The Poetry
To quote the new wave band 'The Fixx' from the 80s . . ."One Thing Leads to Another!" After my exhibit opening at the
Adams County Arts Council in September, a representative from "The Ryan Observatory" made contact with an invitation to participate in their upcoming exhibit in November. What an honor! The observatory is located just south of Lancaster, PA near the scenic "Muddy Run Recreation Reservoir." The setting, with two observatory domes and a large nearby body of water, is stunning!
Please check back often as I will bring you more updates as we get closer to this exciting opening (November 14th)!
Through the many years, while continuing to create "portraits" of our universe, I have also written poetry dedicated to space, and the miracles of 'life' and 'time.'
I hope you enjoy my thoughts on a variety of subjects here, and that they will compel you to be even more curious, and to consider your own life's context within this vast and enigmatic universe.
Space
Deep as a night dream is this blackness,
As if to float in our own restless imagination.
This is pure and fine darkness from which we come,
And in turn, it becomes our destiny.
- 05/90, Mike.
We Are
We are the mind of star debris,
The intellect of night.
Within us lives this universe,
Its cinders burn again.
With time the ashes learned to think,
And stardust came to know.
The consciousness of space - we are,
On this slight grain of sand.
- 03/92, Mike.
Quick Spark
Within the midst of this quick spark,
We pray our souls to keep.
But life it seems is just a dream,
From which we fall to sleep.
- 01/91, Mike.
From the Stars
There are cures we’ll never know,
For plagues that don’t exist,
And art that we will never see,
By masters who don’t live.
Equations wait in textbooks not,
For problems we don’t know,
And concepts great in no one’s mind,
Will not affect us so.
But all these things that are not yet,
And more is yet to come,
For there are worlds, and lives, and minds,
Emerging from the stars.
- 06/92, Mike.
From Inside
From inside and through the pane,
I sit and stare and watch the rain.
The single strikes together band,
Like the gentle whirring of a fan.
Wooden ticks from the clock on the wall,
Complement softly the rainfall.
What hour’s struck, what time has passed,
I need not know, I need not ask.
- 07/85, Mike.
Between the Two
Behind you sleeps untold score,
Before you waits countless more,
And all you’ll ever know or do,
A flash between the two.
- 06/92, Mike.
Swirls
Swirls of smoke,
This ash on which we ride.
We’re lost in this immense,
And overwhelming, frailty.
- 01/87, Mike.
Point A to Point B
A drop of dew, crystal-like,
Moves down the blade of green,
The journey is brief.
Point A, to point B,
Sinking and disappearing silently,
Into the good, brown Earth.
- 05/89, Mike.
This Old Chair
In my chair I sit with the kindred sun,
Sleepy it makes us, this old chair and me.
Across a ripened yellow field, a warm breeze blows softly.
It comes quickly puffing in my ears.
Then away.
The red bird’s song finds me in this calm.
From the fencepost covered in honeysuckle.
He flies.
As my eyes grow heavy, I know that life is as good,
As the smell of this field of tall, dry grass.
- 03/87, Mike.
Surely It Will Rain
As we try to seek the sun,
Then surely it will rain.
And only when you've found your star,
The clouds roll in again.
So as we’ve learned to taste the wine,
Or value strings of notes,
And smell red roses with delight,
Our senses no doubt fade.
With care one plants a tender sprig,
In time to meet the drought.
And truer can our love not be,
Than they would love us not . . .
And if we think the end is far,
It likely must be nigh.
For surely as we’ve come to live,
We’ve only come to die.
- 01/89, Mike.
Fine Old Scotch
Among the books a bottle rests,
It once held fine old scotch.
But in its ornate, porcelain bounds,
It now holds precious more.
Memories are by far more gold,
Than any fine old scotch.
They fill the senses and the heart,
With thoughts of times before.
That bottle does yet overflow,
But not with fine old scotch.
It overflows with life, and love,
And those I once adored.
- 02/87, Mike.
Before and After
We’re from a place, we don’t recall.
To there is where, we all shall fall.
- 01/86, Mike.
I Miss Someone
A distant hill claims the spot,
Setting still the air.
. . . pink fades to hazy blue.
My mood sinks deep, my heart a knot,
I miss someone I fear.
. . . the days, they pass so soon.
- 09/85, Mike.
The Whitest Pearl
As soft the touch of a first kiss,
Or clean the smell of pine,
This thing that many men will miss,
And so few men will find.
As clear the sound of morning bell,
Or rich a knock on wood,
This treasure, merchants cannot sell,
Or trade, nor ever could.
As true the striking of a clock,
Or proud a flag unfurled,
So great it is this quiet power,
Alone could save the world.
For all its worth one cannot touch,
Or smell or taste or see,
The whitest pearl a sea could clutch,
A gem scarce . . . honesty.
- 08/85, Mike.
The Countless More
I am but a grain of sand,
Upon the desert floor.
Obscure and slight, so I am,
Among the countless more.
And if the wind should take me up,
And heave me careless down.
A martyr not, my loss untold,
Among the countless more.
And should a storm come ‘round,
And scatter me away,
My deeds were lost as was the grain,
Among the countless more.
- 02/86, Mike.
The Snow
Like a gift left in the night,
Falling quiet, soft, and pure.
There is a warmth about this white,
Within its blanket, I’m secure.
I stand here in the night at peace,
This black and white alliance.
Sounds are buffered, the Earth is still,
How good this awesome silence.
With every worry my mind holds,
And all the stress I know,
The bad in life, the storms in me,
Are covered deep in snow.
- 02/87, Mike.
The Speed of Time
The speed of light per second,
As Doctor Albert knew,
In miles; one hundred eighty six,
Two hundred eighty two.
But lives pass by much faster!
Within the tick of seconds,
We find ourselves where we began,
Before the gates of heaven.
- 07/24, Mike.
Stealing Gold
The sunlight speeds through the clear,
Warming the soft on my floor.
Taking that space, putting self in soft’s place,
I become what the sunlight adores.
- 05/85, Mike.
Chocolate Moon
Lonesome, staring out,
From the frozen night,
With cold hypnotic charm,
She skirts the oily depths.
What centuries have passed,
When this single quiet pearl,
Did not keep the confidences,
Of Earth’s many lovers?
And how have we held her?
The moon is not cold or sharp.
To me, she is warm and chocolate,
Forever guarding our dreams.
- 09/92, Mike.
One Last Thing
(for Peggy)
When your years have turned to gold,
And all my years are gone,
Unfold this yellowed paper,
With fading words upon . . .
And as you read and think of me,
Your heart still brightly glowing,
For you I promise one last thing,
My love exceeds my knowing . . .
- 01/86, Mike.