Poetry by John Kirkwood
Little
Leaves
- I watch the rain patter down
- As it dampens the whole town.
- Little leaves
- Flutter down from the trees
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- Spokane, Washington, 1951
-
The Night
- The night is cold.
- The moon is bold.
- The weary world is sleeping.
- The stars are bright
- With ancient light.
- Their ageless journey keeping
Christmas
- Sing out! Sing out! For lo the
bells
- Toll out the passing year.
- The season's brightest moment
- Is softly drawing near.
-
- As these silent patterns cover
- The failing veins and hues,
- May this Christmas season cover
- All sad and mournful news.
-
- May Christ and all His angels
- Help the coming year to be
- Enlightening to all people
- And a blessing until thee.
Wolf
- Art thou a dog? Art thou a dog,
- With fur as black as jet?
- Art thou a dog? Art thou a dog?
- I look and look and yet.
-
- Art thou a dog with hazel eyes
- Of droopy ears and whine and bark?
- Art thou a dog of riven flank
- Of misty nose and history dark?
-
- Thou art not a dog of black and
bark
- But a man caught up in a cage
- Waiting with a patient heart
- For the freedom of an age.
Water
- I love the tide and wavelet,
- That are on every shore.
- I love the slapping water
- And the combers ever more.
- I love the oceans, seas, and
rivers
- And the dripping water drop.
- And the reason that I love them is
- They never, never stop.
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- Moscow, Idaho, 1955
A Faithful
Guide
- They wonder as working the long years
through
- If men are false or if men are
true.
- One kills and steals and then he
says,
- "I'm far too good for Alcatraz."
-
- In and out the long years through they
go
- Killing and stealing and fighting a
foe.
- How, oh how can they abide
- With no one for a faithful guide?
-
- They pick one here and pick one
there,
- They do not know nor do they care.
- Why don't they look up far above,
- To find their guide, their guide of
love.
-
- Moscow, Idaho, 1955
The Sikh
- No light of the Pleades, no song of the
lark
- Breaks through the fathomless, bottomless
dark.
- Each step we have taken, each creed that we've
fought for,
- Has brought us no nearer the dawn that we've
sought for.
-
- Now to the eastward appears a new
light.
- A harbinger telling of an end to this
night?
- Could it be possible this darkness to
brighten?
- This load to be lifted and us to
enlighten?
-
- One Man who has died for the earth's
population
- No one passed over, no matter what
nation;
- This is the luminous saga we've hoped
for!
- This is the prophecy in the blindness we've
groped for!
Pebbles, Sand and
Seagulls.
- I love the tide and wavelet,
- That are on every shore.
- I love the slapping water
- And the combers even more.
- I love the oceans, seas, and
rivers
- And the dripping water drop.
- And the reason that I love them is
- They never, never stop.
This is the Story of a Life
and even that which is Mine
-
- In the days of the end there was a ship of
humble ways and unpretentious image which was built in the city of
Jerusalem and loaded aboard it was a cargo of great value. And it
came to pass that the ship ventured out on the sea and was beset
by
- great waves and small waves and all manner of
serpents and few fishes. And the
- waves did lash at the ship and the serpents
did bite at it that they might wear it down.
-
- At that time and at that moment the captain
looked out at his cargo which was on the deck and which was
loosely bound and saw that the waves and the serpents would wash
it away. The captain saw that this was not good - hence with great
work and much labor the captain opened up the hold of the ship
which was the heart thereof and did stow his cargo of great value
in it. And the captain fixed the covers of the hold and sealed
them with locks both great and small and cast the keys into the
sea.
To an
African
- The black man stands in awe and
fright
- As armies say what's wrong and
right.
- Their mighty leader now is jailed
- The nations courts have been
curtailed.
-
- 'Tis little wonder that this man
- With ancestral brain horizons scan
- A thread of truth in vain to find
- To help console and right his
mind.
-
- A heartened man his way would make
- But is this way the one to take?
- He knows not where his footsteps
lead
- To rock bound coast or Carybda's
greed.
-
- This way is dark and that one
doom.
- Behold! They all are filled with
gloom.
- The African --- he needs a light
- To guide him through the storms dark
night!
San
Francisco
- When I lived in San Francisco
- I can remember times
- At the beach where I
- Built castles in the sand.
- Those were bright clear days
- In the surf and green water,
- Water that pulled the sand
- From beneath my feet,
- Days when the cool breeze blew
- In across an ebbing tide.
- Stranded jellyfish dotted the
beach
- Like whitecaps in the surf
- And I watched as white seagulls
- Quarreled over scraps of fish.
- Some afternoons the fog
- Would roll in and drip from the
wires
- Here and there like rain.
- Often in the morning my mother,
- Two sisters and I
- Would go to Golden Gate Park
- For a picnic lunch or a walk
- Beneath the large fragrant trees.
- I watched the sheep and their
shepherd
- And played in the creek
- That flowed through the park.
- One day a tug was pulling an enormous
raft
- Of logs past San Francisco
- When a terrible storm came up
- And broke the chains that held the
logs,
- Then drove the logs
- Up onto the beach.
- For years after that,
- People who went to the beach
- Used these logs to build bonfires.
- These experiences
- Have influenced my life in ways
- That I will probably never know,
- But there are some obvious trends
- In my life that came from living by the
sea.
- I love the ocean and the combers
- That boom and spray across the
rocks.
- I love the pebbles, sand and
seagulls.
Truth
- Truth is like the light of day
- That fades the fog of doubt.
- A beam that brightens every way
- And does confusion rout.
-
- The agonies and sorrow
- That are distortion's friend
- When taken out into the light
- Will in submission bend.
Railroads
- The railroad's roar and clackety
clack
- Sail on through the fog bound night,
- Sending a message of whistle
shrill
- And steel steam-drawn might.
-
- The railroad's sound is often
mistaken
- As noise of the open road.
- But to me it's the sound of
messengers
- Bearing a nations load.
Toad
- His beady eyes were ever on me,
- Followed closely as I rode.
- As staid a stance as ever met me.
- Quivered not nor moved the toad
-
- Lumpy, green and vitreous he was.
- A sentinel through dark and day.
- Thus the winkless rookerie
watchman
- Crouched alone, a craft of clay.
Moving Day
- Cleaning house before we move
- Seems to me it would behoove
- Us to throw out some crumby stuf
- Like grity boards or old pants cuff.
- But when we start to look at them
- What about a stitch or hem . . .
- Could be a rag? It surely could.
- But what of that we've got lots more
- Way over there piled on the floor.
- Hey! Look here, What ever is this?
- I think it's just a little gizwhiss
- No it isn't. Look at that. It's a periwinkle
hat.
- Throw it out. It can't be good.
- Good Will it then? Perhaps we should.
- Where's the phone book? Out of sight.
- Push the switch. There is no light.
- It's amazing that we do
- Get moved at all before we're
'through.
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