He Sits Alone

By Ross T. Lucas, Ph.D M.Div.

Imagine the long river of time distilled into drops, and each drop is a moment. Drip—the view from a train as it lumbers cross-country—drop—the wilting of a summer rose—drip—the silhouette of a loved one in the window.

This collection of poetry, written by Ross T. Lucas over the course of a lifetime, captures the experiences of a lifetime—some of them lived, and some of them only imagined.

Dip into these pages and discover reflections on love, loss, grief, pain, wondering, whimsy, and awe. Struggle through doubt and questions of faith. Come close to the heart of nature and find joy in the everyday moments that make life worth living. Let the words carry you away into the timeless connections we all share with each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716739699

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He Sits Alone

Ross T. Lucas, Ph.D. M.Div.

Copyright © 2020 Ross T. Lucas, Ph.D M.Div.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-71673-969-9

Book interior & cover design by E. McAuley, www.impluviumstudios.com

Cover photo by Ross T. Lucas. Photo taken off the Island of O’ahu, Hawaii, from the deck of the Norwegian cruise ship America’s Pride. July 2, 2018.

Preface

Real men don’t write poetry. Somewhere along the line, I accepted this message as truth. As a result, I suppressed the urge to write anything that could be termed poetry. Despite my best efforts, there were times when the urge became so strong that I was compelled to write something down.

In the first decade of the 21st century, I connected with a group of artists led by Sharon Mick McAuley. We were working through The Artist’s Way book by Julia Cameron. During those years, I began to write more frequently and I also began to explore other forms of creativity. I discovered painting, I renewed my focus on photography, and I even dabbled in sculpture.

At some point between 2008 and 2012, my friend Patrick Foley introduced me to Billy Collins. Through Collins’ poetry, I discovered the concept of free verse where lines don’t have to rhyme. I found that style to be more suited to who I am.

Included in this collection are 120 poems that represent much of my work from 1980 to 2019. I don’t think of these as great works of literature, or even as literature at all, for that matter. They are my thoughts and ideas sometimes based on people, sometimes based on events, sometimes following random thoughts.

If you have a copy of either of my two previous books of poetry—Come, Run with Me, 1994, and Come Roam with Me, 2002—you will find many of those poems also included here.

Where I could, I included the date the piece was written as a footnote. Occasionally, I have included the circumstances or occasion on which it was written. If there is nothing in the way of notes following the poems, it’s because I don’t have a record of when I wrote it and the occasion isn’t obvious from the poem.

My hope is that you will find these enjoyable, perhaps humorous, and occasionally thought-provoking. If you are one of those people who, like me, never considered your work worth sharing, I hope it will inspire you to open your work and yourself to the view of others.

Ross T. Lucas

Acknowledgments

I want to recognize all those who were a part of these poems, even though there are too many to list exhaustively.

First and foremost, I want to acknowledge my lovely and always encouraging wife Carolyn, who was the inspiration behind many of these poems. I also want to acknowledge my children: James Lucas, Matthew Lucas, Cheryl Maltby, and their spouses. Of course, I can’t forget my three grandchildren: Tyler Lucas, Noah Lucas, and Orion Lucas, who also provided inspiration.

In addition to family, I’d like to thank the many men from the ManKind Project as well as the women in my Thursday morning Fearless Creating Art-Spirit group. The many churches I have served have also helped to shape who I am and the way I write poetry.

Thank you, also, to all those who inspired me by chance or accident. There’s the woman in black, who I saw walking down the street, the couple sitting at a table in Olga’s Kitchen, and so many others I just happened across. You were all important to me in the completion of this work.

Finally, I want to recognize and give special thanks to Erin McAuley with Impluvium Studios. Along with encouragement and suggestions for improvements, Erin has done the editing and the layout for this book of poetry.

The list could go on and on. Suffice it to say I have been shaped by so many people who I’ve crossed paths with in the course of my life. I feel truly blessed.

Ross T. Lucas

Watching the World Go By

from the Train

¹

I watch the changing landscape through the dirty window; watch houses of white, others of brown, and some, needing fresh paint, the weathered gray of age.

There is a desire to return the greeting of the trees who, as wind pushes them to and fro, seem to wave at me, bidding me God speed on my journey.

Through the day I travel, the steel rails always beneath my steed of iron. I have not chosen the trail to take, when to turn, nor where to cross the rivers; all those choices are made by someone else.

Crossing roads, we don’t stop. Rather, the flashing red lights and the lowered arms of wood signal to those lesser vehicles that they must stop and pay homage as we travel on.

The hours pass, yellow light begins to glow from the windows of dwellings we speed past. The sky—so blue, with spots of white where clouds drift through the air—changes as sunset comes. And those once-white clouds are transformed to orange, highlighted with occasional reds and royal purples.

I reflect on my journey, and on the feelings I have. Joy—yes there is joy. Sadness—yes there is sadness, for I behold an era that has come and gone. There is fear, always fear when one doesn’t know what the next day will bring… And the scenes through that grim, streaked window bring that knowledge to the front.

But above all, I have peace. I am cared for. I am free and able to see the ongoing saga played out beyond the window. And I laugh out loud… and I am grateful.

Swirling Wind

Swirling wind across the grass

It comes and goes and moves so fast

Creating sculptures of the leaves

I wonder, do my eyes deceive?

Swirling wind across the water

Running about, the first now later

Oh, how many, many patterns

swirling like the rings of Saturn.

Swirling wind across the sky

It is a marvel to the eye

Sculpting clouds from shape to shape

Creating forms that none can ape.

Swirling wind across the stars

Oh, they are so very far

spinning pinwheels of great light

Their beauty hidden in the night.

Swirling wind across my soul

Changing me in ways untold

Creating of me a beauty so great

Sculpted by the divine, not fate.

Separation

²

The time comes to a close,

and I bid each one adieu.

What will it mean that I

will no longer be with you?

Our lives, lives that have touched

and molded one another,

Lives that can only be

shared with one’s brother.

The time comes to close,

our paths diverge, they are not set in stone.

Yes, time is always ending,

we always walk other paths that are our own,

Even when, for a fortnight only,

we are parted in this life.

What happens to you, what happens to me,

with divergence, the time is rife.

Abandoned

It sits beside the fence,

Forgotten and ignored.

Yet once it traveled the highway,

Powerful and full-bored.

Only an old family car,

Once valued and trusted.

A servant in the past,

Now abandoned and rusted.

Over time, it aged, lost its pull,

its power and its shine,

and those who once treasured it,

uncaring, left it behind.

The last trip was to this field,

Here left out of sight.

And here it stays unnoticed,

Condemned to eternal night.

I weep for that auto, yet

Also fear for me.

Will I also be abandoned,

Left somewhere on the shelf?