‘Bay from Berkeley’ and Other Poetry by Neal Dachstadter

Bay from Berkeley

Slate blue blustered inland sea
Water from the rivers be
Sea of salt and rain ashore
Many waters, oceans roar.

Slate green gusted inland sea
Berkeley roof, fraternity
Rising sun to light and warm
Morning of a coming storm.

White cap tufted inland sea
Windy fog and rain and lee-
ward shore, now waxing near unseen
Slate of gray, thy slate of clean.

Poplars

Tones of the wind, and words of the tree,
Stirring and blending, applauding in key,
New-finished leaves, descending in green:
Unblemished sheaves, extended in Spring.

Democracy, in Bedford Hills

Not so massive, nor too small,
Not so passive, nor the brawl,
Ne’er the crown and rare banal,
Fair a Town, when fair the Hall.

Song of the Gingko

Pale and golden, one in tone
Gale embolden, spun and blown
Hall and vale and mere and shade
Fall and trail, and beer and glade.

Minted Asian, bright and bold
Transplantation, sight behold
Noble tree, to billions grace
Global prix, to fill thy space.

prix: prize in French

Neal Dachstadter was born in Georgia not too far from his family’s Hereford and Angus farm.  He lived in Albany,  Texas and Reno, Nevada before deploying as a Chaplain to Hawijah with the Oregon, Idaho and Montana National Guard in 2005.   Neal is currently the “House Dad, Philosopher & Caretaker” of the Louisiana State Chapter of DKE in Baton Rouge.

Featured Image: “Berkeley Sunset,” photograph by Joe Parks.

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