Writing

The Pull of the Moon

While walking to work this morning, I saw a spectacular orange full moon hanging low in the sky. I half expected Elliott and E.T. to go flying by on a bicycle in front of the surface of the orb. I wanted to take a picture of the sight with my iPhone, but my view was obscured by the buildings, streetlights and wires lining East Genesee Street near South Crouse Avenue.

So I have no images—you’ll have to trust me that the moon shone brightly in the early morning hours. And while I stopped on the sidewalk and looked at the moon, two thoughts came to me: 1) God does some beautiful work . . . and 2) I am so small in the grand scheme of existence. All of my cares, worries, fears, dreams and desires are insignificant when viewed through the vast prism of nature. And these thoughts comforted me as I strode up the hill on South Crouse Avenue on my way to work.

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The Hawk

Photo by Sarchia Khursheed.

The Hawk

With wings outstretched,
A hawk hovers overhead.
I look up, admiring its flight.
The bird remains aloft,
As a gust of air carries it along
In the stillness of the afternoon.
The hawk soars between the campus buildings,
Then disappears from my sight,
As it pursues a quarry or
Scans the horizon for a perch.

But “no,” I think:
That’s not the way to end the poem.
The lines fail to capture the
Majesty of this creature.
And I realize any words I write
Are doomed to fall short,
As poetry can never improve
What nature has made perfect.

Sidewalk Stories (Kelsay Books, 2017)

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