we are only free
shed of anger hate and fear
bare but for love
Category Archives: poetry
gift of sudden light
morning brings the flowering world
to wait outside my door again
its gift complete
an honest bounty within reach
I glance away, and in
that moment sun arms
leap above the mountain ridge
to cast breath stealing light
and startle me to unexpected joy
when happiness, no simple thing
arriving first was present
and most certainly enough
light’s twin is thought
conjoined with time
its tipping point
arrived at step by step
the pilgrim mind walks on
until the heart is open
and able to receive
the sudden glimpse of truth
Haiku for a friend with notes
see each forward step
my own not for another
true gift of friendship
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The way forward for a friend sometimes seems clear to me, but not for them. The hard thing is to step back, find the wisdom to make changes in my own life, and let them work it out. They already know that I care.
Haiku for tuesday with notes
accepting the muse
black head warms my foot again
reaching for note book
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Horace likes to sit under the kitchen table when I write, with his head across my foot. I had planned to write later in the day today, but clearly my muse thought otherwise.
countdown
there is movement
in the daily flow of green
to full on spring
as bud fists loosen grips
or fern nubs thrust up clumpy heads
and hillsides morph to verdigris
reminding me of childhood nights
spent time-stretched
jumping tick to tock
wrapped in wild impatient
longing for the morning
and its gifts to come
in truth the journey
through that wait
or days lived blossomless
are weighted to the same degree
because this moment’s beauty is
the only certainty we have
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a shortling for 5/5. spring has been excruciatingly slow this year for us. yet even as we creep along, just knowing the apple tree will blossom, or the lilacs bloom, is such a gift.
Litany
What don’t I remember?
My collier brother brain
hoards words and time
with colors joining hands
to sing their song
I don’t remember
any moment spent
without a color wash
intensity of thought
I don’t remember
understanding those who hate
preferring to destroy
instead of build
I don’t remember
living days or nights
without a music counterpoint
embers into torches lighting memory
I don’t remember
sunsets painted on the undersides
of clouds or nature come to flower
without feeling joy almost to tears
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A leftover prompt, from Day 29. Things remembered, and what they weren’t.
Morning as palindrome
As words begin their dance
glancing out at spring
sitting down at last to write
confident of its receipt
asking for serenity
another day a perfect gift
reflecting and give thanks
I close my eyes to sip
hand cupping warmth
coffee and the ritual of smell
checking lilacs apple buds
birds scatter at the noise
opening the outer door
woods featureless and flat
moving softly hug the quiet
slightly damp delight
one slipper at a time
morning work for dogs
stretch sloughing sleep’s cement
a feather shawl to float away
night journey remnants linger
as clouds replace the sun
light diffuse and gray
dog nose to tail against my arm
first awareness as I wake
a dream departs
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Day 28. I loved writing this. The prompt was for an event or story in reverse.
Haiku for wednesday with notes
red squirrel leaping
apple held fast in its mouth
single thought is food
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Day 27. An encounter with a determined little red squirrel. I was outside eating a green apple. The squirrel saw me; I waved at him, apple in hand, then tossed it, almost eaten, on the grass near a rhododendron. Running around the back of the bush the squirrel emerged at the front, snatching the apple and ran up a spruce tree with it. Came back down a minute or two later. Looking for the nest I imagined to be in the tree, I came upon the squirrel’s pantry. The apple sat on one of the branches.
witness
morning light slants through spring woods
and the grass grows green again
three blue bags of roadside trash
and the grass grows green again
air is soft at dark’s approach
and the grass grows green again
screams of trees ripped from the earth
and the grass grows green again
early birdsong noisy joy
and the grass grows green again
news of rising hate brings dread
and the grass grows green again
summer stars the hunter gone
and the grass grows green again
prayers whispered for the world
and the grass grows green again
truth is not a skin we shed
and the grass grows green again
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Day 26. A call and response poem.
A line borrowed
For years every morning I drank
long drafts of the world,
without knowing
that words lay in wait
to flash like sunbeams
unable to dance quietly
until the moment of ambush.
For years I would tuck away
throat caught beauty
in dull green strong boxes,
to sit on bare wood shelves
until I could not wait
another moment of another minute
to feel and see again.
For years words found me,
some refused to leave,
sticky stubborn things,
and now, well now I recognize
them as old friends that held the dam,
until one day they stepped aside
to release the flood
as I surrendered.
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Day 25 part 2. The NaPoWriMo prompt was to borrow the first line of a favorite poem, and use it as a jumping off point for a new poem. I chose the first line of Mary OLiver’s Mornings at Blackwater.
Haiku for Mike
Today you are here
Memory washing over thoughts
In my heart always
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Day 25. The onset of spring always brings him back to walk the peaks. The dogs sit with me.
haiku for fulcrums
teetering on green
lush verdance on the verge
shy apple blossom
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Day 24. Each morning we are another inch closer. Surely spring is holding its breath, and must go boom.
Life With Horace 