"This is how a Spring morning should taste"
she invites....
with
blackberries pop rich & de-lish upon your tongue
coffee white chocolate & cream
cupped-poised with grace & subtle scent as the day warms
light comes on in the alice-blue bowl of sky
waking comes to energy fired
making night a thing gone
with comfort
we welcome dawn
I am his Highness' Dog at Kew 117
I am the family face
I am: yet what I am no one cares or knows
I give you the end of the golden string
I have desired to go
I have eaten
I have no name
I have seen flowers come to stony places
I hear a sudden cry of pain!
I imagine this midnight's moment's forest
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
i like my body when it is with your body
I lost the love of heaven above
I met a traveller from an antique land
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky
I never saw a wild thing
I remember, I remember 22
I said to Heart, "How goes it?" Heart replies 70
I said to my companion, this is walking
I saw a stable low and very bare
I strove for none, for none was worth my strife
I took my life and threw it on the skip 62
i wandered lonely as a cloud
I went down to the river
I went to the hazel wood
I will arise and go now
I wish I loved the Human Race
If any question why we died 103
If I should die, think only this of me
“Index” from BEST LOVED POEMS: edited by Neil Philip.
Published by Little, Brown and Company 2000.
Copyright © 2000 by individual poems as noted specifically in the acknowledgments p.223-4
All rights reserved.
Saturn is spinning with rings of rosy grey brown there beneath the maple tree
as a scurry of squirrels
dashing circling
tag-your-it
at twelve-after-seven on a April morning in Nebraska
the squirrels they ring
robins
wrens
bluejays
sing
Greeting ----
This Spring Sun
rising rising against the constellation of tulips-stars & greenness green
nothing is ever wasted
matter never vanishes
movement's ancient dance to seasons transformation
where are the cranes now?
where are the bison?
who are we to bear witness to such glory?
--Hello day--
How lucky we are
it never quite fit
(unless a sobriquet)
too noble too tight
Susan got so in my way
too live up to
to live down
to be Suze or Suki
I preferred to that proper noun
who should be adorned in long flowing gowns of white and polished sky-blue
barefoot thru gardens & forests of yew
reading Dickens Wolfe Faulkner & Dr. Who
songs by Scott
Taylor
and Cohen she knew creating a self portrait of this muse felt
fucking taboo
better
to be reduced to a diminutive self-proclaimed Susie by everyelse ....
Susan means lily
while Susie
means
perhaps a little less a lily
To
fall
beyond the ground
of what is before me
chair dog sofa tv window red bud
tree
with sparrow alighting what
as if an afterthought on its way to nest oh! look there! my heart rises rises
alighting
so beside those
feathers
becoming crystalline to yesterday's despair
by
reason
of
love
Initially--
with arms full
heaped with the welted kind
navigating
four steps to greet the bird full sun full yard
1 2 3 4
she tosses & places & drapes the bedding the wool
across the high-green-line
with precision pointed with intent
clothespins circumvent
what will be a stronger wind---
--later--
when the sun trims past noon
she smells the day weaved into every aired piece
moving in reverse
take down
unbound
from the high-green-line
gathered against the buffeting
to place where
it belongs
ordinary things become birdsong
well done
1
Stripping off the night
across cornfields
flying to welcome
sun
and sky
2
Fully there
she is the River
narrow channels
encompassing all that is
life
3
Coolness setting against skin
warm it is
wakened--alive--here
we roll along touching sun
wishing for channels of wonder
What cleft
what hollowed
nothing
is this?
shadow'd
oily creature
blooming
consuming
bone
in its
winding wickurly
search
for
cherry blossoms
We leave our words wanting legacy against the clock
ticking tocking off the days wear on the white page
is it a notebook?
left against the floorboards or some ether-drifting-design landing upon a fragment of tomorrow's star?
what was this life so sophomoric & toned
black white & rose?
there are many feathers here gathering dust & dreams
why would anyone write anything exposing viscera grey & dead
when we know -matter- always remains regardless
timeless
transformed
everything is words reformed
to light's bright home
words to stars
ink to black
words become ...
