Poetry: Selections from David Sapp

Stacking Stones

 

Usually I am indifferent

Along this wooded path

Never taking much notice

Of the clumsy stacking of stones

By the anxious and overwhelmed

A self-soothing ritual

For the purpose of reflection

Mindfulness a trendy

Respite from apprehension

I prefer the undisturbed

A veristic placement

Of the chaos of nature

But this cairn differs

From most compositions

Someone has discovered 

A massive block

Quarried hewn abandoned

Apparently useless

Over a century ago now

Overtaken by moss and lichens

And placed upon it

Five stones imperfectly

Chiseled round by glaciers

Spaced asymmetrically singly

And one upon another

At a particular moment

You will see if you are patient

The soft morning light

Illuminate the sculpture

In green chiaroscuro

Whatever the motivation

It is beautiful

Unexpectedly a comfort

Equally Precarious

 

After my Sunday trek

To the woods where

I sat so silently

An unsuspecting fox

With a chipmunk

Clasped in her teeth

Loped near taking

No notice of me

I was thoughtfully invited 

To a richly furnished

Polished paneled room

A Friends gathering

On the Kenyon campus

Where I again sat

Silently and afterward

Invited to tea though

Still the awkward town boy

I unassumingly tagged along

The frail hosts a long retired

Professor and his wife

Cups saucers finger foods

And haunches perched

On edges of brittle chairs

Were all equally precarious

Cautiously even daintily

I ventured to cut

A heavily nutted cheeseball

The knife handle

Blue and white ceramic

Exquisite Dutch Delftware

In intricate vine scroll glaze

Came apart in my hand

Hopelessly ruined

Flakes of Old World rust

Sprinkled garnishing

A delicate lace tablecloth

The hostess near tears

Smiled slightly tightly silently

Through my clumsy apology

Oasis

 

Through the windshield

Vigilant I search for

My peculiar obsession

(A childhood compulsion

Shaped from the backseat

Of our Thunderbird

Endless dull stretches

Of blurred landscape)

An inconsequential

Lonely copse of trees

An oasis of sorts

An aesthetic refuge

Set apart composed

Far off in a field

A modest wilderness

Impossible to plow

Left fallow neglected

Interrupting efficiency

There must be a few

Windblown pine or oak

Riotous grasses glistening

From morning dew

A boulder unbudgeable

To the farmer’s lever

Daffodils if a house

Once stood there

A small reluctant

Spring and tall bullrushes

Nodding in the breeze

A white egret striding

Elegantly nearby

A pale moon nearly

Transparent in the sky

I imagine if I 

Stopped the car walked

There with a book

The intent to spend

An unaccountable afternoon

There’d be the sweet

Scent of wild roses

On the Off Ramp

 

On my way 

To physical therapy

Hoping to ease

My maladies

Here is this man

On the off ramp

Grizzled weathered

(I could be him

He could be me)

Sitting in a lush

Patch of grass

And fast-food litter

Shaded by bright signs

Directions to turn

This way or that

Eat here or there

A piece of cardboard

In his lap in black 

Magic marker reads

“PLEASE HELP”

On a whim I

Intended to roll

Down my window

And empty my wallet

For him but the

Light turned green

There’d be horns

Impatience for 

Drive-thru

Chicken fingers

Burgers and fries

On my way home 

I hoped his

Situation might be 

More convenient

At the Gas Pump

 

After too many

Inconsequential gray

Frozen days

Alone shut in

It’s snowing again

At the gas pump

The affable guy

With the red pickup

At the next pump

A neighbor I suppose

Or just anyone

Passing through

Ventures offers up

With a genial grin

“Can’t believe it

Got to five below”

I reply with

Something amenable

Confirming his declaration

“Hard to take”

“Whatayagonnado?”

Nod and smile

Nod and smile

We’re both gratified

With the brief camaraderie

This is enough

David Sapp is a writer, artist, and professor who lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.