POEMS

STANLEY D . WILLIS

REBIRTH

In late summer lily of the valley leaves
are curled, tarnished, some cobwebbed,
so far from their glory;
earth’s pale hair is ruffled by the cool breeze,
browned marigold heads fall
to their chests, their beauty shorn.
Time’s intent is violent:
the very old feel the cold
as a chill to the bone,
foretelling coming rebirth,
flowers from the cool, damp, sleeping earth.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

PRETTY THE PINES

Pretty the gnarled pines
nestled in a highway median,
some tan-gray stones about,
and double lines
of shooting cars racing by
the green-clothed site.
What if Odysseus, having landed
on a nearby shore,
should seek this place for dinner
and the night?
Or Aeneas, come to rest and sleep,
bearing Anchises through such a doorway
to our noise and haste
from out of darkness and the deep?

STANLEY D. WILLIS

REYKJAVIK

The wide northern window sited
above gull-swooped red and green roofs
of corrugated iron,
aquamarine sea tinted like Bermuda’s,
a sandpit in the cold harbor—
and then Esja, a white stone cake,
icing dripping its sides,
sun-spotlighted.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

DEATH OF A DRUG DEALER

High in the rafters
over the ultimate eye of window
a spider last summer crafted
his world. Now it’s fall
and a large fly (and a few smaller, too)
lies tied in gossamer.
Winds blow, the house quivers,
strands shift in fading sunlight;
the spider, grown fat and full,
surveys his world, his all.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

IRISES IN DECEMBER

In young December, bright
against wide ice-blue sky,
earth-scented violet flags, like a sweet dye
paint the faded garden:
spotting pale purple, the sharp-angled light
strikes reblooming deep sapphire irises,
their parallel-veined green leaves
fresh, almost giving the lie to coming night.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

THE COPPER BEECH

The venerable copper beech,
its crystals glittering against
a bitter blue-peach sky:
four birds dare the cold air,
swoop past the beech, over glassy locusts, oaks,
while above the iced slope
the heavens are suddenly jet-bandaged,
and, late afternoon losing its reach,
tinted light yields to winter twilight taupe.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

AN EQUATION OF LIGHTS

Crows in snow-laced branches
of the great copper beech:
black bows on a February sky.

Morning freshness, rose light climbing,
spreading over pewter sky,
snow-drops and crocuses
silently saluting.

Noontime blazes,
water drips from cool rocks,
food-seeking fish dart about
the flower-edged pool.
Somehow the blue midday heat
summons a scene of winter woods,
gray-brown, some fawn-leaved trees
still holding faded banners so green
not so long ago.

Evening slowly kneading light,
a vast crimson sun soon to set,
a few stars, a slip of moon:
jewels out of reach.
Night closes like the beveled
gates of remembrance,
brave last sun-sight sinks,
steady, no admission of defeat.

STANLEY D. WILLIS

Stanley D. Willis (CC ‘94) was associated with
St. Albans School, Washington, DC,
4000 Cathedral Avenue, NW;
Washington, DC 20016;
phone: (202) 965-5232

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