I sit rocking beyond dusk
eyes closed, lips parted, catching
the soft scent of nearby lilacs.
Eyes within this face of mine
cannot see me, but painfully
know my averageness.
Hours later your hands meander
the lines and hollows of my face
and somehow, my beauty is unleashed.
Spending February in St. George, Bermuda was, as they say, food for the soul. The waters are truly iridescent. We were fortunate to see a bright parrot fish on one of our many hikes. When I got my camera out, it was gone. Gone — but remembered as I wrote the poem below. Post Script: Once spring has truly arrived in Boston, I’ll change my Photo page to the amazing Bermuda coastline.
Parrot Fish
The water so clear he can see
the parrot fish glide in and
out among the rocks
and Sargasso sea grass.
Eyes shaded, he tastes the salt air
and looks out at the layers of blue
from navy to azure to sky melting
into sea. Slowly, he remembers.
Her eyes. Pools of iridescent aquamarine
with feathered lashes opening and closing, half shut.
The blue so deep he wanted to dive into the pool,
possess it, feel the coolness on his skin.
Gazing downward again, the bright crimson
parrot fish is gone. Escaped. Riding the waves
as foamed breakers leave ridges in the sand’s
edge. And once again, he is left behind.
Before my rejuvenatement, I was crazed in an all-consuming job — well, being honest — I let it be all-consuming. I used to blame caffeine for my hyper and frenzied approach to life.
So here I am, drinking the same amount of coffee, savoring it rather than gulping it, and mea culpa to the goddess caffeine. Slowing down, my body – not my mind, has made all the difference.
Mornings at Sixty-Seven
Eyes open unbuzzed awake
see him next to me half-covered
grey hair matted with sleep.
Legs stretch with pointed toes
while arms uncoil overhead
the body lumbers out of bed.
Breakfast made and savored
rich aromatic espresso beans
fingers smudged tasting newsprint ink.
At sixty-seven,
my mornings have elongated
into the sublime.
Have you ever just escaped the craziness of the world by tent camping? It makes you realize how little we really need to be happy.
All We Need
We travel at a hurried pace
away from a stoplight-elevator-world
toward those long-planned
six nights and days.
The tread wheel flattens
heart rates slow
as the green meadow comes into view
scattered clumps of butter-cups and violets.
Personnas molted, we sit
and breathe deeply
the kind of gut-breaths
that expand the good parts of your brain.
Coffee gurgles over the fire
lit by one match
branches, twigs and
scraps of yesterday’s paper.
The one we quickly scanned
standing up at the glass table
gulping from mugs
with ergonomic handles.
With long swishing swallows
of aromatic elixir
we watch our six day world
through the thick mesh of a tent flap.
Rain starts to fall
quietly in that all day soaking way –
so we laugh
and clink our tin cups together.
Like the fall season, she was prepared
to leave this life in a flamboyant flourish,
decked out with dew-drop tears
upon her rouged and wrinkle-veined cheeks.
The more I look at this one sentence poem, the more I understand how the words we choose can reveal so much about who we are.
This is indeed how I see the world — not in black and white, and not just in the shades of gray between those two choices. I love colors: their variety, life, warmth, and depth. How they can blend and blur. So look below and tell me, how would you answer the question?
Prism
When I’m asked How do you view the world?
I squint a bit under the bright lights
looking for the crimson of her scarf
and answer “Through a kaleidoscope.”
We all have them, right? Secrets can be delicious or debilitating, wonderful or horrific. So here’s the question to think about. At some time in our lives, have we all had both?
Secret One
A secret so sublime
you long to swirl it
relish it slowly
like the first pour
of fine red wine
as it coats the glass
anticipation heightens
the tasting as divine
as the telling.
Secret Two
A secret so potent
like anger
wind-whipped current
roaring through
the sea wall of your mind
unrelenting persistent
batters forward
again and again
through rock hard edges
until released in spews
shattered feelings spent.
This winter, our month stay in Bermuda was many things. Lush comes to mind and is certainly evident in many of the photos I took (flowers, and the luscious fruit of the loquate tree). Sitting on the porch in the warm morning sun, letting my mind wander – the idea of waiting came to mind.
Waiting
she sits on the garden porch
deep purple morning glories
framed by loquat trees and palmettos
hands on her filigreed watch still
its mechanism stopped and exhausted
like her it was twisted and turned daily
eyes closed straining to see
his face in her lid covered darkness
head tipped backward upward
toward wispy clouds
imagining finger like threads
of white embraced by blue
it seemed in her mind
the perfectly timeless time
to feel his face
his hands
his breath
as the wind touched her body
and stroked her hair
Have you read About me yet?
So here I am, comin’ round the bend in my stages of life. And it occurs to me, there’s a reason why I bought a refrigerator magnet that says Do More of What Makes You Happy. Do you do that? Guess what I choose in the poem below.
The Next Stage
A tectonic shift in life occurs
racing to the next mile marker.
Youth and middle age behind,
we peer
beyond the line.
This time
we will choose.
We’ve earned that right.
Read carefully
and then apply.
Wrinkle-free?
Slap on an age-defying
mystical cream
or pull on press-free
dungarees and tee.
Duty-free?
Must have
a tax-free everything-watch
or toss off the Timex and live,
task-free with exuberant flair.
We lived in Bermuda for 35 days (Jan 24 – Feb 26) at Crooked Elbow, #5 Shinbone Alley. Bermudians in St. George name their homes. So we totally missed Boston’s 100+ inches of snow. Well, not missed, but missed — you know what I mean.
We understood quickly why, during one of his stays in Bermuda, Mark Twain famously wrote, “You go to heaven if you want to, I’d rather stay here.” We spent many a day in shirt sleeves hiking the Old Railway Trail.
The Tree
Sprawling twisted legs
of varied length and size
gnarled knotted and crawling over each other
seeking to be sure-footed on this earth.
Torso evolved into two odd-shaped
bark encrusted bodies fused as one
yet each side and angle unique
as if a fraternal twin.
Like many-armed goddess Durga
female in beauty strength and power
you bear fruit with crimson leaves
to protect your own from the maelstroms of nature.
A tree spirit, you walk and dance while rooted in solitude
your only partner a yellow breasted Kiskadee who
flits from branch to branch making its acquaintance
with all your wondrous limbs.
lillian the home poet 