Two Poems

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by Michael Shindler (May 2021)


The Jack Pine, Tom Thomson, 1917

 

 

A Willow Branch

A willow branch leafless
In a blue-brown sky
Does not wave; and nonetheless
It seems like a goodbye:
Soon there will come the moment
When the sky stretching dims,
Takes on the tinge of judgement,
Framing frozen limbs.

But do rest assured,
Green will come again;
The willow will have endured
With kinglets in the glen.
But we shall not wave either
Into the blue-brown sky,
Give our greetings neither
To friends low nor high.

And now it is raining,
Feel the little drips,
The purple light is waning
On our immobile lips;
A law still seems to govern,
For a moment, the place:
The same that in a tavern
Gives blue lips grace.

There is a Fire

There is a fire burning
Past the heavy mountain
Lashing light into the firmament;
Wheel-spokes turning
Towards ends uncertain
In mock-tournament.

And in the dew-damp foreground
A fawn walks unawares
In search of his mother,
And birch trees surround
Him utterly in their cares
Like a little brother.

But a lash leapt into the wood
Towards the little fawn
And being bright blinded him.
So, in nature’s love he stood
Alone in the play of dawn
At the hour’s whim.

 

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Michael Shindler is a writer living in Washington, DC. His work has appeared in publications including The American Conservative, The American Spectator, National Review Online, New English Review, University Bookman, and Providence. Follow him on Twitter @MichaelShindler.

Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast

 

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