New Poetry from Barbara Larsen

Editor’s Note: I set out to choose two poems from Door County Poet, Barbara Larsen’s new book of poetry Finding Tongues in Trees to publish in the Pulse. While I set out to choose two, I absolutely have to print three and share them with the readers of the Pulse.

These three poems are just a sneak peak of what Larsen’s new book has to offer. Pick up a copy and you’ll understand why I had to print three. Larsen’s Finding Tongues in Trees can be purchased at Passtimes Books, The Clearing, the Pioneer Store, Caxton Books, Novel Ideas, and Main Street Market.

~ M. Vanderhoof

The Apple and the Poet

First there was Isaac Newton sitting under a tree

on a mellow September day

thinking his curious deep thoughts

when an apple fell beside him

with a thud which resounded around the world.

Today I’m sitting under an apple tree

on a lazy September afternoon

waiting for a thud which will resound

around the world in anthologies

of great poems of the twenty-first century.

So far, no thud. But that’s all right.

It is enough that the air is warm and fragrant,

monarchs are clustered on milk week pods,

and one just flew over and landed on

my empty writing pad lying next to me in the grass.

Tell me

What is this suit I am wearing?

This ivory colored covering

sewn on from top to toe,

custom made to fit

but starting to wear at the seams;

to show more wrinkles each year.

It is not me.

What is this thinking machine

inside its hard cage,

running constantly, churning

old thoughts and vibrant dreams.

It idles for hours on worries

using up supplies of vital energy.

It, too, is not me.

Both have assignments to carry out

and I am grateful to them.

I credit them for much in my life.

But they are not me.

My me is hidden somewhere within.

If you can see me there, please call out

and I will look into your eyes

and begin to know.

Wonder

Each time the sun

sinks into the bay

it is a little death

and something within us,

some small particle,

longs to know the secret,

wants to slide out

and follow it over the water,

see for ourselves before it is time

for us to know

like a child pretending sleep

in order to listen in

on grownup secrets.