Sunday, December 23, 2012

december

 
a collection of shudders
skeletal
in the early winter
the alder trees react
to the cold breeze                                  
rain drapes and drops
fat tears washing down
limbs and trunks     
spatters
to the color drop  
below the knees
saturated leaves
pressed into each other      
like steeped journal pages
this is the record
the progress of a year

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Yellow Jacket


Yellow Jacket

He sat on the dashboard, in
the sun tidying up, stroking
the long antennae
as if combing them into place.
Nothing menacing but
looking at the sturdy striped body with
the undisclosed stinger was enough to
remind me of the danger of small
quiet things;  those blended thoughts,
packed full of their unexpected power
until someone leans into them. 

after e e cummings ...works in progress....

Dec. 4th


once

i was calling out   comfort
yellows warm and dry   once
the comfort of  only i
you sowing   reaping stones and

i was   while passing out pillows
weary among the in-depth of
between your throwing

i was assured of  wreckage
weeping and sweeping glass houses
in front of strangers of broken
i was    gathering dinner swallowing rocks




Dec. 5th

of children

handsome however you grow
to love you is to know

    you of the once small
 hands  outgrowing   all

my ideals lost on maps of
napkin and drawn of

sticks in sand wave-washed
out-tide rushed

your new faces blushed and youthful sketches
of my  thoughts like  twining rosy vetches

i am clinging   salt-soaked seaside
love-draped   nodding tide

of mother




Sunday, December 2, 2012

Rewrite Turquoise


No Taj Mahal

I am the kind of woman
some man should build a pool for.  I am
the kind  of woman who appreciates
the reflection of the whole sky.  One 
who delights in clouds daffodil yellow,
clouds the color of sweet plums,
clouds as tall as masted ships
and clouds that hold lightning like
fireflies in a jar.
I will spend my hour of free time
languorously
swimming through that sky.
Pool of stars, pool of morning,
pool of heaven.
I am the kind of woman who wants
a small darling house, next to that pool, one
that blocks no view and lets in the light,
every light the sun and moon have to offer.
I am the kind of woman who is
jealous of the cat and dog that sleep 
in the pane of light cast on the floor like a mat.   
In spring I will bring in
yellow forsythia branches
to dress my blue vases,
in the winter I, like a snake charmer,
will draw out the white amaryllis.  I don't ask for much. 
I've learned not to ask for much-- my life
has been a workshop for that.  But.
One turquoise pool, clear as a conscience
catching every point of light, beside a modest home.
As long as I am asking, after years of not,
may it overlook a pasture, a green pasture
full of emerald-bright and lapis blue dragonflies
and may it all
overlook the ocean.  
I am asking.

Turquoise


Turquoise

I am the kind of woman someone should build a pool for.
The kind who appreciates the reflection of the whole sky, one who
delights in clouds daffodil yellow and clouds the color of bruises and
clouds as tall as buildings, clouds that hold lightning like
fireflies in a jar.
I will spend my hour of free time languorously
swimming through that sky.  I am the kind of woman
who wants a small, darling house that blocks no view
and lets in the light, every light the sun and moon have to offer
and who is jealous of the cat and dog
that sleep in the pane of light cast on the floor
like a mat.   I will bring in the yellow forsythia branch
in spring and raise the white amaryllis like a charmer of snakes
in the winter.  I don't ask for much, I've learned not to
ask for much, my life has been a workshop for that.  But.
One pool beside a home, one turquoise pool
clear as a conscience, catching every point of light.
As long as I am asking, after years of not
asking, may it overlook a pasture, a green pasture
full of emerald-bright dragonflies and electric blue dragonflies
and may it all
overlook the ocean.  I am asking.