poems for the first week of April

 

Grow and Be Happy : Heron on Nest

inks and colored pencil

Illustrated poetry book : Unspoken Things Made Words 

available to order in print here at Amazon

'Acorns'

 

Acorns

Someday we will walk together

along this path in wonder

at the same leaves on the ground

that small oak

which neither of us trod upon

instead allowing it to put down roots

for years, there in the soil

it has now grown tall

and we can sit in the shade of it

well before we thought was possible

rest our heads against the bark

and say how lovely is the day?

 

 

 my little cat, Minion

Tortoiseshell

Little black cat

with the one orange paw

curled tightly in a ball

on top of a shirt in the laundry basket

that I wore yesterday

discarded there on my way in from outside

no longer with the warmth

but perhaps still the smell of me

this is one reason she has chosen it

She tries to ride the bow of my hip

at night, while I sleep

but my ship it rocks too much

while I am dreaming

turning over and over and over

she tries to cling with claws

then we disagree

and the tossing turns to Neptune

she has to admit -it makes her a bit seasick

so the laundry basket, it is

begrudgingly

 

 

And the other day - when I was feeling a bit up and down over social anxiety.. It's a strange feature of that - that I will reach out to someone and it will be very good - or I will attempt a hard task or lesson on something and it will also be very good - but then the next moment I often feel even more anxiety that has to calm down, like a fire that has burned too hot and now everything is boiling to the top of the pan. So, I've learned that feature and now work to dig myself out of those feelings as soon as I recognize them. I congratulated myself, that night, which is a necessary part of reflecting on it all, for how many times I pick myself back up, ten times in an hour it feels like sometimes, no really, it was good, you are doing well, just get out of this feeling, it's an emotion, and one we have to keep working on...

and this flowed out:

Pompeii

When I fall down unseen,
within these hallways, inside my head
I get back up, ten times in an hour
over and over, or perhaps just one
handspring that was barely noticed
but each time I work my way up
and ask which way the wind blows
that makes me feel so light
such glass in my bones
but at least glass has weight to it
this is more like volcanic ash
reduced to ghosts and fragile shells
from fires too hot to handle
ready to blow away unless I capture it
in my palms and carry it to a safe place
so gently, where it may perhaps
against all reason - become rock again
I must take them, these fires, in small pinpoints
where they rush through the surface
needing to take a few moments to cool down
so that is what I am doing
when I am inspecting the ground like this
with my fingertips, furiously sketching, seeking
looking for a place cool enough to take grip again
and hoist myself up

At the Lake Edge
The water is down
it rained the other day, so much
and then it was done
still the lake edges are dry
tiny bits of long dead leaves forming a layer
in the mud and drying sandbars
showing throughout the swamp where
beavers work at their industry felling trees and
dragging them down to the shore
to build a house that needs water but now sits
just as dry, near the spires in the lake
trees from some long ago flooding
that have not yet given up their standing
my hound sniffs and bays
what is truly a warbling trill
high-pitched, echoing off the hills
her ghostly face with black mask vibrant
she tells me things that dogs know
she knows they were here
and here, and here, can you see it, too?
Tail swishing, into the water is where her nose runs
and she follows
trying to catch the scent up to the point
It washes away

Frost at the Top of the Hill

the blades of grass and twining plants and wildflowers

have become lacework in the frost of the night

lying down across the earth in lines and flourishes

twisting this way and that around each other

and flattened to the land in white

at their edges and along their lines

waiting to embellish Spring