Apple Blossoms and a Massachusetts Vista Beyond

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Heaven more distant

Than the young man’s past, he dreams.

Buddha does not help.

~  Phillip Whidden

New England waits, my native place.  For two

Years only it was mine, yet stays as mine

And I am its forever, maybe through

A century of forevers, more a shrine

For me to worship in (in memories held

As little decades pass).  The scarlet trees

(Gold, yellow, orange and gold), reveries meld

In God’s kaleidoscope before they freeze

In long death winter deeper than the rocks

Of granite ever dreamed of.  I will keep

Them always, never wanting to unbox

Such beauties.  They are shinings like Christ’s sleep.

  A house in Federal white in Bolton waits

    For me inside my daydream gates.

© Phillip Whidden