Golden Wedding

In fifty years
New names appear
But through them all
One theme runs clear:
As roles evolve
And lives unfold,
A tale of Love
Therein is told.

For Granny and Bumpah
October 1990


Out of the corner of my eye
I watch my wakeful daughter
In my arms
Afraid to catch her infant glance
As I move
To a slow sleepmaking rhythm
which affects only me.
Her tiny fingers
Move over my face,
Feeling everything,
Nose, mouth and eyes,
with exquisite touch
And quiet squeals of joy,
Intakes of breath
And kicking feet,
So different from the
Howling child I picked up.
At last she sucks her thumb,
Covers her face with a cloth
And I know that sleep is near.
I thought it wouldn’t come tonight,
So long I’ve swayed
And sung and cooed
In the darkened room.
But her head falls back
And pale eyelids close
To shut out my face.
Her limbs hang heavy
In my aching arms.
I lay her in the cot
And like a thief
Steal from the room
And pull the door to,
with fingers crossed
And “Shush”
To my waiting wife.

July 1972

A song to Loving

Come, greet your day and sing with me
A song to loving, come what may!
Drink in the sunlight with the wine
And our tomorrows live today.

Waiting for Summer

The wind blows the sand
Into the long whitened grass
And into our hair,
Lovers lying together,
Waiting for Summer.

Morning light

You lie beside me in the morning light
Still held by sleep, your hand beneath your face.
The sky is pale, the day but half begun,
And in the stillness of the morning air
Lies promise of a golden summer day.

Winter Journey

How can I describe, my beloved one,
The mountain’s glory in the morning sun?

How can I tell you of the silent glade
In the snowy depths of the forest shade?

And how shall I capture for you the spell
Of the crystal showers in the frozen dell?

Schloss Kassegg.
February 1985

Goldberg Variations

She was seated before me
Listening intently
The lines of her fair neck
Curving so gracefully
Down to golden shoulders.
But it was her long hair,
Plaited nonchalantly,
Which so distracted me.
From a thick auburn crown,
Three separate tresses
Set out resolutely
On their downward journey
To the small of her back,
Meandering slowly
In time to the music,
Now above, now below,
A rare relationship
Of three equal suitors,
Intimate, enfolding,
Sinuous, caressing,
Each lover approaching
The other obliquely
With the same strategy,
Now from left, now from right,
Abandoning thin
Sacrificial wisps
En route,
Each fusing finally,
Molten sand, copper, gold,
All capitulating,
Exhausted totally,
In the baroque coda
Of a black silk ribbon.

Written in St Gallen, Austria, during the music festival in Schloss Gallenstein.
August 1994