Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Category Archives: certainty of love

flowers from Geoff


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every day, love

we settle, cozy with each other,
life together flowing,
knowing we won’t leave
this place, our coupleness,
while our hearts are here.

quiet moments, though less weighted,
felt more clearly than crescendos,
simple, loving gestures
saturated with delight,
flowers you have chosen,
waiting on our table,
lovely, in a jar or pitcher,
knowledge of these growing things
and bird songs,
gifts I brought to you
through our acquaintance,
love’s osmosis
passing bounty back to me.

you brought me here, to
nights on mountains,
walks through wetlands,
skiing on a snow deep pond
in winter moonlight,
summer swimming ledges,
hearing loons or beaver slaps,
thrushes lilting song in hemlock woods,
rhododendrons bent with snow,
discoveries that echo joy,
and I suppose, my loving them
is now a gift turned round again

to you


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glowing

us together, still
improbable ember
rescued from the dark,
almost at its end,
not quite extinguished

once hopeful
souls bared in grief,
looked with honest eyes
at last, just on the edge
and leapt as one
to breathe together,
gently turning glimmer
into glow once more,
memory and faith
relighting love,
honesty and trust
its fuel

standing steady,
hand clasped
loving hearts
held surely,
hard won flames
our bright reward

A swamp lobelia?


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the dowser

he worked, still unaware
there was a gift
beyond his certain talents
waiting for a moment’s spark
to see and use.
then reaching out in love
still cloaked by friendship,
recognizing shuttered light
so long denied, abandoned,
the door was opened
to a warm, lit space
free of expectation or of limit,
safe haven for them both
although not recognized
at first, that’s what it was.
she was reborn before his eyes,
her art and life renewed,
and seeing, knew
this was no random thing,
a path for him to follow, work to do.
he was and is a dowser,
spirit drawing spirit
from the clutches of oblivion.

_______________________________________
posting in her blog, Maria Wulf described her life and thoughts before she found her art again. A year ago her husband Jon Katz formed an online community to foster the creative spirit in people willing to open up to new possibilities. Fortunate to be a member of this wonderful group, I’ve been thinking about the road we have traveled together, and how far we all have come. For Jon and Maria.


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The Arrival

She didn’t even have to knock.
The gates were open, waiting
for her, pearled, radiating starlight.
So she walked right through,
upright, head high, heart open,
pain and frailty left behind,
sure that she would soon be
with those she loved
already there.

She stopped to listen then, hearing
song and music, and as she did
an angel joined her, passing hand
in hand into a place she could
never have imagined, but
felt she’d always known.
Sunrays and moonlight shining together,
Imagine that, she thought.

On they went, to see Himself, who
stood with open arms for
her arrival, asking her to walk
a while and share the secrets of her heart.
Full of joy she asked if all
were greeted in this way. He said
yes, but those of great old age, valiant
still, filled with love and goodness,
have a special place in my heart.

I know you Dorothy as one such soul,
reaching out in friendship.
Mother, woman, friend, full of
laughter, tears and sorrows too,
for that is human life. Working
hard, caring unstintingly.
You were always meant to come here,
even though you worried at the end.
Oh yes, I saw you with your child,
who bravely let you go warmly
bathed in love. A strong rare
bond, a mother’s job well done.

A musician you say?
Oh yes, I do remember, very gifted,
there are many like her here
joined in common song. And yes,
I know she is a writer too,
part of a group that took you
to themselves, named you heavy D,
delighted by your laughing spirit.

There are many souls waiting
to welcome you with love
in sweet reunion,
but before we part this time,
is there any question left unanswered,
any wish I can fulfill?
When shall you see your child again?
She will always be welcome, but
we need more trumpets at the moment,
so it will be a good long while I think.
A chocolate shake? Dear heart,
you have come to the right place.

__________________________________
for Dorothy Williams, dearest heavy D, who passed through those gates on August 15. with love and abiding admiration from one of her Space People. Photograph by Denise Gainey, copyright © 2014, used with permission.


