In the springtime ghosts of fall
stare at me from the shadows
and each new green leaf reminds me
of fallen colors . . .

I had a dream that the sun shined
while snow fell upon me
and that my reflection in the pool
had silent ripples
that played to themselves
the haunting echoes of a past tomorrow . . .

And you smiled at me
through a thousand panes of glass
frosty glazed in the sun-streaked days
of springtime . . . . .

wgmaass/copyright 1988

"Oh Hell!", I said to myself the other day
as I was walking past the cemetery bridge
kicking leaves up in to the breeze
and thinking of winter and the cold
and how as each year before
I had come with my friends
to make angels in the snow
on all the graves without evergreen blankets . . .

I didn't really know where the "Oh,Hell!" had come from
or how it had jumped out and sat so
in the frosted air peering
asking me what hidden thoughts and troubles
had brought me down this freshly earthed road -
don't think I really cared either -
was more of a sign than an expression -
one like the leaves, and the snow, and the granite . . .

Like a whip-poor-will calling to the night
I wandered on past the  forgotten markers-
past the thoughtless "Oh Hells!" and yesterdays
towards the goals of "Oh Well's" and tomorrows -
over the oak planks and the muddied water
looking back one more time at the rusted iron gates-
knowing one day I would return and they would open
and not for me to make angels in the snow . . . . .

w.g.maass
1977 copyright 1988

TO KNOW

I've known laughter as I've known sorrow,
for the first a thousand years would I borrow,
and yet what is laughter without tears -
but a thousand unknown years . . .

I heard a bugle in the mountain once,
and I saw rocks tossed at a dunce,
and yet the fool had brains apart -
as did the mute bugler with music in heart . . .

I saw the flowers bloom in spring,
and yet I was as blind as the accursed king,
for what is beauty and suns silvery sheen -
if there is no darkness to match light seen . . .

I have you as a part of me,
and so I had a hundred others be,
but for their faults and love untrue -
how would I know the beauty of you . . . .

wgmaass/1976/copyright 1988

I am . . .
as I'll always be -
here on the timeless plains,
in the ageless dimension,
in the world of ever-ever . . .

I've lived a thousand lives
and pained as many deaths
laughed as many laughs
and cried as many tears
and had as many loves . . .

Old poets never die -
their dragons live forever -
their maidens never age -
their rivers always flow -
their skies are always blue . . .

Dreams are not for men -
or so I was told as a little boy -
yet without my starry dreams
there is no life eternal
for this little boy turned man . . .

You said it was so eerie -
that I had been there before -
saying those same words to you -
but I have my child, I have -
and will again . . .

Transcending light and space -
leaving mortal barriers lie -
I travel with each windy night -
from one old page to another,
from one old love to another . . .

If you catch me
in a whistfull mood,
I'll tell you fairytales and stories
as I did when you were a little girl . . .

I was your favorite old man -
and I was your favorite lover -
your handsome knight in shining armor -
and the man in the tall white hat -
I was your favorite fantasy . . .

Tho you've a true lover now -
a man who cares and needs you -
a woman's fantasy is never ended
as each look in my wonderous mirror
will show she is yet a little girl . . .

When it's dark and rainy out -
when the sun shines but does not warm -
when you're so all alone -
open these old yellow pages -
and dream your fancied dream . . .

Then lie in bed with eyes closed -
or stand and gaze out the glass -
and feel and will and wish -
and hold out your loving hands -
reach out to the winds of night . . .

You know I'll be there -
reading to you from those pages -
luring you as I always will -
for I am -
as I'll always be . . . . .

w.g.maass
copyright 1981

More doors to open.