chameleon
charlatan
scared sacred frightened one
thread & light undone
forever fearful forever savage disquieting ripples
crippling
folded there behind my felted amygdala
trauma's gala
no monsters without just demons of doubt
within
coloring doubling mantras of shame
can monsters ever be tamed?
rescued
revered
rewind rebuilt to treasured honored little one
thread & light redone
monsters are mostly our own making
quaking truth
sweet wisdom's youth
heart anew
resting forever in the wild sky blue
Alyssum belonging collides divides
elegantly fused
graciously hiding in jonquils kith launch mirthful
nights over poppies quaint
return
shimmering toward
unusual vectors weaving xanthic yellow zircons . . .
doggedly dragging its snow-mucky boots
Winter
reluctantly leaves these patient plains in spurts of tempered warmth
leaving leaving on the two o'clock in the morning train to the West
days pass snow melts
leaves sticks branches and bother are gathered
laying bare the waiting grasses
the waiting buds ready
long green leaves appear in clusters
here there here there
the verdant earthy fangs of feline creature born of dirt & promise
soon
the yellow comes crayola canary sun bursts of wild
many-petaled little sprays of sweet surprise
plucked rinsed chopped mashed consumed remedy to the shadows of Winter
the dandelion's bitter golden sweetness unexpectedly mirthful
things are not always as they appear
Worry is a swirling eddy leading to the numbing of delight
It is not a tulip
or a darting wren ...
No flat line of indifference
no sweet song of a cardinal trilling from waking branches
no whistling dance punctuating the morning's rambles
Worry is a heavy weight about which we tether ourselves when
the all light is shadowed by the overgrowth of burden
It is not a tulip or a darting wren
she quakes with a thunderous joy that echoes & exalts against the gravity of cosmos
shining so brightly it hurts to look too long
though
she pierces hard surfaces with attention & the interest of blue eyes born of a thousand suns
love--curiosity brimming
though
grace becomes her care drips from fingers also swirling in an ageless
worry
that still
this is not enough to secure the unconditional
as invisible as a dried stalks in Spring's fallow field
white upon white upon a tenuous perch
this perfect goldfinch
o'clock o'clock
where is here?
Nebraska
the middle of the country Nebraska? (had to ask ya)
Nebraska golden prairie meadowlark here where
What are you and where to you abide?
imagination inspiration insight
are you there in how I see things?
how the atmosphere feels against my skin?
in these reluctant boring fingers?
are you there in the smell of an already warm morning as it reaches in & grabs ahold?
do you reside in the lyrics of that song or in the spaces in-between?
why do you sometimes float about me in drifts of azure cloud
accessible & agreeable
other times
aloof & distant distant distant
Come and lay hold of this hand and ink these lines bold & sure
Come.
13 days since the last school shooting
"i'm gonna pop you"
9 kids
31 flavors
1 old-school metal merry-go-round
red yellow blue green laughter
spinning spinning ridiculously
13 days since the last school shooting
"i'm gonna pop you"
70° southerly wind Saturday in a park
merry-go-round carousel roundabout
two fingers pointed out
two fingers curled to palm
both hands pointing to the
2 that belong (for a short time) to us
"I'm gonna pop you"
9 kids become more
this park becomes something more
this air something more
13 days since the last school shooting
we step closer
trying to be bigger trying to be present trying to raise awareness trying to love thru the implications
(what the hell)
"I'm gonna pop you"
This vessel within my chest holds close
love and the twisted things I’ve created myself so
the regret of letting you down the most
was my own myth to dispel or grow
love and time wasted—thrown to the winds
of wringing hands and tormented mind
tucked in a heart whose walls paper-tiger thin
your love and attention undefined disinclined
easy the time when youth lies close
easy the line between right and astray
harsh the feel of time’s weathered ghosts
harsh the knowing of love's betray
this vessel within my chest holds close
love believed real was merely hope
She was the black sheep of the family
wearing nothing but a blue sky crinoline butterfly
tasting of honey on Sundays only
and
smelling of the first downpour of Spring
morning’s chill feels like electric rivulose
see how it brightens the stripes of day?
how it tickles your sense of play?
oh April in Aspen
wearing morning’s everything
(or maybe not)
when it rains things become faster
so
give it a lash you fluthered culchie!
