Tag Archives: chapbook

Rainy Thought #1

It’s raining and I’m standing at the window

Holding a love that’s only a week old

And thinking how wonderful life is

Between the raindrops

And the promise of the sun.

P.D. Aronson. 9/13/17

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Grandma’s Road (poem)

I thought I would share with you today an older piece from my notebooks. This was written as an ode to my childhood and family, inspired by visits to my grandmother’s house. At the time this was written I hadn’t been by the old house in a long time as it had been sold long ago. Driving down the road to see what it looked like after all that time, it struck me how everything had changed and inspired this piece. Hope you enjoy 


“Grandma’s Road”
This used to be Grandma’s road,

dirt and gravel, twisting country lane;

and as a child I’d get so excited

to see my Grandparent’s house again.

As we made round the final bend

you could see it looming there,

and the whole family always gathered

Sunday afternoons in God’s care.

As kids we’d play by the trickling creek,

collecting fossils and killing time,

and though we didn’t realize it then

those were the days sublime.

Sometimes my cousins and I’d go running

through the fields and wood,

we couldnt wait to get to grandma’s

’twas a different world than our neighborhood.

We’d sometimes go to the country store

to spend what little money we had,

on bubblegum, candy, and sodapop

much to the chagrin of Mom and Dad.

I remember a church on the corner

and the smell of honeysuckles so sweet,

If we didn’t go to grandma’s on Sunday

the week just didn’t seem complete.

Down Grandma’s road, there were just a few houses,

everyone knew their neighbor’s names,

there was no diversity or difference between us,

everyone treated everyone the same.

and the woods were our favorite playground

our sanctuary against the changing wind,

we knew all we had to do was go to Grandma’s

and everything would be alright again.

But now down this road it’s different,

everything has changed around there so much,

Grandma’s road is paved and divided,

no longer gray gravel and dust.

and where there were just a few houses

now there’s subdivisions rows,

though I used to know where the road ended

now I haven’t a clue where it goes.

Now the neighbors don’t know each other,

they barely ever say a word,

now there’s the sound of loud traffic

where it used to be the sound of bluebirds.

but to me no matter what the changes

in my memory where love is sowed

this will always be the most beautiful place

for this is Grandma’s road. 

© 2001 Paul D. Aronson.

Columbia

“Columbia”

If every star should fall from the sky,

Let not the tears fall from your eye,

You are not alone;

And in the vast expanse of space,

time and meaning converge in one place,

I am home.

I’ve lived a life of courage proud,

For the good of mankind in the crowd,

And what could be;

Though we may ask “why” to a higher power,

None of us know the day or hour,

We’re coming home to thee.

Don’t look into the skies and weep,

Let not your heart fall asleep,

Live, love as you can;

Seven stars will twinkle bright,

In the skies upon every night,

We are not sand.

Now here’s the message from the Christ,

We don’t live once, but twice,

No man is of stone;

And in the vast expanse of space,

Time and meaning converge in one place,

I am home.

© 2003 Paul D. Aronson. All Rights Reserved.

Bare Trees Cry & The Moon Doth Wane

“Bare Trees Cry & The Moon Doth Wane”

Bare trees cry and the moon doth wane

Her heart a whispering trail

Leading the lonely into the black night

On secrets that none may tell

The night owl calls, the lone wolf listens

A howl buried in his throat

The great mistress calls down from the sky

While he shakes his heavy coat

Her red feathers rustle in the night breeze

As she rests on dead branches above

To the forest her call is but a syllable

But to him it’s every confession of love

She says “fly with me tonight my warrior soul”

Her eyes read his nocturnal prayer

“Run with me across the hills my queen

And together we’ll be everywhere”

‘Tis sometimes true creatures of the world

Soar and ride wild with the wind

But all of us love and dream of the day

When we can be as one again

And if you listen to the night when she is at rest

In the quiet sleep while others are frail

Bare trees cry and the moon doth wane

Her heart a whispering trail

© Paul D. Aronson. All Rights Reserved.

Waking Up From The Hashbury Dream 

“Waking Up From The Hashbury Dream”

They came from all over, the migration of ’67

to Haight Ashbury in search of the new,

away from the world their parents had created

from the ashes of a time gone askew.

They wanted a world where all could live together

and for a time it seemed to be so,

The Airplane took off, and Big Brother landed,

bringing a sound to San Francisco.

Music, the freedom that was denied before them

“all you need is love”, The Beatles had said,

an age of aquarius took shape that summer

live at the Fillmore, The Grateful Dead.

“tune in, turn on, drop out,” the new revolution

Timothy Leary spoke from the be-in floor,

Joan Baez urged girls “say yes to boys who say no”

to the draft and the horrors of war.

Owsley’s acid opened minds to a new awareness

the magic bus came riding into the town,

of love and peace, all of the flower children

celebrated the new community they’d found.

In the beginning there were mimes and Merry Pranksters,

by ’70 there’d be Charles Manson and rage,

while King had a dream, and Bobbie K had a vision,

someone pulled a trigger and turned the page.

Non-violent protest demonstrations took form

finally the boys were coming home from ‘nam

But more were sent right back out to Cambodia

by the brilliance of Nixon and old Uncle Sam.

On college campuses soon all was in chaos,

National Guard killed 4 in Ohio state

while the world outside the new hippie gathering

pretended everything was great.

Abby Hoffman gave a cause to the activists,

while Grace Slick showed the Black Panthers sign,

The Chicago 8, the Oakland 7, both were deep sixed,

so much for a revolution this time.

Still music and love continued to flourish

sweeping ‘cross nation to Woodstock unaware

until the throng came packing to see the circus

“look at the bums with flowers in their hair.”

At Altamont Speedway, a free concert took place

Marty Balin knocked unconscious mid song,

while Hell’s Angel’s beat a black man to a cruel death,

the band was ordered to play on.

The seasons of love had now become brutal

in another year both Joplin and Hendrix would pass

from this psychedelic world into the next one

the end of an age would come at last.

In the summer of love a dream was born,

but it became corrupted along the way

media and consumerism came sweeping like vultures

to make profit from the city by the bay.

and while the alternative press tried to print the truth

the world screamed it was drugs and sex

for the reason that the utopia was dying

to leave the new youth culture a wreck.

One October in a coffin they lay “the hippie” to rest

a symbolic gesture to show it was done

the end of an innocence, let’s all go home now

we’ll never see this again under the sun.

They came from all over, the migration of ’67

within a few years they abandoned the scene

yet for a moment there was a brief flash of beauty

before waking up from the Hashbury dream.

© 2002 Paul D. Aronson. All Rights Reserved.

You &  Me & Everything We Could Be

I wish we could find a room with a view

of nothing but you and me

and everything we could be;

I caught a glimpse of someone

kissing you in the rain

and looking closely

I realized it was me inside a dream

I could never make on my own

without your smile in my head.

And I don’t think I have ever felt

quite this naked before;

My clothes, and skin,

my very soul laid out for you,

to touch whenever you want

to hold close to you forevermore

if only in this silly little dream

of you and me

and everything we could be.

And in the heart of someone

who looks remarkably a lot like you

I would feel safe under the protection

of once dormant passions

now springing awake

like dawn against the dew, me against you,

to make love out of sorrow’s moment,

to take the shadows

of tragedy’s great conviction,

and turn it into faith –

A new religion of you and me

and everything we could be.

Poem  & photo/digital art by Paul D Aronson.

Models: Paul & Heather.