sturm and drang

How can stillness move so fast
or the speed of a thing
retain its calm center?
I stand,
still as a held breath,
my body flying at 800 miles per hour
and yet the surface of the coffee in my mug
shows not a ripple.

Shadows of your thoughts
darken the room even before you enter it-
pushing all light away from you
or possibly
the gravitational force of your temper
sucks it in like the black holes
created in the brilliant light of an exploding star.

All this sturm and drang.

Its just space and time,
the universal quandary of quantum physics
of how to get along.

taking some air with a small dog

sunset

He sits,
minding his own business-
though I sometimes think I catch his change of mood
if just the slightest breeze
with the smallest pink cloud
ruffles his stone mane.

Mostly, he lounges while the small dog and I
take some air as they once said
about women of a certain age
with their precious pets
or maybe that was just made up in the novels
I used to read.

The walk is lovely this time of year-
each corner filled with honeysuckled bird songs
and the insistent voices
of the meadow grasses in the lake cooled wind.

Perched in the old hickory,
a tattered bowl of sweet grass
and raffia,
holding tiny eggs of alabaster
and anointed life.

We create nests,
cobbled together with books and corners and walks
with small dogs,
as life moves along our late afternoon paths,
past concrete lions
resting in a neighbors drive
until the next pink cloud
scoots along
in the slightest spring breeze
or until the barking of a small dog
ruffles his mane.

sheltered from the storm

fall storm

a poem in two forms

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to hear the call of the river and the running of the creeks restored, responding to the freedom of springs warmth and winters end, I splash and swim in the clear waters of may.

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to feel the rush of the warm wind scenting the spring air with the salty sweet smell of the oceans and the perfume of sweetgrass lingering in the breeze as I run barefooted in the bright green grass of may.

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to taste the first sunlight of golden dawn gesturing with her open arms across the illuminated ridgetop warming the deep green ferny hollows, I dance in the first true day of spring.

***
sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to hear the call of the river
and the running of the creeks
restored,
responding
to the freedom
of springs warmth and winters end,
I splash
and swim in the clear waters of may.

sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to feel the rush of the warm wind
scenting the spring air
with the salty sweet smell
of the oceans
and the perfume
of sweetgrass lingering
in the breeze
as I run
barefooted in the bright green grass of may.

sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to taste the first sunlight
of golden dawn
gesturing with her open arms
across the illuminated ridgetop
warming the deep
green
ferny hollows,
I dance
in the first true day of spring.

In case of emergency

Lessons learned may not go far-
in case of emergency,
guard your heart-
its ruptured tires might go flat.
In case of emergency,
do this or that,
its not pretty and it can be rough,
it just what you do
if the going gets tough.
In case of emergency,
by and by,
we will not know when
and we may not know why.
In case of emergency.
hold your heart safe –
in case of emergency,
just in case.

My Love is Like ….or Metaphors, be damned

rosebud

My love is like a red, red nose
That drips in the month of May.
(Well, now that is not attractive.)

My love is like a green garden hose.
(What the heck!)

My love is like a man that hoes
the long, hard row
to Tipperary.
(Good grief, where did that come from?)

My love is like a Reb that rows-
(Well, he is from North Carolina but he hates the water.)

(For Heavens sake!)

My love is like a man that arose
To hoe the garden, row by row,
Cultivating the greenest spring,
To wreath the head of his May Queen
With rose on rose on rose on rose.

**** This bit of nonsense is for Bjorn’s prompt at dVerse MTB. Happy May Day!