Saturday, July 15, 2017

Running with Rilke

 from Love Letters to God
You run like a herd of luminous deer, and I am dark, I am forest.” Rilke
……………………………………………………………………………
1.
I believe in Soul
the great ocean of it
married to life
shining out
everywhere
A soft April rain
          whispers
          remember
          remember
          remember me
LC
……………………………………………………………………………………………
2.
Two tiny shards of a broken dish
fit into one
Minoan flower
that ancient artist speaks
through the dust to my soul
LC
……………………………………………………………………………………
3.
Silence is a gift of unheard music
a baby joy without words.
Who can net the connectedness of everything?
…its strange mortal-eternal dance?
LC
………………………………………………………………………………………..
4.
in Baltimore, a soggy August day
hot sidewalks hissing a mist
lights just beginning to come on
a dancer
jives, turns, writhes and leaps
higher, then lower, then higher
all the way to the bouncing stars

if she comes back
she’ll never be the same
LC
………………………………………………………………………………………….
5.
Evensong in my cathedral
where the saints are all those I loved
enshrined in their own music
a woman-god service
teaching surrender, fearful
or fearless, just letting go
into who knows what
a servant
going in peace

LC

Friday, June 30, 2017

The Curtained Moon

The curtained moon throws
golden patches across a dense dark
as a lonely dog opens his heart
and howls his baritone line
under the coyote pack’s
falsetto cries that rise and fall
into yips and baby barks.
Night weaves it all together.
with the choral ode of frogs
and the far, far away whinny
of someone’s horse and farther
off into the vastness of so much more 
that we can’t hear.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Could It?


Mid-June, really chilly
windy, harsh
grey clouds-
could it, would it dare
snow
on the Summer Solstice?

The birds and I
a few passing deer
and that pregnant squirrel 
we all hope not.

Monday, June 5, 2017

Note to Lady Murasaki – 6/4/17


When you visit me
please come sweetly,
not like the evil spirits
that kill the soul and body
of your broken lovers.

Come like the West wind
the one that touched me this morning.
Make it your calligraphy, songs
down the fragrant paper
flying like gulls across the waves.

Did the written wind start
in your garden? Was it a single
brush stroke that began everything?
Explain the power of longing. Please
explain, what then 
when beauty fails.

Another Day


wind from the West
on my cheek damp and clean
            from a mountain crossing

and starlings with nesting grasses
flying toward a hole in the eaves



Monday, May 1, 2017

Sijo for my Trip to West Virginia


 flying to West Virginia
            sun shining in Oregon
leaving the river willows
            waving vivid green at last
coming back home quickly
            Will the river wait for me?

friends still young in my heart
            growing greyer and mellow
flowing time etching fine lines
            in those dear happy faces
the sunny times of laughter
            halos in the soft, sweet evening

what will the parade be like?
            Morris dancers of Cornwall
ringing in West Virginia
            spinning around Maypoles
and me wearing the white horse
            high on my flowered hat

those glorious guys, the green men
            banjos, flutes and wild fiddles
ancient drums coming across time
            to West Virginia for May
Can the ghosts of ancestors
            fly there too and join the dance?           

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Amulet for Time Travel


Walking through each gateway
time chapters, unseen traps,
let me be protected by this soft collection
gathered in an amulet.

Calling on all their gifts and powers,
the red-gold of my grandmother’s hair
lily-of-the-valley for grandpa, the gardener
R.B. the green of his printer’s visor
grandma B. the smell of fresh bread
and powerful honey.
From my father, a sepia photograph
and my mother, a silver mirror
and these are just from the capricious dead.
Who knows if they are paying attention
if they are larking about 
on their motorcycles
somewhere else.

Calling on the sweet living
the ones who give me love and flowers
and art and music and delicious
conversation and tough talk, too.
That is the purple heartbeat
of this guardian.

willamette writers

willamette writers

Blog Nation Badge

Poets United