soft light thru the dark wood-
sound of music fills the hollows-
Ozarks night at Copper Run
***
fast running creek -
tumbles to the tune of the Ozarks hills-
whiskey weather
***
liquid night in the Ozarks -
moonshine flows -
sweet as spring water
Naiad of Table Rock
grazing in the shallows of the rocky cove
wreathed by dragonfly wings
wide mouth filled with silvery minnows
with a flip of her tail
she is gone
the Riverman’s eldest Daughter
sleek as an old catfish
glistening in the milky light of the sun
makes her way to deepest pools
waiting for the chance
to knot fishing lines of the unwary angler
and tangle treasured lures
in hidden brush under the surface
of the cold fresh water lake
some think her a mermaid
but many scoff at the tales
until when out casting
late at night
in the dark of the moon
they see a vision
too large to be a common fish
her back scaled and iridescent
trailing bright phosphorescence
in the murky water
silvered hair floats above her
to the surface
as she takes their bait
and runs deep and fast-
another one that got away.
*** for dVerse prompt to write of mythological creatures – thought I would include our local naiad – pretty sure I have almost caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye – what was that big splash?
rosy cheeked dawn-
smiles across the cove-
making the water blush
***
sweet dawn tip toes down the ridge-
leaving the newly leafed trees golden in her wake-
April morning
***
she sings songs of tulips and apricots -
lilting melodies of birdnests and starshine-
harmonies of blue skies and soft April
green
its all green
is that green?
yes
and that?
yes
so all these colors are green?
yes
why?
because its april
In the Pond, I Saw
ribbons glisten with fragile
black polka dots of life
ribbons spooled
as though a special present
was joyfully torn into
and the wrappings left
to fend for themselves
lovely elegant skeins
filled with the future
summers evening music
of frogsong
Folk Dance
morning is accompanied by pipe and drum
sounding the sun
rattle of leaves unfurling
sharp notes of rose and gold
pierce the blue sky
filling in the quarter notes of frogsong
disharmony of dove and robin
south wind scatters
beats of tree and blossom
fresh dancers appear
in fields of henbit and sweetgrass
wreathed in lilac and rose
twined grapevines in their hair
brown rabbits leap in time
traipsing into the contradance
circling round and round and round
dancing into spring
sound of mowers in the field-
first cut of the spring-
scent of sweetgrass
***
dancing and bowing in the afternoon breeze-
brightly colored belles of the garden -
tulips in bloom
***
afternoon in blue-
April sky, water reflecting April sky, bluebirds on the wing in April sky
Marsh Song
Ancient mother, old crone of the woods,
Awakens from her winter slumber
To slough the gray pallor
And return to her mossy green back
Her agate eyed stare watches
Over her ink dotted children
Black comma’ed offspring
Creatures of water and air
Little gods of change
Neither fish nor fowl
Born to one elemental force
Alive in the gullied water
To then find legs within to fly
To the essential element
Air lunged and full in the oxygen
Sky blue green and tree filled
World of moss and mud
And spring marsh song
*** Bob cleaned out our little pond and waterfalls on Sunday and must have disturbed this old gal. She sat in the swift waters of the falls and washed her face then found a nice little cave to sun and nap in. We have strands and strands of frog eggs draping our pond, soon tadpoles and then in early summer the tiniest of tiny frogs will emerge – the course of our seasons!
Colors recede into the waters fall
Casting the depths into shadow
Singed fingers of sunlight
Echo across the last faint reflections
Settling into the corners of the day
Twilight fills in and pushes past the horizon
Until at last, the gleam of silvered corona
Is seen in the western sky
Floating in deepest celestial blue
The quiet of the slender crescent
As she holds the old moon in her arms
For My Brother, John
In the half light of the crescent moon,
I wait-
Thinking of our childhood-
How you look like our father
But not really
You have always just looked like yourself.
I have a sister’s pride and sadness-
Your life of pomp and pageantry
And dealing with foolish problems
How did you get to be such a man?
But really you were this man
From the time you were born.
-I have no memory of that -
Our brother – the triad of our siblinghood-
Our brother’s birth is etched in the scent
Of carnations.
But not you
You were always a part of me
A precious conundrum
And so I wait
In the half light of the crescent moon
Waiting for your headlights to stream down the ridge
For you to be here
As you always have been
I wait
*** My brother, John, is here for the weekend to visit our mom, who lives with us. I wrote this as I was – well – waiting- for him to arrive last night.
