April 13 2022

It is the contours of the land

that describe home

mountain silhouette 

shows off its iconic structure

breaking of day light extends 

sky border through newest chartreuse leaves

rendering yellows translucent 

geese not yet taking to the air

this is the time of day the world inhales 

setting itself for what is to come

before the nameless winds curl their mighty force

before the people of mayhem gather their weapons

here apart from the smoldering wildfires of civilization 

is the quiet earth breathing 

beneath its lightening sky

#NAPOWRIMO

April 12 2022

 Upon the land where I was a child

poppies and lupine now paint the hills

in a wash of Monet brush color

For my friends still there

overlooking the swells and folds

where scrub oaks emerge from cracked rocks

grey green with lichen 

this scene unfolds like the beloved familiar setting of a favorite play

Here in what had been sandy shaded bosque

not too long ago

transformed to neighborhoods 

the new oak begins to leaf out

slender catkins following

a companion will be needed if there are to be acorns 

unless the stirring winds bring pollens 

all the way from the botanical gardens 

that always seem so close

but are hardly close enough to form a grove 

We can give up half the driveway and plant another nearby

just as my father spaded the driveway at home

turning over the clover he had planted in the arid soil

so he could experiment with plantings from other continents 

my favorites were the pair of dogwoods nearest the house

tiny violets spreading beneath them

tendrils of grape vines tangled with themselves in another spot

now that I wander his garden in my mind

I restore the fishpond and rice paper plants replaced with orange trees

jump down the seven stairs to the second lawn

as I did in dreams

preparing to fly 

#NAPOWRIMO

On Filial Love

 We speak of love as unconditional 

caught up in yearnings as in an ocean wave

gliding through it 

riding its smooth face 

face we cannot see 

tossed like debris within it until we rise choking 

hardly breathing

dashed 

energized

humbled by this power to overtake us 

How cruel and casual we can be as to filial love

people who are given to us by the architecture of life

siblings taken for granted or worse 

ignored and despised

for simply being themselves 

unconditional love? 

parents who can’t fail to disappoint 

hovering like taut angels

disappearing into lives of their own

caught up in another wave than ours

our children

never aware how carefully we release them like baby sea turtles to cross the sand to their ocean 

Who among us does not pass through decades

without heart shattering

loss can happen over morning coffee

grinding into a perception that someone is not giving enough

shares too much

cannot find a container for their emotive binges

insists on pouring themselves into you

until your own life is so full of their self absorbed angst it enters you as poison

you declining to quaff the arsenic brew felt as rejection 

abandonment 

that thing they insist they always felt from you 

you who worked at a distant desk 

not present when they cried until their little skins turned purple 

they still try to purge themselves of this heart stomped feeling decades later

your choice your mistake your lack of love your abandonment 

It is said that in the end we are alone

meaning we cross a final threshold releasing any hand we hold

some ends happen long before natural death

at times the hands simply let go

having lost that accepting touch 

time’s tides mercilessly separate us

In my life there are those I have profoundly disappointed

nearly everyone close has felt the blunt edge of my imperfections 

it becomes easier now to forgive them 

their endless writings of my inadequate love

love that has matured into the fine weave of being unconditional 

yet is perceived as clearly

not enough 

whereas it is sadly imperfect 

not necessarily tuned to their same key

having been written on the windows in yesterday’s mist

love letters lingering in the much mended heart

#NAPOWRIMO

April 10

 It was fairy tales that laid out the real world

that golden reflections in the pond

concealed 

monstrous creatures that hovered below the surface 

but listen to the story

within the lake is the lady

in her hand, the sword 

Beneath the earth

spine of the dragon 

sleeping now 

sleeping until human hand grasps sword

Myths reveal the hero’s journey 

also Narcissus by the pond

in love with his reflection 

The bard remembers Ophelia

sister of Laertes 

laying herself in the water until it consumes her

Within that story poison is poured into ears

much as in our world today

If you have read and heard the tales

these few words may conjure 

hoofbeats on powdered dirt

a handful of pomegranate seeds

fairy song in the forest primeval

And possibly the voice of your mother

reading you into slumber

with voices of the ages

#NaPoWriMo

April 9 2022

 After all those years in the rainforest 

discovering there was a carpet of plant weavings under the soil 

inches deep

connecting everything

I thought I understood the secret life of plants 

After the pandemic pause including two  summers in the high desert scrub

juniper and piñon 

twisted amidst thorny cacti 

more than anything the trees called out to me 

Here close to the river there are cottonwoods that glisten

long armed branch of ash and elm 

pistache red as autumn lipstick 

in their season

for me, it became cherry and oak

Montmorency for the pies 

aspen grove by the sidewalk 

surprising purple flowers of desert willow 

I prepared for the trees by reading 

seeing their pictures

I visited them in the arboretums

and still I had no idea 

of the flowers of the oak tree

or even of the tiny tender new leaves of the aspen

My appreciation for spring had to do with the color chartreuse 

unfurling of giant fern fronds

appearance of daffodils above the ground 

swollen streams 

Behind the house a pair of doves

have adopted us

they come around when I am outside

the dog watches them silently

Even in town 

seemingly defined by asphalt and concrete 

we live in the embrace of all living things

#NaPoWriMo

April 8 2022

 Within the archive of the familiar

there are treasures

there was a time when I trusted the world more

maybe you did too 

This image is from then 

the before times 

when even the skies 

were painted with optimism 

I saw myself then

an image captured 

resting in the vault 

my colors had not yet faded

face rounded not yet gaunt

There had been wretchedness before

Ellen’s brother killed in Khe Sahn 

my father, death rolling over him as he lay on the old sofa

savage blows to the heart before I was old enough to vote

Now I can see backwards 

around corners 

see when I believed we could change the world 

see when I believed we could choose better futures 

What remains after all that came before

is this

you and I, we write our own story 

yes, our lives happen around us

there is much beyond our touch

and yet and still

when we choose the words to say what we are

the entire language is spread before us

In the song we sang

words described us lifting our feet up

setting them down hard 

stomping the grapes of wrath into wine

truth marching on

to overcome

that is our one job

our reward, the ineffable natural world

where twice a day the sky is alight

where mighty trees bloom out in cascades of tiny flowers

laughter has no words

hope lives 

love conquers 

peace is finding a way 

#NaPoWriMo

April 7 2022

 The time of happening is here

sun has rediscovered its purpose 

in waking up the fruit trees

prodding vines into looking alive again

stolid stodgy oak has the tiniest leaves 

apple blossoms went from one to many

all in one day

The time of miracles is here

and to think once I thought

those only had happened in times before I was alive 

remembering then

in the newness of being

fairies and elves upon the land

The time of glassy mornings is here

there might be ice fringes

more likely air crisp in the dawn

afternoons nap warm

evenings with winking fireflies 

pink skies 

star drenched nights 

promises intended to be fulfilled 

true spring

#NaPoWriMo