P O E M S

The Beginning of Real Time

©2007 Roger W. Pelizzari

Almost morning,

somewhere along the edge of March,

I woke to a moment so still,

I heard the ice cracking

on the frozen waters of the world.

Rising from the valley

between night and day,

I opened my eyes and saw my watch

sleeping on the table,

stopped at midnight.

It was a signal for the beginning

of real time.

Here and now the world is new.

We see by the light of the sun

that shines in the middle of the head,

while invisible winds

blow everything false away.

Who will miss the shadows of our old lives?

This is how we enter the future,

through the door of the present.

This is where we find the place

we have longed for,

where no one needs to ask,

“Where am I? Which way should I go?”

We are made of green earth and gold fire.

The blue sea flows through us,

and the sweet, silver air.

The stars flash from the mind

to the sky,

and grow brighter as we look.

Soon, we will not even remember

the time when we were asleep,

dreaming that this would happen.

* * * * * *

Animals on the Move

©1993, 2006 Roger W. Pelizzari

(The Iowa Source, 1993)

When I see cows in a field,

staring at billboards,

I think something's gotten into this world.
They must be yearning to read, 
forming the A's 

in their calm cow brains.

When I see dogs,

wild eyed,                                                   

waving their tails like windshield wipers,

I think yes, 
something's gotten into this world.
They must be searching for words,
almost ready to talk.

And when I see rabbits,

zooming through the grass
like they 

know where they're going,

I think yes again,
something's gotten into this world.

They must be late 

for some very important date.

I am riding a bicycle 

in April,

when for some small intuition,
I glance to my right

to see a long eared one,

at full gallop.

For a moment,

time looks away,

and we race like athletes

focused only

on the field ahead.

* * * * * *

Looking for the Big Dipper

©1992 Roger W. Pelizzari

(The Iowa Source, 1992)

The ancients called the sky a happy place.

To watch the stars, they said,

would cure a sad heart

and remind you of your true infinite size.

Who has not found comfort

in those ancient lights.

When some mood shades my soul,

I go to the meadow

and throw my head back,

until my feet

lift me off the ground.

I float with the seven starred Big Dipper

of the Big Bear,

that Ursa Major mother first showed us

one Spring night.

I follow it to the Pole Star,

straight up above the axis,

he unmoved one,

around which all others move.

I turn West to walk with Orion,

He with the sword on his belt,

Still hunting, but never quite catching

Lepus the Hare,

even with the help of his two dogs.

The larger, Canus Major,

is honored with Sirius,

the most visible.

How kind of Ptolemy*

to give a dog

the brightest star.

* Alexandrian astronomer who systematized the northern constellations

* * * * * *

Meditation in Deep Drought

©1988 Roger W. Pelizzari

(Lyrical Iowa Poetry Award, 1990)

North is the only sane direction

to be driving in July,

across the flatlands

US of A.

We stop to spread the map out

in the highway grass,

searching for a missed turn.

Long ago, we would have been lost.

Today, it's a signal to rest.

Under the rare branches of an elm,

we close our eyes,

and dive deep into

the ancient ocean of peace.

Here, maps are useless.

When we open our eyes,

the world looks new,

happier.

At the next station,

we find an old man

who points the way

without being asked.

* * * * * *

Message from the Muse

©1984 Roger W. Pelizzari

(Writer's Digest Poetry Award, 1991)

Listen, you poet,

why do you call me

in the middle of the night?

Do you think I will appear before you

like some genie,

hovering at your shoulders,

whispering sweet metaphors?

That is not the way I move.

Forget me.

Leave your books.

Go rest.

When you are fit to travel,

you will hear a bell,

and I will bring you

boots and a sled

with dogs barking

and firewood to burn

in the snow.