Middle June Late Afternoon

I haven't had leisure to write any poetry in a long long time.
This poem (if it is a poem) was "caught" more than "written" as I walked home from the deli yesterday afternoon....

In the warm rain
Middle June, late afternoon,
Slick wet pavement gleams
Reflecting beams
Of the westward-sinking sun.

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While ageing this morning

while ageing
this morning
i thought ---
this too
is as
it should
be

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Twenty-fifth of Twelth Month

Happy Grey Day, Quaker Friend.
Happy Day unmark'd
Happy Day-after-yesterday Day-before-tomorrow

Happy Day not named for any pagan god.
Happy Day no more holy than any other day.
Happy Day not set apart.
Happy Day when neither feast nor fast is commanded or coerced.
Happy Day that God has made.

In praise of Him whose birthday Always Is,
Rejoice Rejoice
Today

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Last Seen On the Subway at 8 A.M.

Seeming too young to be so sad
Unfolding, folding,
Unfolding again a paper fan.

For seven stops she gazed
In the narrow crowded car
At something far away.

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Plain Things (A Poem)

I'm feeling a bit too tired to write something new about plainness today. But I'd like to paste in a poem called "Plain Things" I wrote some time ago:

Plain Things

The Sun Light at Dawn
Falling on Gray Pavement,
Old Houses,
New leaves, New Grass.

Raw peas pushed from the pod
With a thumb,
Snapping between the teeth,
Squirting juices in the mouth.

All raw fruits,
Blemished and pure
Sweet, tart, ripe,
Broken from their stems
By human hands.

A washed pane of glass
Passing Light
Between bright days
And this dark room.

A Bald head a gray beard.

A bare throat, no pearls.

A smile made of real teeth.

A human face like yours
With colors, flushes, pallors,
Expressions
Of its own.

- - - Rich Accetta-Evans (May 2002)

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