Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Category Archives: poetry

Damselfly wings


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truth teller

halting steps along this path,
roughened slate set into
soft cocooning moss,
lead me out to healing sun,
air charged with anger fading fast,
dancing more with every stone,
why would my heart remain
when peace and light
live somewhere else
and it is time to
place the love we had
upon my sleeve
and let it go,
a badge to honor
early days and honest hopes,
frozen ponds in moonlight,
rich wetland life observed,
owls calling from our pines,
rock duets, slow dances,
sleeping in the curve
of loving arms,
voices raised in song,
poetry discovered.
some will remain,
those roots dug deep
that have become my own,
a life outdoors embraced.
mistrust and blame will not
be my companions,
though sadness and regret are
with me for a time,
I have no expectation that perfection
lies ahead, nor would it be
a welcome thing, but look for
an authentic life,
taken as it comes,
owning my reflection
without flinching,
clear eyed, eager (still),
open to creative joy,
grateful for rich moments
added to the flow
of every day

_______________________________
for day 4 of NaPoWriMo. the prompt was for a love poem sans cliches, and could be taken in any direction.


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sky shapes

the night’s first star
has always drawn my wish,
a bit of time connected
rite passed down to me,
hopes for others only
was the rule.
I learned of stars
eyes looking up
to summer brilliance
thrown across the sky
searching out the simple shape
of seated vanity, of bear,
or clutch of distant sisters.
now, when summer lushness
fades to cold black night,
my champion comes,
a hunter standing winter watch
the brightest stars his prize,
and knowing that he sees
and guards my far flung clan,
I have no need to wish
for more

____________________________________
for day 2 (a day late) of NaPoWriMo 2015. The prompt was to write about the stars, no hardship there.


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Fool’s musings

Is it ever too late
to see what matters most
For light to lift my mood
To wish for joy
in spring’s touch
Sing without restraint
Twirl beneath white petals
drinking in their smell
See a brilliant feathered pink
across the morning sky
To know the pure love
of a child and smile
To feel a dog’s smooth head
beneath my hand and sigh
Not while I breathe
and can remember
to give thanks

____________________________________
for day 1 of NaPoWriMo 2015, National Poetry Month.


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clear sailing

there is no more fog
and I am soaring
through these brilliant stars
above an open sea,
memory reclaimed at last.
even as I leave you,
going on alone for now,
winglike glowing tendrils
wrap me in their light
and warmth, strands
of our shared time
that can never break.

there will always be
a part of me alive,
held in your
hearts, or seen
among the trees
joy fanned by wagging dogs,
an artist’s brush,
the feel of things well built,
soil deep tilled,
good stories told,
the pop of corks,
sure handed trimming
of a wind filled sail,
upright honor, honesty,
deep rooted, long felt love.

even as the world around me
faded for a time,
and I seemed lost,
a quiet spark lived
in my soul, fanned
by the breath of love,
my anchor in this final storm,
and in its light
I knew you all.

___________________________________
for William Eastman Janes, a cherished friend who set sail and left us this morning. crabtown won’t be the same without you Bill. vaya con dios.


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listen

with thoughts circling,
ever faster whorls
of stinging noise and fog,
there was a voice
that said
listen. just listen.
quiet certainty,
accepted, welcome
yet not begged for
unless there was
a whispered
help me
living, waiting
in a corner of my soul
unseen, forgotten.
now I can hear
the quiet note
that is my strength,
the rest all falls away,
unimportant once again.
aware of almost-tears
of thanks and joy
I listen.


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the other forest

my flower beds are throwing off
their compressed dimpled white,
and there are windy days
with teasing warmth
and vanguard migrant buzzards
chased by crows.
even as I gladly face the sun,
there are some things
to miss a little while
that left me breathless
in the cold, choked with joy
at seeing sudden beauty.
a first glance to the eastern ridge,
and brilliant blue first light
across a clear late winter sky,
blots of flemish clouds
that never come in summer,
scudding low and changing shape,
new snow like moonstone dust
lit by a full moon’s glow,
my other forest,
traceries of crystal frost
inside the windows on our porch,
mimicking the solid shapes
of tree and bush.
oh I am more than ready
for the squelch of mud,
and branches swelled with buds,
soft leaf and frond,
assaults of tender green,
the songs of
snow melt freshet streams.
it will not be a hardship
to accept all this,
no not at all.