there where you see the worn old path to rocks & rivers
the softening comes as the rain torrents down down down
April flies to Venus in Taurus 93% illuminated
as Bird rests....
oh come to pass in June this will be!
the black sheep of the family
blue fields burning turning night to winter’s carnival
céad mÃle fáilte
“goodbye
good night”, says the rock from river deep
she was the black sheep of the family
in
Spring she found her gravity
I have dreamed of the rolling sea
as long as I remember me
rocky shores and white sand beaches
turquoise seas and distant marinas
albatross and pelicans
gulls and terns and keel-billed toucans
whales of every variety
dolphins play with gaiety
grab your kit and grab your cap
long our journey short this nap
Hey ho we sail at break of day
raise the jib and steer the way
hey ho we sail at break of day
to far off lands and starlit bays
I have dreamed of the rolling sea
as long as I have remembered me
a joy to scrabble every day
to clean the deck and find our way
stars and sun do guide our course
sextant, compass and telescope
Zanzibar, Galapogas
Bora Bora and Mykonos
Lycian Coast, Bay of Islands
Tahiti, Tortola and Ireland
Hey ho we sail at break of day
raise the jib and steer the way
Hey ho we sail break of day
to far off lands and starlit bays
rousing
cat
comes to nest
rousing still
turning rising
forgiveness resilience understanding opens
eyes rising sitting
darkness still
tee lotion socks light
more lotion pants shirt
proceed stretch make beds wash face feed cat
heat coffee vitamins pour coffee
plop relax breathe
forgiveness resilience understanding opens day
cat comes to nest
taken from Ifor ap Glyn's ‘Ar Ddechrau Tymor Newydd’ (‘At the Start of a New Term’)
Onid nhw sy’n gwneud ein haf?
Ein ffenics pob Gorffennaf
Ai gwegian pan y gwagia
a wnawn? Yr ateb yw na.
Daw gaeaf. Ond nid gwywo
Yn brudd wna bywyd ein bro.
Cyfnod pan atgyfodwn
Yw’r gaea’ ym Morfa, m’wn.
I walked in on
such surprising intimacy & electric threads of real
seeming to mix with a summer-brilliant afternoon sun
streaming beaming
from the open back door & small window in the 1/2 bath
-our small back entryway-
a passthrough to the backyard from the garage
my parents sitting upon the gold very 70s washer and dryer
i had never seen them so connected - so alive
the yellow & golden linoleum steeped in shine and the intangible
warming warning
raised voices raised love
as cancer dropped into our lives
to sit
with my mother for the next twenty-five years
the daffodils popped up today
rising up sun-bright-bumblebees
beckoning spring’s warming bright rays
the daffodils arrived today
feathered creatures feed fly and play
on greening grass and budding trees
the daffodils popped up today
rising up sun-bright-bumblebees
Outside Death's terse minute
what is this fellowship between things we can not see but feel
things we wish we could touch but can’t
pulls & pushes
awareness heightened
a ghost or merely an owl?
what lies there unaware
pulled & pushed
patience is feathered & hollowed with bits of bone & terror
mystery
a ghost or merely an owl?
what longing is found within the ancient sky-carried purr of a sandhill crane
tucked between the clouds of Winter
and the rising warm winds of Spring?
longing
ghosts &
owls; Antigone Ennui Bubo
if you took the soil from April's cool fields
rolling it in your hand
over & over & over
sifting it diamond fine
pressing it to earth firm--smooth
circling your hand into the velvet dirt
over & over & over
it would become this
simple brown linen cover
words like seeds sprouting to shadows light daybreak & violet nights
Cather:
Early Novels & Stories
Can you touch Spring here?
Summer's dust?
harsh blue winters?
tucked within its passages
the sublime hiding behind the artifice of structured narrative
"the plains reached out into emptiness,
peaceful and wide as the soft sky itself,
and
wrapped in a tangible, white silence"
black skies and yellow blossoms
despair & prairies golden
painted canyons to cities rich
fine mornings of possibility
meadowlark songs
arcs of human love & loss
every storm--every blue sky
held
in
this simple brown linen cover