Ryker Lake September 4, 2016

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Troy Meadows boardwalk September 3, 2016

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the road taken

Whose woods these are I think I know.

It’s quite obvious if you have eyes to see

Posted private property signs along the road

Meant to keep out trespassers who can read.

Not the creatures that exist in this habitat

Adapting to life in proximity to people

Doing what is required to survive the changes

Fields of crops and farm animal pastures impose.

The poem says his house is in the village, though;

If you were told that house is a church and he is God

Think instead about the bank with its temple columns

Holding the mortgages as promises to keep.

Robert Frost’s little horse must think it queer

The literary interpretation glosses over the history

What something there is that does not love a wall

The land once undivided belonging to the natives.

Imagine a map that displays only where you may set foot

That would show public spaces, walkways and streets

Marking every other place out of bounds

Leaving narrow corridors between parks like islands.

So little remains of the shared commons

That has been carved up and parceled out

That’s how we live today not giving it a thought

Individuals squatting each on our separate plot.

But humanity congregates in large cities

Succeeding as a species because we cooperate

Building communities through volunteer organizations

Neighbors without fences caring to help each other.

The poetry that praises life in rural agrarian times past

So wistful looking back at a false idyllic scene

As if the dairy farms with their introduced species

Arrived to settle in an empty unoccupied landscape.

That solitary road less traveled is best not taken

Though the yellow woods are lovely, dark and deep

Being a social animal so full of words with thoughts

Being conscious because we talk living together.

Skylands September 1, 2016

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