Poetry by Alan Cohen

Field Theory


The clapper hasn’t stirred
Air tranquilized by fog
So we neither see nor hear

Crows don’t care
They make and know their way
But the other birds

Circumspect
Don’t trust such a morning
We vacillate

At one moment envying lava rock
The next towering, like a limelight scream
Over the blind silence




Mystery


The mystery goes on
Long after revelation
Like music 
After it stops playing

The more we anticipate
The better the mystery
The more we remember

​


Being Sure


From most of us, no one needs anything
Of course, there are always sun and wind and rain
And butterflies find their way to where they are needed
And people take care of themselves

How can we judge what is fair or just or right?
Our efforts are so often vanities
It seems best to remain quiet
And wait for absolute clarity
Deep in the heart

Leaves are falling from the maple trees
One at a time
Each an individual
Its colors unique

We are called upon
As often to be silent as to speak
As often to resist as to create
It is there, always there, the path
More new than old

Waiting for us to see it with the new eyes
We will find when close the old ones
It is beginning to be cool again
Under these clouds at summer’s end

Though when the sun emerges
The humidity can still be oppressive
It is nearly always enough to see
For then, when we are called upon, we know




When


My watch stopped at 5:15
I left it on my wrist for a few hours
Then undid the band

Now whenever I am inclined to consult it
I hang fire
Suspended between habit

And the awareness that
I don’t need to know
How or why or when

If I know what and where

​

Alan Cohen/Poet first/Then PCMD, teacher, manager/Living a full varied life. To optimize time and influence/Deferred publication, wrote/Average 3 poems a month/For 60 years/Beginning now to share some of my discoveries. Married to Anita 40 years/in Eugene, OR these past 10

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