I bemoan that I am no longer green
My lush turf is now invaded by crabgrass
Like a silent charge of crustaceans
On my beach, swept in from the ocean
...
My paddle plies through northern lake
A loon emerges and instantly disappears beneath
Sailing in the breeze is a tiny feather
White, black, and luminous
...
Autumn walk through a hickory stand
A dome of airy yellows
Trees release their nuts with a thud
A smell of Gorgonzola
...
Educated in West Germany: Translator Engl/German/French Emigrated to Toronto, On. in 1968 Free lance translations of poetry and editing of prose)
Home Turf
I bemoan that I am no longer green
My lush turf is now invaded by crabgrass
Like a silent charge of crustaceans
On my beach, swept in from the ocean
Strength is in numbers
For years I lay on my soft bed
Sank into the unblemished grass and
Became naïve in my oasis of peace
Now I understand, I only have its lease
Denying me permanence.
I was ONE against the massive assault
Pulled and plucked, sore hands and muscles
Head downward, until I became unbalanced
And the crabs my ultimate challenge
Their power is daunting
For now I raise the white flag
And bury my private mutiny
I must accept, like a messy past
After August, there is crabgrass
My flawless lawn is an illusion