Moonbeams on the water,
Dainty hand in mine,
We stroll along the lakefront,
Kissing high in mind.

That moonlight works its magic,
It makes amour appear.
So in its spell we stop and gaze
At eyes aglow with love.

On full wet lips glints moonlight,
Glad faces cant and near;
We deeply kiss upon that shore
As brighter, beams that moon.

Signs of Autumn


Summer gives way
To turf with white stripes,
To helmets and pads
And neat, orderly rows
As bands on the march
Air halftime shows,
To passes and dashes
And tackles and blocks,
As thousands of voices
Crescendo as one.

Yes, summer wanes,
Football rears up:
In sweaters tight-knit,
Lithe cheerleaders jump,
While men thrash and struggle
Under lights white as day,
Through rain, sun, and chill,
Elation and loss–
All signs of autumn,
Like leaves turning red.


Towels, sun-bleached,
Spangle sand, sun-seared,
While bills-to-breeze,
Hang gulls on stretched wing:
This August day slips by.

Umbrellas flap,
Casting cool shadow
As ocean hills
Collapse to white foam,
Can’t this day yet linger?

But women, lithe,
Sculpting bikinis
Now don light shifts
And trudge over dune;
Must the sun sink lower?

Labor Day looms,
Night stretches longer–
Soon leaves will turn
In crisp autumn chill;
How days of summer flash by.



I passed by a mother walking the block,
Her flustered expression untouched by mirth–
She struggled to shepherd her three-child flock,
Four lives condemned to a happiness-dearth;
So young, that mother, to have endured birth,
Her still-girlish face betraying sheer youth:
Too common, their plight–a heartbreaking truth.



A carpenter hammers
And people well see
A house rising up
As plain as can be–

To canvas sets artist
His brush wet with paint,
And patrons might comment,
“That landscape’s so quaint,”

But to a poet at work
The world’s apt to sigh,
“You spend your time writing,
I’m curious: Why?”



Right through that door did she storm,
I begged her not to go;
I even tried, “I love you,”
She chortled that’s not so.

Her suitcase she rolled with her,
But left many things in place;
So every room and corner
Reminds me of her face:

A coffee cup with lipstick,
All the books she sat and read,
Our perfume-fragrant pillows,
That spot we left in bed–

Oh, that thought stings the deepest,
All the joyful sex we shared–
Just where’d she get a notion
That I never really cared?

Well, I’ll find some other woman
To move in here with me:
She’ll be much better looking,
For bed she’ll be ready,

And never will she pack and leave,
As did the prior three–
No, I’ll find a woman not insane
Who’ll live with me in glee.