S. R. Lavin Poems

Tim spent the day weeding in his father’s flower garden
(most days he washes dishes at the local college) .
My son, Matthew, driving west to Utah,
spent the night in Red Cloud, home to Willa Cather,
...

Stopping on the bridge, just a short bike ride from town,
on a lonely stretch of new york highway -
where the marsh maps the land -
if you listen you hear
...

I am, outermost, a man. Here
the subtle choreography
of solitude
on a lonely stretch of sand,
...

Staring down into the clear water or
squinting through the dazzle of light,
it’s a bit lonely looking north to the town.
The air doesn’t get any fresher,
...

Somehow we all grow up
(even though a little child
lives inside each of us) .
...

Alone in a place where no one breathes
I sleep like stone carved from memory.

I’ve lost in myself what belongs to others.
...

Where soul was eternal and memory from reality,
twenty years later I stop the little rented car I’m driving.
It’s late on a Saturday night,
it’s late in the history
...

The best part of my day was fritted away
in the swamps of South Carolina –
I was vanquished by all my desires,
seeking to love what remains innocent,
...

If you listen you hear
the chirping of songbirds,
and see the old life depicted
in the dilapidated sheds
...

I went for a walk in the twilight along Cascadilla Creek,
as the shadows of darkness and the glimmer from the rushing stream
mingled with my emotions. I like to walk there.
...