Spring at home

The dogs have busied themselves in the slant light garden of early day

daffodils still upright while the organic treat of freshly dug grass shows itself irresistible 

Each tree has been examined for fresh signs of spring

magnolia flowers nearly spent 

pear and apple in bud

fuzzy oak twig ends

lilac tips showing their petal colors

lone finch flies food to fountain

Home awaits with comforting arms open to receive the weary travelers

jazz piano and saxophone 

here in the mid morning 

my shoulders suggest more sleep would be just the thing

There is a secret I had learned but tucked too deeply away

it is this

we are a part of the garden 

in the winter down time our homes are our earth 

holding us inside 

awaiting the full faced sunlight

the fast growing green grass

honeyed cascades of jasmine

meadow lark canticle 

fleshy fig silken rose 

I see a pair of goldfinches 

shaking their feathers 

the season is preparing its dandelion apothecary 

I am ready

#NaPoWriMo

#springtralala

What can we do

 They took their prayers and made them visible

a million bright flags of silken wishes

of course the lost children came through

angry wanting to be seen too

wanting to be heard 

eager to be acknowledged 

in a flurrious fury of winds 

they lifted splintery roofs

overturned school buses

grown ups scurried to reclaim the pieces 

marked themselves safe

some howled in defeat

thrusting flowers into gun barrels

there was silent laughter

somewhere

in the profound despair

#NaPoWriMo

#endgunviolencetogether

For David

The day will come when the dark cloud envelopes whoever you love more than the feel of sunlight

The night will come when the somber shadows wrap up the light for one final time 

We remind ourselves of this so that one day or one night when that abyss is at our feetwe remember we are all visitors to this place

we do not pass like trains on their tracks

we linger in our gardens

we pause within the embrace of our walls 

waft of fresh breeze and we recall

holding hands in the meadows 

the time comes when we let go

pressed petals and butterfly wings

tonight we will have supper

light candles

sort memories touch skin to skin as temporary survivors carving our initials into the twilight 

with love

Seeing you

Your picture

I saw it yesterday 

hair the color of autumn wheat hanging to your waist 

the set of your mouth

determined as a shy youth at a spelling bee

child with a million words 

no fears 

except of what lies ahead

This morning I awakened 

knowing these things

you at your best 

incarnation as artist writer poet

glued to the world as entrepreneur 

film maker

presenter of others best efforts 

Unaffected by shiny things

not thinking of beach houses 

inheritance 

quickest and easiest ways to produce cash

But thriving in all circumstances 

love as your touchstone 

no tears

arms embracing as the oak tree

culture woven ideas lofty as redwoods

this is the you who becomes love of life 

spread like butter 

across the worlds of those who

intersect with yours

Here We Are

 It has been said

“I want us to grow old together”

yet who imagines 

that lively face punished by time’s desert

those strong brown legs bowed over uncertain feet

Once I imagined us children together 

chasing tadpoles in the summer creek

fingers blackberry stained

clothes red with mud

It is not youth I am after 

there is something like a dream 

in these days where each gets designed upon waking

canvas of hours

paints made from what is between us

nearly a hundred fifty years 

gathering essences of plant and rock

observing insect wings

finding direction in the trajectory of falling snow

palette of petals of late and early daylight

We are as the air passing through aspens

having been in storied places

no longer who or what

we are now feathers 

we are now wafting campfire tales

with purpose 

growing old together, how very weird.

On the Return from Harsh Times

 

We nurture what we love

still the leaves can drop 

decline begins its withering

life seems to run away from us

dragging the cherished ones

into its wilderness

Stop! I cried! 

At my side the hands that still

intransigence 

touch me like desert thorns 

After putting used plates in the dishwasher 

lining up forks and spoons in the washing tray

combing tufts from the dog

speaking of why a screen door is needed

After watering every leaf in the garden

I ran to find the new leaves of summer

grape vines climbing the trellis

borage seeding itself

jasmine, gardenia, wisteria, begonia 

This euphorbia had dropped its leaves

not one by one

but rashly after one day on the shady porch 

it shrugged them off as if in a fever

declaring itself over the changes 

we brought it to the other shade 

now it thrives 

There is not a solution for everything

I try to accept that 

bitter biting taste

is it in penance or communion

is there a difference?

Love poem

Your hands upon the strings of your magical voice 
might cause the grass to flower 

the crows to bring gifts

hummingbirds to trace notes in the sky with their wings

I can see the wind in your eyes 

your fingers move with the eagle 

soaring 

finding the invisible 

parts of air 

below you  

pulse of the hot earth 

matches my heartbeat 

with your rhythms 

Together we are the hunters  

of the vanishing yellow birds 

of the long-tusked elephants 

to gather them together in words 

and sounds  

before reckless tides sweep them away 

Together we will not be myth 

but truth  

not promise 

but real as the shuddering leaves  

of the midday winds

those winds of July becoming August

here in the small house of big dreams