Poems
MEMORIES
(By Vern Crawford, November, 2013.)
Memories are rather like the things they never were.
People, places, colors, scents--all were similar to our memories.
For an instant or a day these memories persist,
Even offering recollections of distant decades past.
But what is it that preserves our memories, saves them at all?
Though they are never perfect, yet not wholly false,
What remains that is subject to our recall?
Yes, memories are rather like the things they never were:
Mirror/mimics of…
March 9, 2018/by Vern CrawfordMemories are rather like the things they never were.
People, places, colors, scents--all were similar to our memories.
For an instant or a day these memories persist,
Even offering recollections of distant decades past.
But what is it that preserves our memories, saves them at all?
Though they are never perfect, yet not wholly false,
What remains that is subject to our recall?
Yes, memories are rather like the things they never were:
Mirror/mimics of…
FIVE SOFTNESSES
(By Vern Crawford, October, 2013, edited March, 2018.)
This silky milkweed fluff,
With a tiny puff of air,
Becomes a weightless drifter:
It softly lofts above my hand.
Heeding Autumn's cooler nights and frost,
We plush ourselves in fleece,
Our arms and backs and bellies
Softer now to tender, touchy fingers.
Quilted bathroom tissues
(The expensive ones at least)
Caress us, on tender eyelids and warm cheeks,
And kindly smooth the body clean.
I love my well-used feather pillow;
Its…
March 9, 2018/by Vern CrawfordThis silky milkweed fluff,
With a tiny puff of air,
Becomes a weightless drifter:
It softly lofts above my hand.
Heeding Autumn's cooler nights and frost,
We plush ourselves in fleece,
Our arms and backs and bellies
Softer now to tender, touchy fingers.
Quilted bathroom tissues
(The expensive ones at least)
Caress us, on tender eyelids and warm cheeks,
And kindly smooth the body clean.
I love my well-used feather pillow;
Its…
A CALLOSAL CONTEST
(By Vern Crawford, September, 2013)
This callosal contest
Of strength and skill
(Or maybe simply single-mindedness)
Appears, from a higher perch, to be a tug-of-war.
The Left Team pulls against the Right
(Or is it the New against the Old?),
A Nerdy Team connected by a fibrous cord
To the other bunch, a Rowdy Team.
Back and forth the contestants go,
One side's heels digging into turf,
The other's voices bellowing need or greed,
Yet neither one willing to concede.
Oh,…
March 9, 2018/by Vern CrawfordThis callosal contest
Of strength and skill
(Or maybe simply single-mindedness)
Appears, from a higher perch, to be a tug-of-war.
The Left Team pulls against the Right
(Or is it the New against the Old?),
A Nerdy Team connected by a fibrous cord
To the other bunch, a Rowdy Team.
Back and forth the contestants go,
One side's heels digging into turf,
The other's voices bellowing need or greed,
Yet neither one willing to concede.
Oh,…
HIGHER MATH
(By Vern Crawford, September, 2013)
There are only three ways to go from here:
Go back; Stop; or Move On.
Yet they say I really can't Go Back.
And I've tried Stopping, only to regret it.
So, how many choices do I have left?
Hmm: Three, minus one, minus one...
Higher math strongly suggests Moving On.
March 9, 2018/by Vern CrawfordThere are only three ways to go from here:
Go back; Stop; or Move On.
Yet they say I really can't Go Back.
And I've tried Stopping, only to regret it.
So, how many choices do I have left?
Hmm: Three, minus one, minus one...
Higher math strongly suggests Moving On.
Twenty-two Blessings
(by Vern Crawford, November, 2013)
May the stars inspire you.
May the moon thrill you.
May your legs beg to go.
May your arms long for work.
May your eyes find loveliness in common things.
May your home place be comely.
May the sea and surf impress you.
May birdsong lift your heart.
May bright blossoms cheer and delight you.
May scent of lavender, mint, and rose surround you.
May the soft fog envelope you.
May warm rains refresh and cleanse you.
May sudden thunder awe you.
May…
February 8, 2018/by Vern CrawfordMay the stars inspire you.
May the moon thrill you.
May your legs beg to go.
May your arms long for work.
May your eyes find loveliness in common things.
May your home place be comely.
May the sea and surf impress you.
May birdsong lift your heart.
May bright blossoms cheer and delight you.
May scent of lavender, mint, and rose surround you.
May the soft fog envelope you.
May warm rains refresh and cleanse you.
May sudden thunder awe you.
May…
Granitic Whales (along the PCT at Mt. Ashland, OR)
(By Vern Crawford, July 2015)
Plumes and foams of montane greenery
Spray upward from these undulating soil-seas
And bursting through both sea and spray
The humps of broad-backed granitic whales,
Dappled over with crusty lichens and crystal barnacles:
Great granitic whales rolling up from hidden depths.
January 18, 2018/by Vern CrawfordPlumes and foams of montane greenery
Spray upward from these undulating soil-seas
And bursting through both sea and spray
The humps of broad-backed granitic whales,
Dappled over with crusty lichens and crystal barnacles:
Great granitic whales rolling up from hidden depths.
