Paul Bluestein
Cathedral
We stand at the threshold of the Cathedral of October,
one of the dozen calendared cathedrals
built within each circle of the moon.
Stained-glass windows of crayon-color leaves
and a vaulted dome of blue sky.
The sun is snared by the hands of the autumn clock
and pulled down from the afternoon sky too soon.
All of nature slowly turning away from summer but,
as lovers often do,
looking back one last time before leaving.
Paul Bluestein has written poetry for years, but has only recently begun to submit his work. He is a physician by profession (still practicing), a self-taught musician (still practicing) and a dedicated Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He writes poetry when The Muse calls him unexpectedly and rings insistently until he answers, even if he doesn't want to talk to her just then. Nonetheless, he finds it exhilarating to be a new arrival to the world of poetry, a Stranger in a Strange Land.
Cathedral
We stand at the threshold of the Cathedral of October,
one of the dozen calendared cathedrals
built within each circle of the moon.
Stained-glass windows of crayon-color leaves
and a vaulted dome of blue sky.
The sun is snared by the hands of the autumn clock
and pulled down from the afternoon sky too soon.
All of nature slowly turning away from summer but,
as lovers often do,
looking back one last time before leaving.
Paul Bluestein has written poetry for years, but has only recently begun to submit his work. He is a physician by profession (still practicing), a self-taught musician (still practicing) and a dedicated Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He writes poetry when The Muse calls him unexpectedly and rings insistently until he answers, even if he doesn't want to talk to her just then. Nonetheless, he finds it exhilarating to be a new arrival to the world of poetry, a Stranger in a Strange Land.