Poetry is always a good choice for gifts, don’t you think?
And since its time to start thinking about Christmas, I wanted to remind you that my chapbooks are available from Everdale Publishing through lulu.com.
The first is a compilation of my December poems for the seasons of Advent, Christmas and the winter solstice, Festival of Lessons and Carols. A perfect gift for friends and family. Or for when you have those quiet moments to reflect on this wonderful time of year.
The second book is Penelope to Her Husband, Poems of Myth and Fantasy, a retelling of myths, faerie tales, fables, with old and new characters that I hope will charm you.
Counting back to that first glance, seconds and minutes,
hours and years, the desire and candor of bodies,
when our days became charged with the pace of lives lived.
Years of longing renounce the yearning to another,
no longer young. The clamor of middle years
leaves satisfaction and knowledge in its place,
a quietness whose heft outweighs the struggles.
Wisdom is as wisdom does, patience is its own reward,
love never fails, never. And this is the choice,
made and kept, to choose you now and at each sunrise.
Until the day comes that my hand is not recognizable to you
And my laughter is silenced by your unknowing eyes.
— This always seems to be a poem people come back to from time to time. And Valentine’s Day would seem to be a good time to re-post.
The roses were always in bloom,
Rambling along the fence and spilling over
Within reach of small hands.
Picking the perfect small blossoms,
One for each of the boys and one for me,
Pinned to the collars of our Sunday best.
Sitting in the pew, next to our handsome father,
We hear her voice from the choir loft,
Strong and beautiful, with the clarity of the blood
That filled our small hearts.
She sang and we answered, fledgling birds
Still secure in the nest.
Her singing echoes in my soul,
Her song stilled by her choice,
The music no longer her joy.
Today, I will pin a red rose on my collar,
a tribute to her and her voice,
Rose, the music of my life.
Shattered petals fall
Scattered confetti of pink silk
Roses after the rain.
Deep as blood the sap moves
thru the branches to each new bud.
Life reaches forward, upward and out-
life redeems life – a resurrection of now.
Every living thing breathes
the newness and promise of more.
Living is moving -living is seizing the air-
singing molecules of being through each pore,
to the unknown song ,
the holy litany of life.
Relentless against the trees
Turning the leaves inside out
Sounding of the surf roaring to shore
Waves crashing against the rocks
Pounding reverberating in my chest
I am tired of the wind
Weary of the waves
Dragged down by the undertow
I am drowning
In the wind
Drowning in the leaves
Washed up with the flotsam and jetsam,
nestled against the gravel along the shore-
some tiny, translucent and tender as babies fingernails,
bright and smooth, newly born.
Others dark and rough, exteriors
striated from years of water and wind,
pock marked and peeling,
treated harshly by the worlds elements.
An arduous existence inscribed with each line,
etched in every deep furrow.
Yet unfolded, a dull gloss and shine
Signifying the years of thoughtful calcium carbonate,
Lustrous nacre pearlized hidden treasure,
Building an interior life of light-
Years of experience growth wonder-
An example of a life well lived.