Wednesday, April 22, 2015


by Patrick J. Walsh

In the light of winter sun
the gray stillness of the empty field
seems bigger
than the memory of days
when the grass grew freely

A wrap of dying leaves
enshrouds the early fall
sealing away
any chance for new growth
as the black winds turn chill

And summer, lusting red with heat
in sodden, sweaty steps
stomps down
the flooded patches
with an angry trail of mud

But spring, its secrets hidden
in the lush fertile soil
deep below
renews the promise of green
and its hope for a better world

© Patrick J. Walsh

Sunday, March 8, 2015

A Saturday in March

by Patrick J. Walsh

It is a sunny Saturday afternoon in early March, in the first tentative warmth of one of the first days of less frigid air, near the end of a long and trying winter. There are memories here, as I indulge in the routines that characterized my childhood, now decades past.

There is homemade soup on the stove, its aroma dreamily evocative, transporting me backward to those days of my youth when my Mom spent hours preparing and cooking so we could all share in the hearty warmth of the meal.

And in the memory of the motes that dance in the sunny beams, there are those times in the past when the softness of the winter or the earliness of the spring allowed my Dad and I to begin our work in the yard in the early part of the warmer season.

I remember the keenness of the anticipation we felt, as we looked eagerly forward to the warmer days of greenness and growth that would, later, transform the square patch of land around our home into the idyllic suburban dreamscapes of the summertimes of my youth.

As the light shines and I ponder the outline of all of these things, the TV is lit with the antics of the animated characters of my childhood, who remain as sweet and innocent as they were when I first encountered them, many Saturday mornings ago.

Most definitively present in the cheer of the afternoon beams slanting across the couch and the carpet, there are the moments I shared with my family, particularly those who have since passed out of this life.

Those times when we laughed together, or ate together, or worked on some project — or shared a visit with friends and relatives, or ventured out on some errand — these are all present in the sunlight.

I feel the warmth of the sun today. And I am blessed.

© Patrick J. Walsh
You may also like:
When Geese Dream
A Walk in the Park: Patience
A First Anniversary

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Goodbye year / Hello year

Happy Bright and Shiny New Year!

I spent a little part of New Year's Eve 2014 at the "New Year's Eve - Bar Napkin Poetry" event. Here are the results:

Goodbye year

every moment of kindness
lingers in the shiny light
in these hours of leaving

while every sad revealing
of base and brutal instinct
evanesces in the darkness

go now, hand us over
to some new collection of days
colored more brightly with hope

-- PJW, 12/31/14

Hello year

well hello to you
you bright new story
your lines all loose
with possibility

let's begin this thing
with a smile outside
and a silent prayer
for peace

now come over here
while I wrap you
in shades of hope
and anticipation

and we'll sleep late
as your hours begin
with the soft light
of morning

-- PJW, 01/01/15

You may also like:

Write two poems and call me…
A Walk in the Park
The Hawk

and other PW poems:
Gathering Days
A Further Adventure of Sir Gawain
Why I'm Staying Home This Halloween