They wish to take some time,
if the room is still available,
for words and thoughts
the way left fallow.
Fields undone as last night’s argument.
Each shall return to the place of their beginning.
Manumission of the indentured souls
shall be relieved of their suffering.
Sewing not the ruptured,
sowing not the fields, emptied.
Fields undone as last night’s wrath.
The decisions to be made
will make each aware
of the secrets and courage which
brings justice to the birds
on the verge of the turned earth.
Fields undone as last night’s tears.
All debts are forgiven,
all fields left fallow,
in the year of seven times seven.
As the old year slinks away into the night,
I throw my shoes at its shadow.
Shaking the dusty months from my clothes,
I wear my cap and shirt inside out
So the old minutes and seconds can’t cling
Like a bad smell.
I salt the earth where the previous days
Stretched on and on,
Assuring they will not
Follow me into the new year.
When the New Years Eve bonfire is burning,
I gather the bitter herbs
And walk counter clock wise into the previous moments,
Casting the hated bouquet into the flame
Leaving its acrid taste behind
With the smell of its grief and sorrow.
Only then will I wreath my head with four leaf clovers,
Fill my pockets with new pennies
And my trunks with rabbit’s feet and horseshoes
And walk bravely into the coming year.
Head held high and with cheerful optimism,
I greet the new day.
** an old poem but always a good reminder to leave the past in the past and move into the new year with hope and positive expectations.
I will if you will!
Happy New Year, my friend. May it be filled with wonder and delight.
Sleet filled air
tracing patterns across the landscape
Wind whipped names
tagged by ice and snow
the mysteries of cardinals
sparrows and doves
created to be lost and rewritten
by the late winter sun
The scent rises from the damp cool earth,
sweet as my grandmothers perfume.
That smell that still permeates the drawer
of the old vanity
with its foxed mirror.
When I open it,
Our Lady of the Hyacinths,
in her pale lilac cloak suffused with perfume
and held high by fat cheeked cherubs,
like the little chalkware angels
that perched on her vanity top
with chipped wings
and bashful eyes.
I gently hold the heady blossoms
as I rake away the last of autumn’s leaves.
Sweetness lingers in my hands,
hands that are shaped like my grandmothers,
square palms with short fingers,
blessed by Our Lady of the Hyacinths.
the gravel bar stretches
to receding waters edge
tiny white shells grace the shoreline
angels wings left behind
That gestational moment,
seems we are always in it,
the fomenting of creation
for all that may be possible-
world, nature, being,
ideas, motivations, meanings-
enough to fill our waiting arms.
And now a babe-
a small being achieves
all that which seems impossible.
Springing into newness,
Here! Look! Hold!
An incarnation of love and spirit
worthy of worship and laughter and wonder.
We hold all of creation in our arms.
*** in honor of our new great nephew, born just this morning, 12/24/2017. Welcome to the world, KJ!
Note:12/06/2019 This was originally written at the birth of our great nephew,
KJ, two years ago.
And now tonight, a new boy, a new son, grandson, brother and great nephew. Welcome to the world, Isaac! We are happy you are here!
wandering from oasis to oasis
in the high desert,
The days seem endless
with only the ravens for company.
Once I heard there was someone,
someone the old men talked about,
someone who could bring bloom to the dry places
and honey from the stone.
I thought that there might be a way,
a light, a star to follow
that would lead to the right place
where that someone would be.
And I thought I would know when it happened
and that person would know me
and would call me by my real name.
And the ravens would become doves
and rise into the light
like angels in the desert sky.