True to Nature

Men take up arms to battle in the sun,
anticipating minor victories won
o’er valiant, steadfast foes who, if they could,
would laugh and say our blades do little good

as far as cutting them down to their size.
For soon enough the downtrodden shall rise
and sounds of battle fill the air again.
Oppression humbles neither fields nor men.


Poe Valley

From where we sat the lake below
shone verdant in the midday sun,
as if the mossy forest glow
was not a simple reflection

of the surrounding wealth of trees,
but something spread throughout the deep;
much more than what the surface sees,
and what the water means to keep.


Stone Wall
for Dale and Sis

Give me a seat near an old stone wall
in a meadow stretching far
to a copse of trees where songbirds call
and the deer and pheasant are;

where a creek fed from a mountain stream
winds its way o’er polished stone,
and a butter knife breeze spreads a seam
through a field no more mown.

Give me a seat near an old stone wall,
whether bound’ry or the last
of an aged barn that once stood tall
as the hay wagons rolled past.

Let seasons change and time crumble all
that foundations underlie.
Give me a seat near an old stone wall
and the words to mark it by.


Dean Robbins is a poet living in Pennsylvania.

Featured Image: “Washington Crossing the Delaware” by  Emanuel Leutze (1816-1868).

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