A BACKPACK OF MILESTONES

A POEM FROM MY PENDING BOOK,
“LIFE-PHASE 2”

A zephyr dancing
through the trees tonight
whispered that we’d meet, unchained;
further on along the path

Somewhere in the musky woods
of autumn,
with our values thickly wrapped
in colored layers of experience…

And you’ll swing me
once around again
and watch me waltz dizzily
over every winding path untried.

What miles of woodland
lie in newness
waiting for my errant feet!

O’ swing me once around again…
and see the other side of me!

                  ************************

First Published in the book
“A Backpack of Milestones” by
Barbara Morris Fischer
and read at The first Poetry Performances at Walt Whitman’s Birthplace, Huntington, NY

Will be Re-Appearing in my forthcoming book by the same title
www.Life-Phase2.com
by Barbara Morris Fischer and Marc Binstock

To  D. M. M.
Upon this endless journey road,
who knew we’d meet another soul
beyond expectancy?

Perhaps an angel made that link to
finalize our destiny.

All the while my fingers do not trace
the lines that form your manly face
and ears not let to shiver to your whisper,
I sense your presence in the air.

The words your eloquence chose for me
proved how deeply you did care.

And for this time that we must be apart
I have your words, a warming glow
like sunshine in my heart.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

COMING HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

No expanse of time can change
Coming home this snowy eve
as darkness drifts across a twilight sky
and windows down the country lanes
are lit in festive unity.

A lone star rises guiding on its same familiar path
above the families joined at firesides
where ancient stories still are told
passing joyful singing
while centuries unfold.

Holidays will never change
by lack of song or stories told
or custom’s ever-shifting mode,
Not when arms so filled with longing
once again are coming home.

by Barbara Morris Fischer
First Published by Hallmark Books
(1975)

ENVY

Please don’t wish the sun would drift
to someone else’s path
leaving me in cool shadows.

Don’t begrudge the lights
that twinkle in my eyes
like sunlight through a forest.

What you see is my flimsy facade…
my candle
on this dark and endless road.

My hands are jeweled to hide the scars
while behind me I hide a backpack
heavy with milestones.

FROM The First PERFORMANCES AT WALT WHITMAN BIRTHPLACE

Great Poets Of Our Time Awards

Illustrated Great Poets Continued