Iambuses—An Unplanned Poem

Mary Westcott

This line took time to plan its useless demise.

My wish to write of glorious autumn leaves

fell slightly to the right of bubbly brooks.

One almost wants some wind and a hearty breeze.

Autumn this year might just be a defeat:

just bitter rains without any signs of sun,

then a winter of storms and snow without end.

I welcome iambic plans for this sad poem

and a rainbow of autumn trees for Fall’s demise.

The Lake Camp, Unfinished Conversations -- Mary Westcott

I think of all the muddy bottoms of lakes
Like the one outside Troy, New York. I remember
My Grandmother’s camp there with linoleum
Floors and the musty smells of wicker
And rollaway beds. I remember getting tangled
In seaweed in that lake I learned to swim in,
the rowboat that took us far out and my fear
of the black snake on the path to my aunt’s
Cabin. I can taste the blackberries by the side
of the road we picked that pricked our fingers
For that tart fruit and black smudge on our hands
And tongue. I remember the pine smells, the acid
Taste of lemonade, bitter yet sweet.

The Trees Talk --- Mary Westcott

I hear them speaking to each other
in proud tones of strength, I see how
we don’t notice them. They look down
on us and think “why do you worry?”
About being too fat, too thin, too tall,
too dark. We are here to watch over
the daffodils in the field, the wet ground,
to shade your fears, to allow your tears
to fall like the rain on our branches.
Can’t you see we accept all differences,
patiently standing on firm earth?
I don’t hear them and walk on.

Mary L. Westcott

Deluge --- Mary Westcott

The gnarled branches dead
against the rain-sotted trees
not expanding to protect
but leaden with unceasing rain,
hiding their beauty from the blurred
vision of passersby splashing
in giant running puddles coursing
through a campus not sunny
in its drizzly dampness, full
of leaden leaves like glistening
green plates, moving in a symphony
from random drops of rain, twinkling
hopeful rain-lights against the vast-green
wetness, telling me to start a
conversation.

Mary L. Westcott