Poetry by Ken Firnstahl

Who is She??

The less traveled cabin road aged along with him,

Towering pines leave precious view of the

Deep blue sky.  This shaded pristine path

Edged with wild roses and splashed with

Bouquets of Black-eyed Susans, is where

He daily walks.    

 

A bluff overlooking a crystal clear lake,

An overview on nature’s grandeur,

Sheltered by surrounding verdant forest,

Give glimpse to the old man’s cabin.

Thankful on his return she is there.

 

A mystic maiden of golden hair,

A garland of flowers round her waist,

Blue birds and finches in the air, nature’s

Beauty in her smile, she welcomes

Him to rest awhile.

 

She is with him when lake loons call,

She’s with the doe and fawn on cabin road.

She guides him from the path of bear,

Rejoices he had seen them there.

 

She awakens him to starry sleep,

To hear the wondrous sounds of night.

The loons performing LaBoheme, raccoons

In comic noisy flight, prowl the

Trees to his delight.

 

Ask her name, the spell onhim,

This lovely maiden with golden hair? 

She is the sun, the wind, the thunder and rain,

The trees that bud, the flowering glade.

Tell them as you go forth ~

She is the spirit of the North.

                                                                  March 2000

 

 

 

 

When We Met    

 

A beautiful vision in starched crisp white;   

A colored ribbon arranged just right;

An angel of mercy blessed on high;

The girl I’ll love till the day I die.

                                    February 2000

 

 

 

Close of Day

 

The old man rests on the lake front deck

Surveys the lovely scene below.

His face pressed against the perfumed breath of spring.

He whispers an “Ave,” reflecting on the wonders of God.

 

The sun, ever lowering,

Slants through trees not yet fully leaved,

While shadows lengthen and grow

Extending to the quiet shore.

 

Relaxed and prepared for sleep

He watches the tired sun slip away

After it’s long day leaving a crimson glow

Beyond the far horizon.                                   

 

Songbirds sing evening vespers

As dusk’s cover shades the earth,

It’s pale light outlines an eagle’s flight

Winging above tall shadowy pines

Seeking its nest.                                                

 

The slap of a beaver tail

Echoes across the placid lake     

Stirring loons to a series of shrill calls,

This great bird’s haunting alarm.

 

Reluctant to retreat from his solitude for meditation

In the far piney woods he long lingers

For God has revealed a glimpse of heaven

This close of day.

                                             Spring 2002

 

 

                 Mary                                       

She’s humble, gentle, pure and kind.                    

Better known for her brilliant mind,                          

Has shown her love and never tarried                   

Happy Valentine’s Day to the girl I married.                       

                                         February 2004