Author: msduchesne

Autumn’s Pretense

It’s hardly a mark of distinction, I know,

That I always grow moody when fall arrives.

Like many, I find autumn a complex wine –

Fruit forward thanks to summer’s solar surplus,

But with notes of melancholy piercing the finish.

As a child, I was inspired by October’s rainbow;

As a teen, by its seditious rebuke of conformity.

If its low altitude fireworks show

Foretold the coming dark and cold,

It also softened the blow.

I won’t deny my Yankee neighbors and I

Take unearned pride in our canopy’s acclaim.

And if we complain about the annual gawkers

That our deciduous celebrities attract,

We have no quarrel with their billfolds.

But today, branches bare and groupies gone,

It occurs to me that once on the ground,

Fall’s Crayola colors turn the same brown

As buds blown free from an April tree,

And the sylvan bunting shorn by a summer storm.

True, my understory brethren and I

Longed for the sunlight and attention

Lavished upon the forest’s crown jewels.

Yet here we all are, commingled in the dirt.

So, despite the latter’s fleeting fame,

I guess that leaves us all the same.

American Idiom

I was about to say there are two types of countries –

Those that see themselves as the future,

And those that glorify their past.

But then I realized both are true of every country,

Only some think the future should look like their past.

So where does America fall on that spectrum?

For a long time, we were the debutante,

But most today believe we’ve reached a crossroads,

Arguing amongst ourselves about which way to turn,

As though going forward were not an option.

Some of us would turn back,

Even if it means turning our backs on our ideals;

But then that’s nothing new –

We’ve a history of ignoring our most cherished principles

Whenever they prove inconvenient.

We all know equality didn’t grow in the southern soil

Where the slaves of Washington, Jefferson and Madison plowed –

But history teaches hypocrisy thrives in every clime;

You can still trace today northern bigotry’s red lines,

For segregation was never a uniquely southern sin.

Likewise, some believe freedom of religion only guarantees

The right to be any type of Christian you please –

Although, let’s be honest, Jehovah’s Witnesses,

Not to mention the Amish, Mormons, and Papists, too,

Come uncomfortably close to the line.

And yet we proclaim America remains a city on a hill –

As though we can be slaves to prejudice and tradition,

And yet somehow still perpetually new.

I guess if you stand far enough from the mirror,

The blemishes fade from view.

June

They say it’s January that has two faces,

But if you ask me, it’s June;

One face promising the longest day,

The other subtracting the radiance away.

At first it doesn’t trouble you much –

After all, July still supplies a surplus of sun –

But as August continues to call in the loan,

You start to lament the debt yet to be paid.

If September days maintain a respectable balance

Between solar rays and the moon’s reflection,

October and November prove more parsimonious

With the sky’s circadian incandescence.

The next thing you know it’s December,

Which only the calendar was expecting so soon,

Bringing a darkness that begets regret,

Not least for the profligacy of June.

Glass Houses

While not a people person per se,

I am a keen observer of others.

And over the years I’ve come to find

Some faults particularly galling.

I have no patience for the impetuous,

No sympathy for the unfeeling,

Nor empathy for the indifferent.

I am incensed by the petulant,

Can’t be bothered with the impolite,

Have no faith in atheists,

And real reservations about the agnostic.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t expect perfection.

But the world would be a much better place

If people were just more aware of their failings.

Free Verse

There are tests to be a CPA,

An architect, an engineer.

Medical boards for doctors, of course,

And a lawyer has to pass the bar.

But they’re also required of plumbers,

To sell insurance, be an auctioneer.

Same holds true for electricians,

Teachers, tattoo artists, beauticians.

Want to sell real estate?

You’ll have to sit for an exam.

And everyone has to pass a test

Before they may drive a car.

And yet, despite the obvious risks

Of harm to the public at large,

There’s still no poetic license exam.

Elegy

I had not come so far to say goodbye,

The last hello too long ago for that.

I’d come instead to do my duty,

To show sympathy for others’ loss –

Empathy too much to ask.

So I was surprised by the sense of sadness

That settled on me as I sat,

And listened to the memories from others’ past.

Surprised as well when it came my time to speak,

That I could find my words but not my voice,

Which lay trapped within a tightened throat,

Nothing but a broken whisper breaking loose

From the weight of emotions I had not suspected

Lay hidden just below the surface –

Until they found their outlet in my eyes,

And my indifference washed away as I cried.

I cried for the past because it had passed.

I cried for the child I had outgrown –

For the loss of joy and wonder and naiveté.

I cried for the things I had and had not done.

I cried from the pain of losses yet to come,

And for the friendships I left fallow.

I know I was not alone in my surprise;

Others, too, knew only the hardened façade

That fenced feelings in and others out.

For too long the mirror was my only reflection,

So I suppose I should not be so surprised

I had to travel this far to say goodbye to myself.

Open Letter to the American Judiciary

I’m going to do something completely different here. I’ve just posted an online letter calling on American courts to fulfill their duty to act as a check against unlawful government actions, and opposing efforts to intimidate judges through threats of impeachment and even physical violence. 

I fully recognize there exist among Americans today, as there have throughout our history, sharp differences in political ideologies and policy preferences. I have no desire to argue for one side or the other in those ongoing debates. Rather, I am acting on the belief that what makes our peaceful co-existence possible is a system of government that allows us to work through our differences within a system of rules by which we have all agreed to abide.

If you’re an American citizen and that’s important to you, too, I hope you’ll at least read my letter and, if you agree with me, consider signing it. If you’re uncomfortable signing it, perhaps you could share it with others. And whether or not you agree with me, I’m always happy to hear what you have to say.

You can find the letter here: https://actionnetwork.org/petitions/wwwpublicvoicesorg/

Matthew Duchesne

As Luck Would Have It

As a child, I was acutely sensitive

To life’s misfortunes and inequities.

Even now, skin dappled, hair gray,

I recall quite clearly the anguish I felt

When, as a little boy clutching a maternal hand,

I had my first encounter with a man with a can.

We were Christmas shopping in the city center,

Among wise men and rain deer and cotton snow,

When we came upon a man seated on the sidewalk,

Clutching a cardboard sign in soiled fingers,

Offering what today I would see as irony –

God’s blessing in return for alms.

Decades later I often feel guilty

That my luck has been better than most.

I used to wonder if perhaps God is cruel,

To sow seeds he must know will fail.

But now I think nature knows as well as we

Not every acorn becomes a tree.

Back to Earth

Where I come from, the mountains ring

With the sound of falling water.

Mile-high clouds shroud their naked peaks

Like dreams that linger even after sleep.

In our prime, we scaled their wooded slopes

To look down upon the heavens.

The altitude made us feel like gods,

For such is the arrogance of youth.

But alas mere mortals that we were,

In time came down to Earth once more,

And like most creatures of good sense

Are content to winter on the valley floor.