a candle's flame burns as well as illuminates in light I wait
First Monday of Advent 2021
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First Sunday of Advent 2021
while the world hurries by in its impatient spinning in Light I wait
these last days
in this season of bare trees and sepia toned landscape when the world has gone mad I can not help but find beauty in these last days each sun rise, a gift uncommon joy found in the light falling on walls of faded pear and aquamarine the bone structure of time etched across the garden the grace of winter in its quiet reflection the freedom of loosing all constraints and ties to whatever went before until I am left boundless, evergreen
holding the light
finding peace hard won, oft searched for in hiding places and country roads once found its heft is light but all encompassing I resist calls to anything other than this calm closing the open gate salting threshold and anointing the lintel smudging the perimeter to hold the light
clear water
I'm all out of caring what the world has to say its discontent, malcontent, pervasive anger has churned enough muck and silt from the rivers bottom that most folks can no longer see clear water how lovely the leaves are as they float downstream and the heron, how still
future perfect continuous tense
I became an orphan
at sixty
does that make it less sad
the last vestige of that nucleus beginning
cut away
parents gone
one brother dead
the other surrounded by his own bewildering
offspring
here I am
no longer tied to perfunctory obligations
or old habits
whose only responsibility
is to my
self
to open my eyes
each day
stretch open the years
and see just what it is
I’m made of
Archer Paper Goods
It was just one of those little things
I missed in that year
of solitude and caution
where whistling past the grave yard
I knew there were bigger things
to wish for
to hope for
to pray for
When boxes of latex gloves, bleach wipes,
sanitizers
were stored and used on every
piece of mail,
can of food,
light switch,
door knob
shoe,
counter,
steering wheel
When touching
anything
caused me to spring back in horror
and rush to wash
again and again
and again
But today
over a year later
masked, vaccinated, at ease
the beautiful shop beckoned
and I fulfilled that little wish
to smell the candles
and touch beautiful things
just like it was a normal day
Last Dog
I read
A Question of Time by Kathleen A. Dale
and wonder if he is Last Dog
this small warm body snuggled against my hip
safe and snoozing
after a days ordeal at the vet office
where injections were given
and instructions read
but there is no quick relief
for his suffering
he looks to me for comfort
and I weep in grief
for our parting
many years in the future
only a question of time
I was very moved by this poem posted by Rattle Magazine today,https://www.rattle.com/a-question-of-time-by-kathleen-a-dale/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+rattle%2FCNOS+%28Rattle%3A+Poetry+for+the+21st+Century%29
moonsick
her face so bright
peering from the top most branches
of the black walnut tree
last night
she kept me
sleepless
wandering the dark garden
companion to hooting owls
and rustling creatures in shadowed bamboo
this morning, moonsick and lazy
in the hot spring sun
longing for her face
and another sleepless night
fence bed
laid bare, with jutting rocks exposed
only soil left, tilled and furrowed
detritus of years neglected
laced with vines and broken glass
bits of crockery and plastic wheels
of toy trucks long gone
vanquished by Spring’s lengthening hours
rake, shovel and glove
the fence bed will be softened by mulch
and hydrangeas
its poverty now enriched with sweat
and composted manure
thecourseofourseasons 