Figures at the River and September Witch Light

Figures at the River

In twilight
I can’t tell what they’re doing.

They seem as distant shadows
that stand,
lean,
move and change again
in short,
lobbed hops.

Something always brings them
back to the ground.

They seem to almost move
in unison
at times.

They break free,
walk shore-edge,
in short, quick movements
through the afterglow.

A cove refracts a somber light.

The mind moves in thought.

A gesture of casting lines,
careful arcs
disappearing in watery distance.

Then, at last
a smoldering thread of light,
they converge,
moving less and less.

Darkness covers them
and they are gone.

September Witch Light

Fifty-four degrees this Friday in September,
a partial rainbow above trees.
The house is silent,
except
a kind of whale call from the refrigerator.
Pale green,
Appalachian twilight tints low clouds,
swirls of blue here and there.

Lights flicker now and then.

Pallor sky emits a mist of rain,
a whisper of creeks.
Far away, one crow.
Through the heater, I hear a radio’s muted music.

I never watch tv.  Leaves are falling.
They blanket the ground in pearls of green.

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John Timothy Robinson is a mainstream poet of the expressive image and inwardness from a steel mill town in the state of West Virginia.  His poetics was developed in the tradition of James Wright, Rita Dove, Donald Hall, Marvin Bell, Maxine Kumin, WS Merwin, Tess Gallagher and Robert Bly among many others.  John’s work has appeared in seventy-nine journals.  He is also a published print-maker with sixty art images and photographs appearing in nineteen journals, electronic and print in the United States and Italy.