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lemonade vignettes

even though the days
have turned a corner
and the sun shines boldly
on my pillow once again,
I am stalled in
longbone chilling thoughts
lusting after green and heat
until bursting out to tramp
the blues away, I hear
the white pines talk,
waving over snowbound roots,
the creaking cold of boots
on crystal flakes,
see the angled sun
illuminating dusted white,
a swirl of snow
blown off a tree,
a swarm of frozen gnats
in winter air,
a multitude of hungry
upside down buff teardrops,
our mourning doves in
bundled rows awaiting seed,
ruby pendant berries,
blinks of color over monochrome,
faithful evergreens
protecting buried nubs of spring,
I turn for home
longing sated once again,
and know I will regret their
passing


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a burst of chickadees

despite the morning’s
snow and wind,
the birds came, knowing
they would feed here
in the sheltered tuck
of our house’s ell.
when they had
picked it clean,
I ventured out
with snow drunk dogs
to heap the platform
high with seed again
and stuff the suet grid.
as I struggled,
being short,
to place the hanger
on an apple branch,
a flutter led my eye
to see a burst
of small black caps,
spread scattershot
through apple arms
and lilac upright spray,
brassy bold, waiting for
their feast,
and us to go.

___________________________
not knowing what form the snow would take, it was a shock to see upwards of 30 birds (no exaggeration) together at our feeders this morning, in the middle of swirling snow and wind. mourning doves, jays, chickadees, cardinals, titmice, nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, a red bellied woodpecker, slate colored juncoes, the odd sparrow all came and went, constant movement, an amazing sight. our chickadees are pretty fearless, and they regularly wait (and scold us if they think we move too slowly) when the other birds have fled. the sight of 15 or so of them spread out in the branches while I filled the feeders was marvelous.


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Love held close

We carry with us
an unwilling certainty
that animals we love
will leave before we do,
taking with them
pieces of our hearts,
undimming coals
that light the way
and speed their journey
to another plane.

Death is not the
end of love,
merely a delimiter
once its torch is lit.
The bond created,
its existence
even unremembered
in the living world,
cannot be undone
or the joy obliterated.
Its ripples reach us all.

So while these
cherished creatures
live among us,
love is best held close,
celebrated clear eyed
and without regret
even as we know
its glow will one day
be reflected
in the sky at sunset,
a glint on dancing waves,
or from the flash
of deep night stars.

_______________________________________
The loss of an animal can bring us to our knees, because they often need us to make the choice to let them go. What remains to comfort us is the memory, the spirit of love.

[the photo was taken at Black Dog Farm, Thanksgiving 1994. As you might imagine, to get all those dear Lab faces so perfectly lined up, food was involved, off camera. Sammy, my heart dog and protector, now long gone, sat 3rd from the left.]


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The lover

Brown eyes that relegated those of graceland’s long-gone king
to minor status, a dedicated would-be ladies man
busking for apples and caresses on his velvet nose,
infinitely curious, sidling up to eager hands to give as well as take

His middle life was night to bright days at Bedlam, his courage fable worthy
walking a path of pain and fear right to the brink, rallying when all hope
seemed gone, taking a chance at life found only in his dreams

Great will and vital spirit, embers fanned by voices of his sudden liberation
he chose life, a miracle of parts, his resurrection measured by small steps
great victories for him and for the people working to reclaim his life in full

Despite his none too patient jennys and indifferent sheep
once healed he stood his ground, they were his charges
as was any child that came within his reach, a solid presence for small bodies
lovingly benign, an echo of his youth

His friendship won was golden, taking morning kisses, braying out his siren call
sometimes fierce, he never claimed perfection nor did we ask it
he led us gently to communion with his world, departing when he knew
his work was done

The pasture slope near his beloved tree is where he rests, and we will visit
bringing love

__________________________________
For Simon, who died yesterday, January 3, 2015. and for Jon and Maria who shared him with us.