Candles in the Night

the tentacles of time reach out

to grab the unwary who,

seeking to outmaneuver destiny,

probe the void to learn its secrets.

but, like candles in the night,

these small lights that shine

in flickering, uncertain defiance,

never quite extinguish

the darkness of tomorrow.

11/11/1974

Age

i was little once
and innocent.
oh, how i would laugh and cry!
now, of course,
i am too old for that...
which sometimes makes me laugh
and sometimes cry.

11/5/1988

Dreams

dream on, child,
of different times,
of breezes blowing mild,
or a poet's soft rhymes.

dream on,
with your head in the clouds
until your thoughts, so wild,
are hidden by age's shroud.

for even as young minds will scheme
old age is quick to condemn.
never lose sight of your dreams
or of the youth that stirred them.

1970

Magnus Goodrich

Asa Albrie Goodrich Love

Reflections on the Stillwater Pond

the stillwater pond

in the stillwater pond i saw reflected a face
not as young as i would have imagined
but not as troubled either.

perhaps the years had not treated me
as badly as i had thought,
or maybe the reflection was wrong,
my vision distorted.

a frog, sharing my concern
(or i, perhaps, his space)
broke the glass of my mirror.
his sudden leap into the pond startled me
and sent me smiling on my way.

4/21/1991

live each day

to unlock it special mysteries,

keeping your mind open and free.

walk the lesser-traveled paths

seeking not so much the great revelations

as the simple truths.

enslave not your heart

to one love or philosophy.

rather, keep it as free as the wind,

and touch each leaf's perfection.

11/6/1973

the untouched earth

the flower's bloom is bursting forth,

the grass is long and bending.

drinking life from the burning sun

in a cycle, never ending.

the crystal lake's reflective blue

mirrors the cloudless sky,

as shadows fall from lofty pines

and a swan that passes by.

and i will dream and watch this scene,

enjoying life's full worth,

while reaching out with trembling hand

to touch the untouched earth.

4/27/1974

Ten Hills Home

for the few, the unknown

for the few, the unknown,
i write these songs and chant these simple prayers,
that the silence might have voice;
the voice of time slipping into the abyss
beyond the path that leads the final ten hills home.

5/19/1996

at water's edge

there is a moment that,

having traveled beyond the speed of thought,

a fleeting breeze will stir the ash awake.

and the memory of that time remains

to reflect upon at water's edge.

how is yesterday's sand,

its footprints and its castles,

always smoothed by morning?

2/8/1996

sounds in the wood

i was the sound

that broke the quiet of the morning

sunlight just beginning

to filter through the trees stirring with the wind

campfire crackling

coffee water boiling

ground squirrels scuttering through the brush

then the whole forest comes alive

to the sound that broke the quiet

i sip my coffee

as the orchestra tunes

7/3/1993

deserted beach

mine were the only footprints in the sand

as i walked by the sea, listening,

waiting, 

wondering.

distant memories, like wisps of smoke,

appeared and as quickly escaped;

songs from other lives, other dreams.

my tears mingled with the sea

as i looked into the past,

considering the consequences of paths not taken

and thoughts unspoken, 

bidden farewell, farewell.

footprints in the sand washed away.

3/2/1996