Ingrid Bruck Poems
Published by stevent37 on May 25, 2019
Retired library director Ingrid Bruck delights us with her poems that are a ray of sunshine bursting with a love of life rarely encountered these days.
Matins
On the bank of the Hudson
in early summer,
outside flows into the Matins.
The grand silence breaks.
Birdsong penetrates the monastery,
a train’s chug and whistle enter.
Sounds of the world intermix
with the meditative chants
of the brothers in the chapel.
When the bronze bell calls the next day
I worship in the courtyard
alone with an ancient oak.
Church, bell tower and tree
hug me on three sides,
the fourth side opens to a panorama
of fields, woods and water.
I sit on a weathered bench.
Birds flit, limb to branch, away and back.
Feathers flare – a cardinal flash on green.
A commuter train rumbles on the shoreline.
The stone walls shake psalms and liturgy.
Light crackles on the gray tidal river
echoing the sounds of morning.
Tree and I drift on the harmonies
of birds, river and brothers.
Hudson River Morning
a tidal river
rises and falls
with moon and five foot tides
water washes south
into a open mouthed
hungry ocean
half a day, north
half a day, south
the surface tracks a mighty current
from the ridge
of Holy Cross Monastery
in early morning
I look down on the Hudson
Palisade cliff remnants
run into the gray slate current
wind ruffles the tide
the sun struck
surface breaks
shards skim the river
flicker and spark
the liquid glory of water fire
Angelus Bells
Angelus bells greet morning
break the great silence
peal a song of welcome
Angelus bells carillon prayer
bronze bells bong Angelus
old bells gong Hail Mary
knell light three times a day
morning, midday, evening
Angelus bells call the sun
Angelus bells sound daybreak
tell you it’s morning
tell you day has started
Angelus bells strike twelve
tell you day is half gone
you pause for lunch
Angelus bells toll nightfall
tell you day is over
time to stop for supper and bed
Angelus bells ring light
rhythm in sets of threes and nine
sunrise, high sun, sunset
Angelus bells mark hours
measure time passing
savor the moment
Angelus bells sing the sun
in and out of the sky
welcome the day
Red Winter
Blonde curls frame the face
restrained inside a peacock hat
from a halloween costume.
One-year Wrenna wears her favorite hat
because she’s a little bird.
She kicks and shuffles yard leaves,
wears the cold tint of holly berries
on her cheeks and nose.
A pair of holly bushes grow along the fence:
a squat female, heavy with fruit,
beside a taller lean male.
Wrenna leans to touch the bright seeds
when a cardinal lands to eat.
The girl shouts “birdie”
a cry of pure joy,
a summer sunset, red on red,
transported to winter.
Navy Blue Angels
On a back country road,
a story plays out in the sky:
three planes fly in formation.
A small propeller plane centers
between two large fighter jets.
How is it possible
for two jets to keep pace
with a puddle jumper?
Two bookends accompany the old one.
Poise on each side,
they stand straight, needle tip up,
sharp short wings like hands on hips,
relevé on toes.
Improbable as it appears,
they take a curtain call and bow.
http://beneaththerainbow.com/ingrid-bruck-poems/
Date Published: May 25, 2019