College Days, Happy Days

(This solemn ceremony has been a tradition at Pitt, whether it still exists, I dnn't know, but hopefully it does)




Lantern Night at Pitt


The light of truth shines forth tonight,
In glow subdued or shining bright,.


From lanterns like those used of yore,
The symbol of true knowledge beams,


In semi-darkness, light gleams clear,
From lanterns placed at intervals,


The white of gowns blends with the gloom
When through the arch, the freshmen come,


Their lanterns without light they bring,
From wisdom's flame they will be lit.


A transcendental glory beams
Upon their faces, solemn now,


And those who watch, gaze on with pride,
As daughters enter college life.


On bended knee, they say the vow,
Their dedication to the truth,


And now the room resounds with song,
The Alma Mater sung by youth,


While parents watch, the girls file out,
Their lanterns flaming bright for truth.


Pitt Pennant


A pennant hanging on the wall
It tells the happy tale to all --
Of my allegiance and my pride,
In Pitt, my loving mentor guide,
The colors, gold and navy blue,
Are colors of a cheerful hue,
The Panther, stands in silent wait,
As if to watch each scholar's fate,
And Pitt in letters bold is there,
To give the pennant glory rare.


Alma Mater


When once again I walk those halls,
That I have walked in days before,
And greet those friends I found and loved,
In days when student's garb I wore,


Then mem'ries dear will welcome me,
To all the old, familiar haunts,
Where loves, whose friendship I had sought,
Became a part of my heart's wants.


No ivy-covereed building walls,
But majesty of glorious height,
Refreshing mind, exalting soul,
Whenever they viewed the blessed sight.


"Twas there dead facts became alive,
Revived by oratory's wit.
And lightened more by love's sweet light
That blended, mingled still with it.

The Natural World

Quiet Evening


The evenings are so beautiful
Pale blue and rose, the sky,
Across the sky
Go fluttering bits of life
In swarms or singly
Amoeba like, they merge and flow
Separating, then joining,
In patternless patterns,
The evening star lends a grace,
To the quiet calm and beauty.


A Year Passes


A year ago, I watched them pass,
Fluttering flights of birds,
Over the place, where now I live,
My wonder was, where do they go?
But now I've found the trees,
Laden with avian fruit,
Chirping, squawking in constant motion,
Until they choose to fly,
To yet another destination.


The Beautiful


Each season has it's beauty
Spring brings blue bonnets
And white-belled yucca,
Summer blooms are myriad,
Both in color and in form,
But when comes the fall,
The narrow leafed gay feather,
Spreads it's lavendar loveliness
Across the empty fields,
That is a beauty,
Unsurpassed by any.


The Tree In Spring


The tree's new leaves and delicate branches,
Etch a lacy tracery against the greying evening sky,
They move with every breeze like joyous young dancers,
Swaying together and apart as if in some romantic dalliance,
Performers in an age old show,
Tonight it is still, but they await the slightest breeze
To send them dancing.

Nature's Portrait

I love long, rambling walks in the forest, because
Of the lonely, solemn hoot owl, keeping me company,
Of the cool dusk slipping down, like night-clothes over the trees,
Of the soft, damp coverlet of greenest moss,
Of  the merry rebukes of the squirrels as they seek hiding,
Of the shadow design the sunlight forms on the path,
Of the serene, unbroken stillness of the deep woods,
Of the half-heard distant rustling of a breeze whispering through
    the leaves,
Of the sudden trill of a bird from a near-by thicket,
Of the statuesque deer frightened by my appearance,
Of the brisk wind whipping the leaves from the branches,
Of the longed-for blessed solitude of a secret nook,
Of the murmuring and gurgling of an unrevealed stream,
Of  the cold, clear stream, running along, talking to itself,
Of the early morning flowers, star-studded with dew,
Of the solemn dignity of the shadowy trees in the moonlight.

What of our Youth?

(This was written at the time of WWII - yes, I am that old, was young then - but at this time, the words of this piece are fitting. I dedicate it to all those who have served or are now serving)


What of our Youth?


What mean these dreams of youth?
That we do break and shatter thus ;
How shall we justify our deeds,
When widowed girls with children young,
Go walking past as in a trance:
And boys whose nimble feet had dared so much,
Go now with limp or not at all,


Whose prayers shall cause the ache to cease,
When stars of blue have turned to gold,
What words can reason see to use,
With children orphaned, tired and cold.


What empty words, "A war to end all wars"
If all we do is say these words,
But have no plan to follow them,
What will they think of us, these youth,
Whose dreams have gone completely now,


Our cause, our prayers, our reason, these,
To find a way to shed no blood.
And still bring peace to all the world.

Ancestral Home; Message to the Traveler

Ancestral Home


We travel the highways and byways of Britain,
Where sheep and cattle polka-dot green meadows,
Their grazing manicures the landscape
A soothing, relaxing prospect for eye and soul
This great little, gentle green isle charms the heart,
I shall return, no doubt, I shall return,
Where history lives in villages small,
In towns and cities, large and small,
Side by side, with modern life.


Our fathers knew this land,
Perhaps an unknown cousin passes by,
This is a place to see, to know, to love,
The kings of old still tread the halls, the hills,
No matterr highways wide, buildings tall,
They will not be denied their place,
Despite our fast paced day,
We own our kinship to the past.




Message to the Traveler


Can you see me?
You, who walk beside me?
You've viewed cathedrals
Seen the castles, but can you see me?
I'm flesh and blood, the same as you,
Eat and sleep, walk and talk,
Just as you,
Why do you only see stones, buildings, ruins,
But never me?


We travel together,
In groups so large,
From place to place,
Only seeing scheduled sights,
Never a moment to stop,
Just to say "Hello",
Within our group we chat,
And learn of each other,
Never knowing those we pass.


How to bridge this barrier?
Move away from groups,
Learn to say "Hello",
Then we will learn to see,
Not only buildings, but people, too.

The Strangers

New View For the Tourist

(A tourist sometimes sees life as a resident does.)


I walked to where the coaches come
Today, when day was young,
The strangers were there, with cameras and bags,
They look at cathedrals and castles
Awed and pleased by all they see,
Strange to think they don't see us
We, to whom this place is home.

Greeting

Children of the Mind



The door is open
I stand there, hesitant,
Not fearful, but reluctant,
To present my "children of the mind"
To an audience of even, one,
Who might criticize or mock them.



Why do I dislike the words
Poet or poetry for the lines
That sing through my mind
With pictures, moods and thoughts
Even keeping sleep at bay.



I have no answer, but
I will send my "pieces" forth
To be welcomed or rejected
As the audience wills it.