Robert Pelgrift is an editor for a legal publisher, working in New York City. His poems have been published in various anthologies and in The Lyric, Rotary Dial, The Galway Review, The Foxglove Journal and The Waggle.
The Painted Cove
Across the cove, the rose and yellow sun
hangs above the orchard, about to set;
against the glow, fruit tree tops have begun
to darken to a flat, gray silhouette.
The blazing globe pours liquid yellow rose
into the gleaming pool, and the ruffled seas
throw rose-lit sparks as the red sphere goes
down, eclipsed by the darkening tops of trees.
The near shore mists over into gray night,
but overhead, the sun lights clouds piled high
like smoke from fires of scarlet yellow light,
or towering rose peaks in a desert sky;
and in the lee, the sky pours each bright hue
to paint the tide in yellow, rose and blue.
True Realms of Gold
Amid our earnest quarreling did we strain
that Sunday, to clean, comfort, feed and share;
but withal, I feared Monday’s fight for gain,
in turmoil that alone stirred my despair.
Now have I served for nearly one more week;
Monday’s issues of gain and loss were faced,
but, like our quarrels, they seemed to seek
not so much to be settled as replaced.
That Sunday now recalled seems a tableau,
and we silent actors, and we regret
our loss, feeling charmed by the golden glow,
our strife and strain so easy to forget.
Now would that our present could catch and hold
that contentment that lights true realms of gold.