The Zone of Unknowing
(By Vern Crawford, June 2014)
Where, exactly, does the Inner tip over
To the Outer and become that place?
Where do the Other Worlds in me
Meet and merge with This World?
How, exactly, do our Actions arise
From our Passive Perceptions?
Is any one place truly continuous
With the next-by place or space?
How, exactly, goes the flow, This into That?
What lies obscured within that linking zone of ambiguity?
Yes, what lies obscured there: A blank and unknown bridge?
A…
January 18, 2018/by Vern CrawfordWhere, exactly, does the Inner tip over
To the Outer and become that place?
Where do the Other Worlds in me
Meet and merge with This World?
How, exactly, do our Actions arise
From our Passive Perceptions?
Is any one place truly continuous
With the next-by place or space?
How, exactly, goes the flow, This into That?
What lies obscured within that linking zone of ambiguity?
Yes, what lies obscured there: A blank and unknown bridge?
A…
At Hobart Bluff in Late Summer
(Poem by Vern Crawford, written in September 2013)
We hiked up near the top of the world,
Isaac and I.
Botanized along the dusty way--
Green leaves and dry bark and sun-fried flowers.
We climbed up Hobart's stony slopes
And relaxed on ledgy rocks up near the sky.
He's somewhat younger than I, I am rather older,
Isaac and I.
We were full of questions, seeking understanding:
What's this? Why is that? I rather do feel...
We hiked up Hobart's stony trail
To share the views…
January 10, 2018/by Vern CrawfordWe hiked up near the top of the world,
Isaac and I.
Botanized along the dusty way--
Green leaves and dry bark and sun-fried flowers.
We climbed up Hobart's stony slopes
And relaxed on ledgy rocks up near the sky.
He's somewhat younger than I, I am rather older,
Isaac and I.
We were full of questions, seeking understanding:
What's this? Why is that? I rather do feel...
We hiked up Hobart's stony trail
To share the views…
Realities and the Ant
Poem by Vern Crawford, written in Summer, 2015
Only one reality is. It is "mine".
It is part Inactual, part Actual.
The Inactual part includes you.
(Not your body, Silly! I mean your Mental Realm:
Your Heart and Mind, as these are known to me). . .
--I had wanted to write something
Profound in this poem,
Something that might change history,
Something that every living soul could use.
--But instead, an ant is tickling inside
My left pant leg, I can't shake it out.
And…
January 10, 2018/by Vern CrawfordOnly one reality is. It is "mine".
It is part Inactual, part Actual.
The Inactual part includes you.
(Not your body, Silly! I mean your Mental Realm:
Your Heart and Mind, as these are known to me). . .
--I had wanted to write something
Profound in this poem,
Something that might change history,
Something that every living soul could use.
--But instead, an ant is tickling inside
My left pant leg, I can't shake it out.
And…
At the Gas Line Boulders, in Autumn
Poem Written in November, 2013
By Vern Crawford
Thick green moss, plush and soft,
Drapes down and over the Gas Line Boulders:
Mossy coats, surprising here in Southern Oregon--
Not a mossy land, not a rainy land.
The Gas Line Boulders loom large, some small,
Each composed of coarse volcanic tuff, Miocene:
Crudely split and tilted slabs, or solid monoliths,
Mossy hulks trailing out as two vague rows, hidden by the woods.
I park my car. I walk up along the Gas Line hill,
Then amble…
December 15, 2017/by Vern CrawfordBy Vern Crawford
Thick green moss, plush and soft,
Drapes down and over the Gas Line Boulders:
Mossy coats, surprising here in Southern Oregon--
Not a mossy land, not a rainy land.
The Gas Line Boulders loom large, some small,
Each composed of coarse volcanic tuff, Miocene:
Crudely split and tilted slabs, or solid monoliths,
Mossy hulks trailing out as two vague rows, hidden by the woods.
I park my car. I walk up along the Gas Line hill,
Then amble…
Sitting Here
(Pacific Crest Trail at Mt. Ashland, Oregon, July 2017)
Sun glint
Piercing fir boughs
And warming ferny fronds
Then whiffs of coyote mint
Ah…and bird songs!
Busy flies buzz
Dry twigs snap
Overhead lichened bark
I’m calmer now because
I’m just sitting here…till dark?
December 15, 2017/by Vern CrawfordSun glint
Piercing fir boughs
And warming ferny fronds
Then whiffs of coyote mint
Ah…and bird songs!
Busy flies buzz
Dry twigs snap
Overhead lichened bark
I’m calmer now because
I’m just sitting here…till dark?
Green Glances
(Pacific Crest Trail at Mt. Ashland, Oregon, July 2017)
Tiny green leaves
Big green leaves
Woody green stems
Soft green stems
Sunny green breeze
Cool green breeze
Summer’s green glances
Sink us ever deeper
Into montane trances
December 15, 2017/by Vern CrawfordTiny green leaves
Big green leaves
Woody green stems
Soft green stems
Sunny green breeze
Cool green breeze
Summer’s green glances
Sink us ever deeper
Into montane trances