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Still

What visits me today
A lullaby in baritone
and funny bits of song
Dreadful jokes
in nuanced tones
Bearded bristle paired
with a million kisses
All too human shoulders
I thought and hoped
were everlasting granite
Long held friendships both
a gift and an example
The pungent scent of cuban leaf
lit anywhere but in the house
A feel for speed and open road
the skies he loved and flew so well
Laughter books and music
with the color light and form
he looked at every day
These brought him peace
the certainty of love
from open eyes
Straight told advice
his caring deep
His spirit so ingrained
that now whenever
need is great
I conjure loving echoes
of an imperfect
perfect father
to see me through
the dark

_______________________________
My father died at 89 in 2005, suddenly, but blessedly not alone, my sister was with him. His legend looms large in our lives, to quote a beatle, and I know we all miss him, need him, still and always.


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fermenting love

shall we raise love’s goblet now,
so soon, to drink raw wine
this vintage newly casked,
or should we free
our senses to absorb
time’s sun and water,
ripening our feelings gently
matching nature’s earthy rhythm,
gathered in at peak and pressed,
their bursting essence flowing into
stout oak cradles to ferment
and morph to richness
on the tongue and in the heart,
is this not worth the wait?

note: this is an Anacreontic, a poem about love and wine. done with no set meter or rhythm. Today’s prompt on the NaPoWriMo.com site.

________________________________
poem and photograph © 2014 KH Rantilla. all rights reserved.


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The child within

She calls me now where once she hid frozen,
afraid of dark paned windows,
conjured menace staring blankly in.

I first returned to grasp at shards of understanding
and found instead a small hand needing mine,
we stood together, unafraid.

There was a magma shift, the hard and inky dark
shape-changed by love’s reagent into brightness,
the bond of trust rewarding us with grace.

 


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Today, a while ago

A while ago I had a gift
and gave one too,
a lovely boy
whose soul and name
my heart reached out and held
before his birth.

And then he grew,
gifts seized with joy
and challenge met with grace,
in one quick moment,
my life’s blink
this swoosh, bright energy
old true soul, became a man
possessed of loving honesty.

Now two score on
a truth teller thinker
dreamer husband father
nephew cousin brother son,
above all friend,
his light shines bright
held always
in my soul’s arms
and in my heart.

__________________________________
for my son, on his 40th birthday


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living beyond

there are many ways to live beyond
outside a town or village
certainly, or in
excess of any kind
bereft pf limit or of sense
but those of many years
walk in honor
passing milestones
in their lives
until they stand
a generation’s singleton

great age has hangers on
the limpet mines
of ache or cloudy thoughts
that veil perception
turn thoughts inward
slow withdrawal
roles now reversed
you are our rock
however spiny
we love you fiercely
need you always
cherished elder
still a pilgrim

_______________________
for Dorothy


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Everyday pleasures

At the piano I watch small fingers make their music so determined so well done the joy in her eyes is in my heart joking laughter with her brother so much taller than the last time more movies made and volumes read a classroom visit sticky hands and icing gingerbread embellished a dog asleep in sunlight the rhythm of lives cherished and held close in memory to be enriched once more

__________________________________________________
This prose poem was written as I read about the events in the lives of two very dear members of an online creative group I belong to. it is posted in recognition of profound love and loss, and my abiding gratitude for the love of my family, as we gather together this week.


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The Stuffing Bowl

Once spied up on a dusty shelf
and brought home as a prize
the stuffing bowl sits quiet
holding memory in its curve
The sisterhood of early rising cooks
assembling the ingredients
of timeless celebrations
ingatherings of family and friends
all linked by common filament
It waits for careful hands
to lift it down and fill its heart again
with love and thankfulness

_______________________________
My sister Annie and I have always called each other on Thanksgiving morning, up early, cooking.


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Doors through grief

I stand on the newer side
of grief not knowing what
that opening will bring
but trusting my intent certain
that this journey must be made
God help me there is still love
a garment long worn thin
I do have hope the gift
of help caring hands to clasp
many loving words
Mine only if I ask and
swing this new door
wide to admit them
Today new portents fly
the sky great cloud wings
that form a goose
A love borne gift
come from the past
to urge the leap of faith
to go fly free
It whispers trust your spirit
it will guide you
trust your strength
it will not fail you.
A new door opens
hope is thrumming
and I step through

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I truly think the goose-shaped cloud was my spirit guide the day I saw it.