Penance


During the last days of the shadowed world
Serpents were driven out
From their shelter in the brush
By frantic, cloud-darkening swarms
Of tiny, ruby-throated birds,
Made insane by famine and drought.
Screeching and swooping,
These minions descended on the serpents,
Devouring them on the vast, darkling plains.

During the last days of the shadowed world
Leaves of all colors and kinds
Shriveled on the branches of ageless trees
But would not fall
And so were ripped from their stems
By merciless, incessant waves of wind,
Their ashes spread upon the waters.

During the last days of the shadowed world,
When the air was finally still and silent,
We walked cautiously out into the beckoning light.
We did not return to the dark places,
And meaning gushed from what had been
A million meaningless things.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Something


Weary singer of unsung songs
Moving in deep, undulating waves
Of subconscious longing for flight,
I plunge upwards into soar and glide,
Infused with the grace of birds,
Like the happy release of death
When very old.

So worn
And wishing for the play of wind
On flight feathers,
I let go and fall
Into something
Beyond these words.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Home Sings


Home sings
In the rattle, clang and clamor
Of kitchen song,
In the cat claw scratching
On the back porch door,
In the vacuum drone humming,
In the going,
In the coming,
In the laughter, shout and hurry,
In the fuss,
In the fury of everyday life,
Home sings
With irregular rhythms of slamming doors,
The sizzle of water in sudden streams
From faucets, showers and various machines,
Home sings
With assorted shoes on linoleum floors
Tapping out a dance of a thousand chores,
A pan in the oven bangs with the heat,
Home sings,
Phones ring,
Doors knock,
A key in the lock,
You give me a hug
And the music begins:
The refrigerator is whirring,
The cats are all purring,
Our children are playing
And my heart is saying
Listen closely
To the song life brings,
We are safe,
We are happy,
Home sings.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Some Small Measure


Even though I knew
This small, furry thing called kitty
Could not live forever,
I find it hard to understand
That this still, lifeless body,
So suspended in time,
Will not awaken,
Shake off death like a bad dream
And find voice
To once again ask for food
And some small measure of companionship.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Some Raindrops


Some raindrops,
The size of a flea.

Others,
The head of a pin.

And so on.

So many gradations.

And they collide,
Join,
Sometimes separate again.

I’m sure you could find a reason why,
Sitting in your laboratory,
Warm and dry.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved