Sunshine and rainbow rain
banana popsicles and lemon-tart-ade.
Bumble bees with yellow jackets
dandelions and buttercups.
Short sleeved jammies that snap shut
jump on beds and never nap.
Oh how we’ll miss these special times,
the sunlicious days of summer.
I was alone, but for a moment
amidst pealing bells.
Suddenly you were there
tear streaked face buried in my chest.
Memory flash of newborn nestled into me.
And then you were gone
dancing joyfully,
her white veil trailing on your arm.
Our footprints disappeared
in cool damp sand ridges
as we walked, farther and farther
into the wetness of low tide.
Heads bowed,
eyes shaded from glare,
the water glistened
in glorious serenity.
We shared our solitude,
hand in hand
grateful we chose the off-season
to rediscover togetherness.
This is rewritten, using Glisten as a base, the first poem posted here, on March 20th.
We walk, you in front of me
one created flesh and bone
the other born of sun
elongated faceless gray.
Seamlessly
we stroll the beach
arms out wide, now close in
darkness plays with light.
I stop you stop
your head turns as mine.
We follow a gull’s flight
rising from the sea.
If I turn, reverse my course
will you dance behind,
like the kite that zigs and zags
when its master loosens hold?
Revised, revisited from a very early post. How I love Cape Cod and playing with my shadow!
She wears mist like a silk scarf
draped round her foothills,
wisps of white cloud
wrap round her girth,
this Alaskan mountain.
Her legion of honor stand nearby
black spruce, short in stature
strong willed in spirit,
cling to permafrost tundra,
their tenacity and her beauty
reflected in cold still waters.
Photos taken from our dome topped train ride from Anchorage to Talkeetna, Alaska yesterday.
Plop
Patter
Ping
Slow steady nocturnal rain
taps on the yellow-green ceiling
of my ancient canvas tent.
Comfort seeps in as I burrow deep
in my cocoon zippered bag,
crisp cold nose, just outside the seam.
Lids shutter slowly as ears perk to listen.
Thoughts float in a cool haze.
A hooting owl sits sheltered
by spring’s green-yellow canopy.
The drip, drop, patter
plops above its feathered head.
Dreaming now,
a moon sliver guides me
to a sleep moment of clarity.
These rain notes are nature’s evensong.
A prayer
for all who sleep in this forested place.
Revised from one of my very first poems written in February, in my first class with Holly Wren Spaulding. Posted so early in March (as Rain Song) , I doubt but five people saw it!
UPDATE: I am in Alaska, as you read this! Will be posting every other day for two weeks until I return. Mostly new — poems that is — although I will be rejuvenated (love that word!) even more upon my return to Boston, our city by the sea.
She grew up in the heartland
with ribbons in her hair
and saddle shoes that skipped to school,
unlocked doors with swings on front porches
yards strewn with bicycles and holly hocks.
She kept a carefree heart these many years,
her memento of those bygone days.
…and I shall flourish my paint brush
great swaths of cerulean blue
splashes of fuchsia and lemon yellow
not sepia and certainly not grey
and it shall be a glorious day!
Pull down pale green husks
some easily, others with a yank
discover soft fine silken hair,
gossamer strands cling to yellow gems
kernels of sweetness
in perfect rows of delicious.
Assaulted by bubbling water
slathered in butter
ear by ear, cob by cob
they succumb to energetic chomping
sacrificial sustenance
for the Summer Devourer.
The house is quiet again
all things-children put away.
If I close my eyes
I can hear their laughter echo,
see small bodies
clambering on to youth chairs.
Stillness surrounds me
memories sustain me.
Families, and time
move on.
Toys packed away until another time.
lillian the home poet 