Some Holy Weight in the Village Air
$14.95
By Ira Joe Fisher
Songs from an Earlier Century
$14.95
By Ira Joe Fisher

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A Scattering of Verse

Looking after

The wind leaned the maple
over my reading
and dusk sipped the words
into what the dusk became:  
night.  
Ink is a gift:
it unwraps a laying-down sun,
gives a bird a song
and gives shivers to the rain.  
As that dusk gave all
to night
and my book sighed to unseen,
there were only fireflies
with their brief, green ease
to show me in the dark
how to find home.

C.O.

Mister Government, do you still
hold a fading thought
that war
that killing
that sending them to fight
is a sin?
Oh, you still plan war,
you start war, you rage.
You still fight.
You still kill.
But do you hold a thought,
a fading thought
that it is a sin?
I only ask
because you still call
war’s objector
conscientious.


O, CHURCH, INVITE THE TREES

O, church, invite the trees,
Invite the trees adorned with only leaves
And cones between the needles.

O, church, open your door
To squirrel and dog and deer,
Open your door to the wordless ones.

Pull back your ceiling
To the blue and sainted sky
And clouds and holy rain.

O, church, where are the stones?
And dust?  Where are the tufts of hay?  
A creek trilling down your aisle?

Forgive my sigh at the altar gold
And marble haloed men,
Mere men frozen, holding high hands

Their palms a blinding white

While your colored glass hides
The heaven of the world. 

AN EMPTYING

Night is quicker to fall. 
The temperature is quicker to fall. 
Leaves and light, quicker to fall.
It’s the falling of things,
an emptying –
of playgrounds
and ballparks
and lakes –
cooling the year. 
Bright day is still summer,
still warm;
but, a chilled thread
woven of wind,
in the sun, 
in the clouds, 
and iron gray,  
holds a secret we know
and pretend we don’t.