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Ingrid Bruck Poems

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.

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Poems

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About The Author:

Ingrid Bruck grows wildflowers, does canning and writes poetry. She’s a retired library director living in the Amish country of Pennsylvania. She spends lots of  time with grandchildren, one of her favorite writing subjects. Her first chapbook, Finding Stella Maris, was released by Flutter Press this past winter.  Current works appears in Between These Shores Literary and Arts Annual, Halcyon Days, The Song Is… and Naturewriting. Poetry website: www.ingridbruck.com

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