I was working as a conductor in the dutch city of Amsterdam:
Spina Christi
As the earth leans back into
the sun,
little christ-bodies
are aban-
doned, left
out to die in the acid mists of
northern nights. Green trees, dirty streets,
no hope.
Roots
cut short in brown burlap bags, a
cover for an ancient trust now
broken. New friendship found in the
ornaments
of alleyways, black bag mountains,
old TVs. Before
sunsight, the sound of strange tongues, but
who could understand
these men in their trucks who come to
remove
the thorns of a city's
eyes? Yes, a true gathering
together of
divine
errors
all. And in our sleep, tug boats going
out
to sea.
|
Hockey Trio |
Ice Fishing Duo |
Ice Fishing Quartet |
Ice Fishing, solo |
s(Photograph was made
Sunday, the 2nd of February, 2003)
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Photograph by Cliff Crego © 2003 picture-poems.com
(created:
II.2.2003)