Sitting up her eyes meet mine
A dog, she cannot hold the stare
full of love, she can but try
trust earned, love gained a certain sign
My eyes smile back with soul laid bare
this gentle dog now surely wants to play
we run the grassy hill my dog and I
eyes search for sticks, she loves to lead the way
____________________________________________
Day 14. a san san, seven lines with three images or words repeated three times abc-abd-cd.
the wind has yet to shift
and racing out toward our spot
and green umbrella shade
I know the grainy sand
will burn until my feet delve down
to meet the remnants of
cool night and seepage
from a moon tide
long fled back toward the deeps
the slap of rope against
the few remaining masts
plays metronome for waves
that curl and thud
against the offshore gusts
quick voices giving way
to silent contemplation
of a prize well earned
small bodies bent to summer work
of finding crabs in shallows
rimmed by treasure rocks
and seaweed drifts
the simple arc of shore
embraces islet archipelagos
that make approach
by keeled or daggered boat
no easy thing
and at the western end
a point of land pokes out
its pines shaped by
prevailing ocean breath
it boasts a solid shingled house
set into skirts of green
downsweeping lawn
and chimneys waving
out to sea
the focus of siesta dreams
I try to live without regret
_________________________________
Day 11. the prompt to closely describe an object or place and finish with an abstract line that seemingly has nothing to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does.
a single voice in open throated song
its beauty and intent a gift
can open hearts, tap into tears of joy
waves of brilliance sent out to meet infinity
a single voice can speak of love
tendrils creeping softly to surround the soul
spun strands of shimmering delight
to last forever if only as a memory
a single voice can crush
the spirit of a trusting child
or shower it with all it needs
to grow and light the world in turn
a single voice can stand against the dark
one simple flame of truth to push back
those who hate and would destroy
and join with other sparks to light a torch
a single voice can cry for help
from frozen valley shadows
faith laying bare all fear and need
certain that another voice will answer
I am here
_________________________________
music often moves me to tears, and listening to a brilliant young singer recently started me thinking about the power of just one voice.
bright sunlight this morning
coming home I leave the pond flats
almost turning in
you run gaily out across the road
right in front of me
from the gap in my fence that
all you chippies race along
and drive the dogs mad
(stop oh stop go faster)
fast but not fast enough
a tiny thump small pebble sound
(oh no oh no oh no)
one of my own maddening
sleek sloe eyed chippies
and come back fast to get you
I know your markings
pale backed curious explorer
(tears flow helpless geysers of regret)
only a glancing blow
no crow carrion not today
you are part of this place
I gather your warm soft body
(the child inside my heart wails
oh no chippie why why oh why)
with a poachers spade dig a hole
by the door it needs a guard
now that is you safe soft shrouded
under a small river rock cairn here in eden
(I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry, I loved you)
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.]
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.
my list is long today
and gratitude a living thing,
with thanks this morning
I begin again,
and marvel at the magic of
this year so richly lived.
strong arms of love
encircling the night,
to hold my spirit close and safe.
the gift of children,
essence of my soul alive
in generations made from love.
sisters, brothers, cousins
now become the elders
drawing closer, wisdom’s harvest.
friends of many years
and those more newly met
all precious links
to memory and heart
a time of growth,
and unexpected joy
tapped from an unseen well,
welcome, cherished, fed
by wonder, Open eyes,
encouragement and friendship,
kindred links though loose,
their potency holds true.
connection with
things seen and not,
humbled by belief at last,
feeling nature’s voice
run through my blood,
trying for acceptance
of the path I follow,
learning from the way behind,
with kinder eyes
and gentler thought
for my mis-steps.
facing out to grasp
with ready hands
this miracle
that is my life
__________________________
birthdays have always held magic for me. today is no exception. while not a lover of new year’s resolutions, I do believe in taking stock and giving thanks.
Life With Horace 