Core: noun, the most important part of a thing, the essence; from the Latin cor, meaning heart.

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 Volume 2.11 This View’s Poetry November 18, 2002 


    Seasons Change    
         
   

(Along SR 917)

Another
comes down,
whirling whirling brown;
flits across my windshield
and leaps over the roof;
flitting flitting brown to the ground;
dancing, then, dancing brown down the road,
resting, till swept up, away, astray (autumn’s prey)
by the next lonely car that comes this winding way.
And the westering sun glorifies a golden maple,
where rambling cows punctuate gentle green hills.
A field where corn still stands
glitters gold, spears and shields,
while sumac’s tongues-of-fire shishkebobs
salute the splendor’s
brief brief
stay.

   
         
    E. L. Core    
         
    © 1988 ELC    

    Autumn Sunset    
         
   

(November 14, 1988)

The
aged sun
drops below sight.
Wearied by the journey,
but shedding glory in farewell,
he colors copper the lonely hillside
(strewn pennies, carpeted thick: autumn’s spare change),
colors with cold beauty summer woods couldn’t bear.
Shy halfmoon, she veils herself with silk-sack,
while he lectrifies those red littlelights
clustered on the dogwood’s fingertips,
a gentle shining farewell,
whispering whispering instant:
the winter’s
near.

   
         
    E. L. Core    
         
    to Aimee    
         
    © 1988 ELC    

    Shrouded Field    
         
   

(Along SR 917)

Rounding
the bend
where fog wraiths
drift across the road:
summer-sun-scorched rushes group starkly roadside
under the blear-eye smoke-glassed autumn sun;
but spiders’ webs sparkle among the timothy,
and goldenwaves of goldenrod shimmer of a self-light.
A silo stands, ancient, crown caving in,
wreathed below by ranks of staghorns
drooping a few red leaves.
And thereóbut no...
veiled from view,
moisty morning
sight.

   
         
    E. L. Core    
         
    to Dawn    
         
    ©1990 ELC    

    Triad    
         
    From the Silence of Time, Time’s Silence borrow.
In the heart of To-day is the word of To-morrow.
The Builders of Joy are the Children of Sorrow.
   
         
    William Sharp (1856-1902)    
   

Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse p. 400
ed. D. H. S. Nicholson and A. H. E. Lee

   



 Volume 2.11 This View’s Poetry November 18, 2002 





The View from the Core, and all original material, © 2002 E. L. Core. All rights reserved.

Cor ad cor loquitur J. H. Newman — “Heart speaks to heart”