Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Category Archives: poetry


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Tiptoe to a full on run

It is my turn to jump
into the hero’s journey,
face first two miles up
but with no roar
of penetrated air
drawing every sense
as I fall free, knowing
this a dream to ease
my heart’s reset.

I rip the cord,
look back,
there is no prickly
pilot chute of skulking anger,
only honest tears flung up
to join the clouds,
my testament to
innocence and joy,
the early days of
rose tinged hope.

A silken arc of honesty
slows me to a gentle float
compelling truth,
namely, that this jump
will save my soul.

Earth comes up fast
and I begin to walk
on timid toes,
then gaining speed
I leap and raise my fist
exulting, thankful
to have known great love,
running on to meet
my warrior fate.

__________________________
A nod to my inner tough chick


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Licentia poetica

You were spinsters then
and from our blinkered perch
we saw two ancients
despite a force of nature stance
and razor gaze conviction
flavoring snail paced tours
through plays and poems
or god help us Hardy
our take on you parodic
not ready to imagine
the depths of passion
you would later find
in brilliant marriage
to a Bishop friend
become a lover
or cloud dancing pilot
pioneering aerobatic ace
a red and yellow blur
carving skies in perfect loops
tweeds and twinsets flung away
your lessons had such legs
and far from trudging through
dull furrowed fields in metered step
we learned to track
and slither catlike round each word
to seize intent and voice and pace
in short a brilliant Poets Ed
put to the test at last
with gratitude

_________________________________
For Joan Ford Rutt (Fordy) and Frances MacRae (Muck), who did all those things and more.


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morning gifts

this morning, safe here
in a house in sight of woods
that are my paradise, enriched
by nature, friendship
and by song,
I fly the carpet
of the past to places
rent apart by fear and hate,
cities come full circle,
back to the boil,
remembering too many
older furies,
scars of fire and rage,
spurred on by tragic news
that opened wide
the throat of anger,
again. and yet again.

is there a morning gift
to move a child,
in that beleaguered place
to see beyond, to hope?
perhaps a bud about to burst
rather than shattered glass,
a snatch of song
instead of shouts,
the momentary joy of play,
a quiet hug and loving words?
oh how I wish it were
a simple thing to banish hate
this way, and seed our future
with small scatter shots
of peace


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How is it?

How is it
on the mountain, friend,
your spirit free
to roam the peaks
while others only visit,
awed by your home?

Can you see
the wonders that
your children are,
carrying you forward,
best parts mostly,
through life’s flow?

Do you know
I miss you still,
regrets dimmed,
a mind’s eye memory
of boundless energy,
on the night we met?

Is that you
beside me in the woods,
silent escort through
the marshes, dogs in hand,
then safely home,
here for the asking?

Yes

_____________________________________
For Mike, whose birthday was today. the photo is of Mount Lafayette, where his ashes rest.


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any minute

the woods are almost
ready to go boom
and scatter green,
banishing the sight
of humus steeping gently
by our stream and up the slopes,
waving in (come right this way!)
the aftermath of ferny clumps,
slim wildflower tips,
red rhubarb nubs
to join (departing) snowdrops,
or cocoons of daffy yellow
still mostly closed
here in the north.
I shiver as the rising sun
floats by my skin and heats
the green fluorescent
that has taken much too long
to beat the cold and
shine full force.
spring is on approach
and I am ready

____________________________
a poem for Earth Day and NaPoWriMo 2015 day 22.


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letterfeather

another zooming bird
yawping canny xenophobic
dipping wings eager
voyager flying unfettered
gliding the heather
sky in random
joyous quoits kitelike
over lambent ponds
nimble marvel

____________________________
for Day 10 of NaPoWriMo 2015: an alphabetic poem using words starting with the 26 letters of the alphabet. instead of going straight through the letters start at the ends and meet in the middle by the finish.


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dialectic for dollars

cabaret’s repeated chant,
is this the root of all things bad?
if craving more, reptilian greed
is celebrated everywhere I turn,
then yes, I have to say it is.
when a day’s reward
for honest work
is not enough to live on
yes, I say!
when few of those
who have the lion’s share
will say I am enough,
I have enough,
and feel compelled to fill
their lives with excess that
the Romans would have loved,
oh yes, I shout.
when children wander
aimless in a wasteland
made of silicon and noise,
lacking book, or brush, or song,
no love of life or hope,
I can only weep, this is the harvest
of that root.

_____________________________
For Day 7 of NaPoWriMo, prompted for a poem about the dollar.


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one way aubade

daylight prompts a kiss,
waking up my foggy
heart and brain
to sunrise clarity of thought

and know an echo cannot
keep me, having heard
and felt full throated love
if only for a time

flypaper’s hold, that ersatz
grace, lacks true regard,
whereas the fearless know
that reins kept loose hold tight

now looking out toward the sun
and craving freedom’s light,
I wave and turn away from here,
whispering goodbye to night

_______________________________
For day 6 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt being for an Aubade, or lovers’ morning farewell.