Return to Content

Poetry for the Moment

we cannot see them,

we can hardly hear
our man’s words:
“He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters.
He restores. . . .”

Like hungry animals,
the engines snarl,growl and snort

in crescendo.

On and on.
We wait.
There must be hundreds
on this Sunday jaunt.

The wild cacophony wanes.


The bikes are headed to
their Jerusalem,

the perfume of spring

their rod,
their passion their staff.

They shall not want.

The next night, jazz resounded into the quiet village and across the pond. Four young men in black gave their versions of “Who’s Sorry Now” and “Ain’t Misbehavin” to a packed crowd of jazz lovers. The drums made crazy rhythms, Scott’s sax cried out. The old floors bounced as we all tapped our feet and held ourselves back from dancing. There was no room for that.

It was a happy night, a very happy night. Now the walls are silent once more, the paintings and the flowers are gone and the church waits for the doors to open for summer services. And, you know, those motorcycles will be out and about, racing toward Loudon.


Special 2 for 1 Holiday Sale

Send a one-year gift subscription of Yankee Magazine for only $17.99 and give a 2nd one-year gift subscription absolutely FREE. Plus, we will send you a FREE 2016 Scenes of New England Calendar (a $9.95 value)!


No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

We reserve the right to remove or edit comments that are offensive or disrespectful to our readers and/or writers, cannot be verified, lack clarity, or contain profanity. Your comments may be republished by Yankee Magazine across multiple platforms.

Register Sign In

©2015, Yankee Publishing Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Yankee Publishing Inc., | P.O. Box 520, Dublin, NH 03444 | (603) 563-8111

< Prev

For the Love of a Church

Almost twenty years ago, I started putting on art shows to raise money for my ...

Related Articles

Next >

Away for the Weekend

I went last weekend to a high school reunion -- a very unusual reunion which ...

Related Articles