Philosophy

Socrates Smith,

Sock to his friends,

pondered upon

what life depends –

knowledge or pleasure,

duty or love,

a reverent fear

of the Lord above.

He spent his life

in contemplation;

thought was his only

titillation.

All of his neighbors

did what they pleased

and pitied poor old

Socrates.

The Answer

                                             It’s not only the crash of a tree

                                             falling in the forest;

                                             it’s the sound of a small waterfall

                                             pouring from a mossy stone into a pool,

                                             the taste of pure water from a spring,

                                             the shimmer of sunlight

                                             on the surface of a stream,

                                             the heft of a pebble on the bottom,

                                             and on the bank,

                                             the scent of a trailing arbutus

                                             that doesn’t really need your nose

Long Beach, Plymouth

I have beheld Cassiopeia floating above the point

when a lighthouse beam swept in my direction with a flash,

and the dint of my footstep glowed phosphorescent

on the dark, low-tide sand.

I have witnessed meteors burning across the sky,

waded in sunrise shallows probing for heavy clams,

and breakfasted with song sparrows

and the perfume of the wild beach rose. 

I have known nights when bay and harbor

were wild with lightning and torrents of thunder

and wakened to the quiet of a

pastel dawn.

I have supped while northern harriers

glided low over grassy dunes,

been visited by rabbits, acquainted with foxes,

and set upon by diving terns.

I have stepped gently past rare piping plovers nesting near the path,

harvested beach plums and sea lavender,

and played with happy children

under the summer sun.