New Milford


By James R. Scrimgeour, Poet Laureate, New Milford 2016-2022

Looking at the cute cuddly cloud
creatures drifting across clear blue sky
above the lime green willow tresses

weaving in the spring breeze — only
the lack of cars and the lack of people
remind us that we sheltering our eighty

year old bodies in place not that far
from an epicenter of the coronavirus —
such a beautiful spring day, such a

contrast between the surface beauty
of the natural world and the danger
lying unseen inside and on top of it.

The last time we had this clear a view
of heaven — it was nine eleven.

By James R. Scrimgeour, Poet Laureate, New Milford 2016-2022

On our first walk on the River Trail since
the onset of Covid-19 — orange day lilies
(and one bud for tomorrow) in the lower left
hand corner — four stalks of mullein stand

erect in the center, the yellow tip of the tallest
tickles, lights up the dark swath of current that
divides the rippling green, the inverted trees,
the gloomy brooding heads on the other side

that contrast so sharply with the mullein and its
healing blooms appearing one after another as
they climb their steps to the sun, make medicine
to relieve fever, cough, etc. — you can boil them

into a tea, rub them into your skin, or just sit still
and look — there, now don’t you feel better?