up the dipping road
mountain arm is bear’s shoulder
my home lies below
______________________________________
multiple joys of September, cloud fingers dip into mountain creases, swamp maples step forward, my pine flags flying, one more trip around the sun complete
there is a place in what
can only be my heart
now blank erased
by grief and purposed
brain reset
wild pigment bits of memory
color orts of what had been
a heady time
inevitable yang disguised
by yin’s rose lens
all well and good
the peace I’ve earned
is telling me
to recognize the
mis-steps scrubbed away
yes child snatch that
pink lensed pince-nez
from your nose
when new love appears
to see its necessary truth
then jump informed into its depths
with joy
__________________________________
sitting on my porch in early morning, bird songs on all sides.
a sip of camomile to soften nerves
as though a quiet moment on the porch
observing fire flies punctuate the trees
could travel through cloud rain
to touch a friend
like me a score or so ago
now waiting for the sun
to shiver start the day
mind’s eye reaching for
the girl child of my heart
lace tokening her gaze
unruly brother brought to sudden tears
on catching sight
of unanticipated beauty
tethered by her father’s arm
last moments as the impish girl
who stood upon his feet to waltz
then stepping sure on sea scent grass
to speak her promises
and dance love wrapped
as woman, on her way
________________________________
twenty three years on, that lovely day still resonates, the union it produced a loving one. for Lisa.
and with his end
all lifeline letters stopped
akin to clocks
hushed at a death
leaving smothered laughter
or kind words
confetti-chopped
to ricochet at will
those daily orts
grown into thoughts
inked heiroglyphs sardined
with scattered
pencil nonpareils
bright chrome yellow sheets
they will come no more
he lived for wordy news
recounted histories
rich mirrors of our minds
but people hanging
on a vapid phone
not tolerated much
beyond a minute any day
in all of this
we saw and felt
the gifts his writing brought
quiet kindness
in our grasp connection
palatable family glue
admonishments
or clapping hands
he never did hold back
bursts of excited rant
against extinction
of a simpler life
or older barn
sunblot politic dizziness
or inept modernity
today we hold those pages
fiercely knowing he is gone
and reread again
to briefly feel his warmth
born of quiet brilliance
a rich legacy
of love disguised
__________________________
Day 3. the prompt was to write an elegy, and a particular facet of the person or thing mourned.
holding in the arms test
he found them a place for stillness
I felt his trust and knew everything
journey tolerance test
he had little for road rumblings howling all the way
I laughed at his protests and sang with him
introduction to the first dog test
she terrified him huge and dark
I smiled this would pass remembering others
favorite places test
he took her shoulderings still followed bravely
I pulled him from the squelching mud more mindful after
contemplation test
he sat by her and learned to watch the world
I heard my heart swell seeing this
first misadventure test
he thought all ice trustworthy
I stood thigh deep in frozen marsh to pull him out
listening test
he found joy in learning many things
I spoke softly so that he might hear
finding his work test
he decided it was me with slippers
I accepted his gift dancing
____________________________
Day 2 prompt was a recipe. this was a tough one to get going. it would not share itself with me yesterday. once I stepped back, like a contrary child it bounded into my brain.
crunch under
my steps
over ersatz
spread snow
replenish
the feeder
cast seed
for the crew
doves hogging
the bounty
let others
go hang
this fool’s day
with icing
starts off
with a bang
_________________________
NaPoWriMo 2017 day 1! We’re off to the races, rabbit rabbit rabbit. This was a fun prompt since I’m not much for rhyme, but it always comes (slowly) if given some time.
the old moon sliver
hangs branch framed
in white pine pins
and looking out to scout the day
I know the birds will fly in soon
to perch and wait
for signals from some
fulcrum’s tip
then swoop to take their food
but now there is no color
in the rising sky
the light shape cold
and wrong
time almost shrunk
and hope waned with it
until a shoulder glance behind
reveals a spreading rose
across the pond and to the west
a foreglow gift of elder mornings
stoking up the sky
perhaps the stars
hold memories
diamond pinholes
punched in winter black
life stretched
across infinity
expanding overhead
even as my focus
might be squeezing in
and only looking back
a tempting counterweight
to shrinking time
well nuts to that
I’ll take the milky way
with thanks
refusing blinkered days
or thoughts
and will not shut
all possibility away
this heart and soul
are slated to remain
open for business
indefinitely
longing for blue for the swell of waves at noon wind changing
light flaking on their crests
lunch on a glass table on hot flagstones flesh still warming
we rode ice sharp water round the whirlpool’s seaweed walls
wine in the blood languid tune in my bones we sit shoulders touching
shaded corners of a sea green room calling
morning fragrances
bird tracks join mine by the door
bring seed snow comes soon
______________________________________
it will snow later this morning and when I left my kitchen with its morning fragrant comforts to feed the birds, the imprints of many bird visitors were plain to see in the snow. have a wonderful saturday.
there are times the moon
invades my room
as opal fingered fog
touching eyes and skin
and as the night sets sail
around me into sleep
I sense joyous dreams
that dance just out of reach
or sober trailers on the fringe
unwelcome memories to push away
tear welded flashes
from the day just lived
but not now not yet
as life’s flow
starts to telescope
slow sinuous twisting
to its vanishing point
each night explodes with color
and a shadow life
of longing
whose breadcrumb bursts
stay with me
as the sun returns
in counterpoint
to unquiet rest
the world is wearing snow
and early morning tracks
curve down from thicket
to the brook
imagination wishing fox
resigned to squirrel
doves and jays arrive
the platform feeder full
it took a while to lace
warm boots with pjs tucked
then clearing step and path
of weightless white
which even now begins
to fly from coated trees
as spoil sport winds
step up their game
a dove remains
breast puffed among the seeds
they gobble down so much
but do not stay
to crack and eat
(anticipating husk heaps
deep in the woods
come thaw or spring)
a friend is coming soon
to break new trail with us
ecstatic dogs and
snowshoes joining evidence
of daybreak journeys
annotating
this first morning
Thoughts on and off the trail of Life.
This Blog is about discovering the magic of forests in every aspect of life from a small plant in a metropolis to the forests themselves
another day in the joy of making connection
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- A Quarry House Blog
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life's wHeirdness and wonder
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One Southern Girl's Life in Vermont
Finding My Voice
poetry & essays
Exploring Nature in New Hampshire
I am the proudest.
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By Diane Fiore
Life on the farm...life in general.
Making beautiful marks on my world
Life and death and sleeping on the ground
