Odd over ripe days of late August-
Heat drifts by in waves to be washed out
In the darkening dusk.
The sultry night cools minute by minute
As the earth tilts towards the autumnal equinox.
We sit on the porch eating peaches,
The last fruit of the orchard
Now swept of debris.
Only the wasps and bees remain
Still searching for that last drop
Of sweet succulent summer.
*revised*
There is so much goodness
In a warm sunny afternoon on winters ebb.
Its warmth caresses my aching joints
And eases too, my hearts grief-
Not that the grief is gone-
But a cold dreary winters day
Reflects my grief
Back on itself, a sad and tarnished mirror.
A sunny February afternoon,
When the promise of spring looks to be real
(A promise made that will be kept not broken)
It whispers to me that this is life-
That my father died after the winter,
That my mother died after the winter,
That I may die after a winter,
And then my children and their children
Will each die.
Maybe on a soft spring day,
maybe not.
But each February there will be a warm afternoon,
solitary and splendid.
And life will seem easier somehow
And the heart lighter.
And that will be enough
Until April comes.
The moon makes me laugh.
Her face pink-gold with exertion
Pushing past the horizon,
Filling the constellations,
To rise in her nights journey.
As she climbs, she prays
in the voice of my mother,
“I see the moon, the moon sees me.
God bless the moon and God bless me.”
The moon makes me laugh.
Her bright face silver with light,
Gracefully easing into space,
Moving in celestial dance.
As she rises, she sings
In the voice of my father,
“Don’t the moon look lonesome,
shining through the trees.
Don’t the moon look lonesome,
when your baby packs up to leave.”
The moon makes me laugh.
From the dark bedroom
My sleepy voiced husband calls,
What are ya’ll doing? Come to bed.
We can’t, I answer.
We have moon sickness.
As the dogs and I moon-bathe,
Naked on the back porch.
*** this is a poem written a long time ago But I thought with the lovely moon this weekend, I would dust it off and share it again.
The lyrics are from
Sent For You Yesterday by William Count Basie, Eddie Durham and James Rushing. Warner Bros Music, publisher.
We were walking with friends
behind their Minnesota farmhouse,
fields of cornstubble stretching to the winter gray horizon.
Suddenly from under our feet-
a heart stopping flash –
all feathers and noise and wings,
a vision of gold calling in alarm.
With our pulses pounding,
we watched the pheasant disappear.
We laughed at our fear
and marveled at the beauty and wonder
of what we had seen.
This must be what the shepherds felt
in a field a long time ago,
when they flushed
a covey of angels.
***This is a poem written many years ago but still one of my favorites. May you be surprised by joy and wonder during this Christmas season – K
sweeping the kitchen floor –
the remnants of living –
Ash Wednesday
***
rushing to work –
contemplation takes a backseat-
smudged forehead
***
scattered in the last autumn leaves –
flock of small brown sparrows take wing –
Lenten prayers
benedícimus te
maybe she’s like any
body
walking the sidewalks
or dusty roads
or the narrow places
pushing a baby carriage
filled with
dreams
or broken dolls
or aluminum cans
she picked up on busy streets
where no one saw her
as they pushed
past the rushing wings
of sparrows
and angels
as she made her way
to the manger
*** This was written to remind myself to be aware of those around me and to always look for the extraordinary in the ordinary.
The morning and I sing
broken hallelujahs
with Leonard Cohen.
(the minor fall, the major lift)
April sun shines
on the just and the unjust
as daffodils brown around the edges
and the tulips fade,
blossoms erupt
from redbud and dogwood.
(There’s a blaze of light in every word)
Song swells from the greening wood,
the triumphant sound of life renewed-
resurrection of springs promise
and the forgiveness of all winters sins.
(with nothing on my tongue but hallelujahs)
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah.
*** The lines in parentheses and the phrase ‘broken hallelujahs’ are taken from Leonard Cohen’s beautiful song, Hallelujah. It is one of many favorite songs from this wonderful songwriter and poet.
At the insistence of the small brown wren,
the April sun agrees to rise
and listen to her trilling song.
One by one,
the evening stars ignite,
torched by dusk’s retreat
into twilight.
The celestial lamplighter whistles,
sweet and low,
his lullabies to the evening stars
as he makes his way across the night’s sky.
Sweet and low,
he croons his twilight tune
as the stars hover,
ever closer,
to listen.
Come, take my hand,
we will race the stars
to the ridgetop
and sing his lullabies
to the moon,
sweet and low.
All the world rejoices – He is Risen!
thecourseofourseasons 