Dawn and Dusk

Dawn and Dusk  
  

Seven Arriving at Bliss, 2008 Jan.
https://todayeye.wordpress.com/category/elevated-subway/

The sunset and the sunrise—these are times
when the changing light appears to touch
the swirls within us.  So our moods can rise
and ebb, like ocean tides, with light and dark.

For most of us, the vision of the dawn
awakens hope and gives us strength to strive.
But when the sun is setting, then we sense
emotions darker, and we turn within.

And so this waxing and this waning is
a dance that weaves its way among the rest,
as yang and yin and day and night entwine
to make the fabric that we know as self.
 
We fear the dark, for we were once the prey,
descended from the trees, who could not see
the predators that woke to hunt at dusk.
And being apes, we still revive with dawn.

******

But now the workplace and the home are lit
when night has fallen on the land and sea.
We cannot see the stars, the galaxy,
behold the planets, catch the meteor’s streak…

And oftentimes, we never see the sun—
because we run to work before it climbs,
and venture back at dusk or later still—
while those on night-shifts sleep their days away.

******

Can we escape our natures that were built
through ages when we lived beneath the sky?
Can we adapt to be like bats that climb
at dusk from caves to forage through the night?

I do not know.  We’re plastic, we can flow.
We venture where no other beings go.
And yet our genes and instincts still remain.
To alter these, we need the centuries.

So when I could, I tried to greet the dawn
and view the dusk, with self as offering.
Alas, I now but rarely see the stars
and only in the summers feel the sun.

And so, I’ve lost, with others, much of that
which woke the life and soothed the soul in turn.
I'll try again to meet with dawn and dusk,
so I can be what I was meant to be.

Queensboro Plaza Sunset, seen from the elevated 7 line, 2008 Jan.
https://todayeye.wordpress.com/category/elevated-subway/page/2/

2015 August 6th, Thu. (first four stanzas)
& August 9th, Sun. (last six stanzas)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Colder

Colder
   

The cold, that had receded, now comes back

And all, who do not bundle up, will freeze,

Unless they either are content or forced

To huddle where there’s heat enough to thaw.

And some will find this bracing.  Others curse.

And others yet will bear with it with grace.

But some will falter – fall, as winter’s staff

Lays low the feeble or unwary ones.

For ice and concrete are a lethal mix,

A cruel trap that's set.  An elder’s bones

Can rarely stand the impact of a fall

Upon that surface, polished, slick and hard.

And others start to sneeze and cough and then

To take to beds – or struggle still to work.

And some recover.  Others worsen, die.

And so it’s been, whenever winter comes.

******

 

From harsher climates, roared the Mongols, Huns

And all the murderous tribes that ravished lands

Where others, far more docile, grew their grain.

So empires fell and others rose in place.

And yet, how varied are the winter’s folk –

From Inuit to Norse to Kalmyk clans –

And at the southern tip of western lands,

The Patagonians of the fire and ice.

And here, in New York City, we’ve a taste

Of what the Amerindians bore, in moccasins.

But being by the world-encircling sea,

We’re spared the rigors of the lands within.

But as I hunch my shoulders, bending down

And pulling hood and cap yet tighter ‘round my head,

I realize I’m walking here within

A zone that’s colder than my freezer is.

******

 

No primate, save perhaps the yeti, which

May well be more of fable than of fact,

Has ventured where the nakedest of apes

Has gone – and even settled, in its arc.

Does climate shape a culture?  Surely, yes.

The ones that grew in milder, coastal climes

Have features that are different from those

That dealt with winters cold or summers harsh.

But scratch an Eskimo or Fuegan and

You’ll find a bonobo that longs for warmth.

And Viking women, pale from the sunless past,

Will shiver still from cold and strip for sun.

So those with means escape the winter’s cold

And soak in warmth on sunlit tropic isles.

But workers here must venture out to work,

And back again, in freezing cold and dark.

    

2013 December 24^th, Tue.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn