Poetry by James Dilworth
Newlands Park
by James Dilworth
Another Saturday —
A day before Summer comes in:
Some singing birds above
brown finches and red robins
in old, spiky, evergreen trees,
a couple crows commenting on the rest
as they scamper along the
huge green carpet of lawn
with clover and dandelions
yellow and white daffodils blooming
black plum trees ripening
happy children playing on swings
creaking merry-go-rounds full of parents
low murmur of cars all around,
miles away and nearby.
I make a picture
with camera and pen to remember
when I perched with coffee
on the old, mottled concrete wall
above Keystone Highway
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The Tourist
by James Dilworth
I live out my old carpetbag
My clothes are neatly pressed
Folded on starched creases
From my final night.
Can’t remember where home was
Now it’s where I am
No trace of life I’ll leave
Nor contribution too
My passing through time and place
Show I’m lost and free
Brilliant corners in Reno are like ‘Frisco
Every motel is blue
Wandering I forgot my station
And fell off the deep end
Lost I am found No where alone
Unsearching eyes go shut.
Forever uninvolved I wander
To find where it is for me
Some place my face will fit
There I will end my vacation.
