I need a little more time
say a month
added to each day
For love so that its echoes
will remain when I am gone
To listen once again to live voices
in sustained pianissimo
And to capture light
the way I see it
Tag Archives: shortling
The Morgan
It could have been
a silver mercury portrait,
but a horse appeared
displacing stiff poses,
mane flying, neck muscles
bunched in effort,
galloping through
a glimpse of the past.
Audio: Read by the author.
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A marvelous photo of a Morgan mare by the photographer Deborah Glessner brought up the last two lines of the poem.
Fragment
Each time I try to find
the edge of space, searching
in the darkest part of blue,
past stars and their hangers on
orbiting a single mote of dust,
it turns out I’m that bird
expecting infinity but
finding sudden glass.
For Mary Oliver.
Night Paint
Four windows float the bed,
light outside and some in.
Ground opals bounced off snow,
that four month guest.
The moon is almost full,
curtained behind snow-melt fog.
Later, when the woods are green
there will be fireflies.
Woods whispers
Once home directly to the woods,
downhill into the shadowed green,
ecstatic dogs all tails and lopes.
They move from spot to spot
data-mining smells and sounds
then leave their marks.
Feet silent on the needle drop
my harmony mostly restored
ankles softly kissed by ferns.
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a shortling to celebrate the gift of having woods to lift the day off my shoulders.
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.
night lit
my woods are hung
with lamp lit moonlight
shallow beaver wash
turned into opal pools
picked out by
beams that launched
diffused through
vapor rings we know
are ice but touch
us softly
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Day 22. We have just had a full moon, fitting for the week of Earth Day.
following awareness
coming up the hill
toward my kitchen door
on greening grass
almost tintless
in the growing dark
I chase my shadow
in moonlight
just strong enough
to make me glad
it is not chasing me
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Day 19. A shortling about coming home in fading light and a risen moon.
heart of the matter
heart (hart) n.
chambered, steady
quiet presence
headwaters
of love’s river
laced with
endearment
and courage
lost sometimes
mended often
freely given
ready always
for encounters
with joy
my soul lives there
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Day 17. A little behind, but no matter. A definition poem.
Formerly dear Molly
So it began
another opening salvo
written grapeshot,
sibling letters
masking fury longhand
weighted by a lifetime’s
alkaline asides,
presupposing mal intent
in every word,
an older generation
hamstrung by
paper clad
civility
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Day 16 of NaPoWriMo, where the prompt was an almanac poem, one of the items being a scrap of a letter. clearing out my family’s place in Rhode Island (emptying a place filling my soul) we found hundred of letters, one of which began “Molly, formerly dear Molly”. While I found this amusing, clearly the writer, and one supposes the recipient, did not.
doublets
pairs, twos
doubles, couples
subject defined
lifelong, sometimes
short-lived, one-offs
time refined
married, partners
exes, ohs
hearts aligned
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Day 15. The prompt was the notion of doubles.
corpus musicorum
to sing with my friends
brings joy to those
who hear us
but shoulder to shoulder
we who give voice
have earned
the greater gift
we stand inside
the living body of music
connected by
sublime resonance
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Day 9. A shortling about the gift of singing in a group. Day 9. The words wanted my attention, but not for very long!
Life With Horace 