Hawk’s Nest

the hawk’s nest bristles

in the crook of branches

towering ready

for predator or prey


below our new neighbors

have put up lovely bird

feeders, swinging gently

in the breeze.




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9.19.2020 [adirondack]

The first tree
to fire into autumn
has turned
and the smell of leaves
and fire sweeten the air
just like last year and the year
before and the year before, though perhaps a bit
more beautifully this year,

all unknowing of wildfires to the west
and fire storms of rage and
hurt and fear in the city
while we sit in recycled plastic
adirondack chairs in the front yard
and share a bottle of safely distanced
pinot noir with friends we haven’t really
greeted except by Zoom chat
in months.

above us a small bird
perhaps confused by the turn of light and smoke
has hit a window; it too rests
dazed and bewildered
in our grass.


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anarchist nights

6.5.2020        [anarchist nights]

a young platinum haired boy
in shorts stands facing a wall
of hazy confused newspaper panels

they appear like smoke before him
as he raises his imaginary toy
ramming device to knock
them down.

it’s all a play to him, of mists and
but the people and the damage
are real.

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Old friend tree

5.17.2020 [Old friend tree]

Old friend tree laid down today
in the middle of the night, in
the middle of rain and dark and
a quiet slip over when too much
weight and soft soil combined
to say it is done.

We’d noticed the white of
his bones showing through of late
his bark striped up along several

It was on his ancient deer stand prop
from before we arrived — before developers
had dredged up his wetlands
to sell another yard — that our boys climbed
and sat to read a book.

We go down like that, in the middle of
something else… the middle of a night,
the middle of a sentence, in the middle
of a step to turn around and… and just stop.

He lay down. maybe it was she. or
perhaps tree didn’t mind or care or
even know about pronoun matters.
the he she is for us, to make it clear
that we felt a relationship and that it
was a friend.

When we looked up we thought, well
it’s on that other guy’s land really, he’s
the one who’ll have to saw it up and
clear away. No bother on our end, we’d
just let it be, lying there, propped against
the other trees that partially broke its
fall, just like the long stretches of
decaying angled oldsters in the
woods at the other end of our yard

I think of them as old boys too,
marking the path we all take at
some point. stopped, dropped
and still marking as we lean into
those around us who in holding us up now
remind us of what was and will be
and that it’s alright… all right.

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over time

3.29.2020        [over time]

skin, eyes, hearing, bursa,

back, hips, disk and spine,

gums and hands, fingers, thumb,

trigger fingers, toes that numb.

fuzzy throat, coughs that wheeze,

tickle that requires unease.

stomach sensate, heartburn thrall,

prostate danger, urine small.

vigor wanes, emotions squall

a life long lived now touches


And yet we live and say good grace

it’s still a joy

to share this space.


Len Freeman 2020

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Good Friday — the road not yet taken April 19, 2019

4.19. 2019 Good Friday…[ the road not yet taken]

through the years I know I’ve tried

to understand God and conceptualize

to comprehend and  follow

and try to get to know him

to make my choice to be his man

to believe in, trust, obey

and perceive him as I can


to talk with, thank him, pray

and request him

to feel the presence, the

absence, the unknowness


to ask for forgiveness, to express

my sorry, to appreciate and

pray yet again for tomorrow.


at seventy six, on a good Good Friday

I’ve find I’ve struck a nerve of an untried highway

at seventy six well down my road

I realize that I’ve missed a goad


the only one that the Words actually tell

as the path to run. to know more well;


to love him, is the road I’ve missed.

Not to ask or bleed or run or resist

but to love him

that ‘till now I’ve missed


so far that is. but today’s the day

to give that kiss

and start upon our common way.


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A Tale of Two Poems

3.11.2019 [A Tale of Two Poems]

you get up later

go to bed earlier

and you nap in between.




you get up later

go to bed earlier

and you nap in between.


works for the cat…


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Ashes ashes

Ashes, ashes,
we all fall down.
But not yet
and not now
nor scattered on the wind,
’till, yet commingled
with all whom we loved
and have been loved by,
we rise.

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the floor creaks – July 16


the floor creaks when he moves on it,

yoga windshield-wipers turning

knees to right, arms to left.


houses, bodies, all reveal

the stressed turnings

that time steals.


he should notice, his friends say,

the tread that is passing.

but if that’s the price,


he replies, it’s well paid on,

for moving, easing,

day on day.


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blessing – June 23


Isaac reached out his hand

and set the words free,

powering of their own

changing things forever

no taking them back.


bless them in their joys

and in their sorrows,

I said, in their life

and in their death.


there were tears in his eyes

and in mine.


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