Fall Poems by Dale K Nichols and Adriana Kaylie Maxwell

Three Poems for Fall by Dale K Nichols

“It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.”
Bilbo Baggins, from The
Fellowship of the Ring


A Simple Life

to celebrate a simple life
is no bad thing, I say—
to be unburdened by the need
to labor every day

at picking flowers constantly
to put them in a vase
when undisturbed their beauty could
live on if left in place

at hoarding gold and silver coins
we have no plan to spend
when their pursuit proves not a means
but in itself an end

at complicating everything
until it’s tied in knots
with nothing left but more loose ends
to occupy our thoughts

much better is a simple life
where lay we down to sleep
immersed in calm and pleasant dreams
our souls at peace to keep

set free, indentured servitude—
why should it be our lot
if we can see that what we need
is all we need to want?


Poetic Mist

Rising from fields
preceding the dawn,
hung in the air
like notes of a song,
fragrant, the scent
of roses is strong,
so floats the mist
from which poetry’s drawn.

Barker Woods

Beneath the leafless canopy we strode
late April single file upon the sand
through woods bequeathed and now to us bestowed
this awesome transformation of the land.
What once was clear cut forest claimed to farm
one hundred twenty years ago became
a love of labor to undo the harm
restored beneath the Barker family name.
Red maples, oaks and black gum planted trees
the founders’ final crowning oeuvre
is now an old growth forest formed to please,
an urban dedicated state preserve.
To Majorie and all with you who stood
we thank you for the gift of Barker Woods.

Poet’s note:  Barker Woods, located in the heart of Michigan City in the Indiana Dunes region northwest Indiana, is a rare example of an urban old growth forest.  Marjorie Barker’s family home has been restored and now serves as the headquarters of Save the Dunes, while the surrounding 30 acre forest is owned and maintained for future generations by Shirley Heinze Land Trust. 

David’s Poem

by Adriana Kaylie Maxwell

I don’t like poetry.

It’s a waste of my time.

I like numbers.

They are trustworthy

Predictable

They make sense.

There is no doubt in numbers.

You can make mistakes

But you pick up your pencil

You erase

You blow away

The eraser dust

Wipe it off

And they fall and scatter

Among the cracks of the dusty wood floor

And are forgotten.

They are gone.

It disappeared.

You try again.

There is only one answer.

When you are right, you are right.

Finished

Numbers are honest

There is no confusion

Like when your family forgets you

Or when your home no longer knows you.

Math makes sense.

Feelings are unnecessary.

They are what causes you

To slip your grasp

And cut your finger with your knife

As you sharpen your pencil

And watch the red blood drip and dry

On the foreign ground.

The world is chaos

But with a pencil

On paper

I solve the universe.