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love in the bracken
Apr. 19th, 2016 08:53 pmAilea sang—-
oh my beloved, will you lay down with me
in the new and tender bracken, in the spring grass
with the nodding bluebonnets surrounding us,
the meadow-stars blessing us;
may I taste your throat, and the valley of your collarbone
may I expose you, in the new sun, the tiny droplets
of the fallen dew, the sudden showering of rain—-
there are thorns in the grasses, oh my beloved
but I will laugh when the little spider dances over my belly
if your lips are there to trace her footsteps—-
we are creatures tasked, my love, our time
so brief and hard to place, like spring
but we are here, and this is all, like joy, there is.
oh my beloved, will you lay down with me
in the new and tender bracken, in the spring grass
with the nodding bluebonnets surrounding us,
the meadow-stars blessing us;
may I taste your throat, and the valley of your collarbone
may I expose you, in the new sun, the tiny droplets
of the fallen dew, the sudden showering of rain—-
there are thorns in the grasses, oh my beloved
but I will laugh when the little spider dances over my belly
if your lips are there to trace her footsteps—-
we are creatures tasked, my love, our time
so brief and hard to place, like spring
but we are here, and this is all, like joy, there is.
Spring Puppy
Apr. 6th, 2016 08:50 pmSpring Puppy
Splayed in thick vetch
ankles green, tongue lolling
a wonder of sudden movement
and fundamental softness—
see, the world is new
as you are new
with the taste of cool water,
warm sunshine and
the tang of crushed plants—
This is good. This is wonderful.
Splayed in thick vetch
ankles green, tongue lolling
a wonder of sudden movement
and fundamental softness—
see, the world is new
as you are new
with the taste of cool water,
warm sunshine and
the tang of crushed plants—
This is good. This is wonderful.
Bird Woman
Apr. 4th, 2016 09:33 pmBird Woman
She moved upward in a spiral
her hands extended
her fingers become feathers
bones hollow into emptiness
expanding into air
becoming something else
opening into sunlight
She moved upward in a spiral
her hands extended
her fingers become feathers
bones hollow into emptiness
expanding into air
becoming something else
opening into sunlight
Salamanders
Apr. 3rd, 2016 03:02 pmSalamanders
This salamander rests between stones
in clear water. She is stone-color, with darker spots
and small, dark eyes. Her gill-fronds fan lightly in the water.
She lifts her tiny, smooth brown fingers,
then puts her hand back down again.
A pebble over, just the tail—-
a dark stone in the water
the rest of the salamander is hidden.
This salamander rests between stones
in clear water. She is stone-color, with darker spots
and small, dark eyes. Her gill-fronds fan lightly in the water.
She lifts her tiny, smooth brown fingers,
then puts her hand back down again.
A pebble over, just the tail—-
a dark stone in the water
the rest of the salamander is hidden.
NaPoWriMo Begins Afresh!
Apr. 1st, 2016 01:37 pmHappy April to anyone who might actually be seeing this! It's national poetry writing month, when once again I will attempt to create one poem each day for the next 30. Let's see if I can make it again. Many of these will no doubt consist of a few lines about ducks, and I am certainly not going to do them for all the tarot cards, or even the major arcana. But we'll open this ritual with the Fool.
Fool
The fool took to spring on a morning in April
when the plum blossoms flower and waterfalls play
With a collie in motley afrisk all around her
she danced at the cliffside to welcome the day.
But look where you’re going, demanded the collie
don’t you see the sharp rocks and deep river below?
Great catfish will swallow you and shaggy bears will follow you
You’ll find more, sharper things than we guess at or know.
The fool kissed the collie, her eyes bright and joyful
see my scars, little dog, and know I’ve seen pain
it’s not the desire that makes me the fool here,
but to know what love does and then seek it again.
O taste the cool river, its depth and it currents
take the air, and bespangled in blossoms, my side—-
Then they took the leap surely, with pleasure, in beauty
and beneath the sweet sunset, they danced in the tide.
Fool
The fool took to spring on a morning in April
when the plum blossoms flower and waterfalls play
With a collie in motley afrisk all around her
she danced at the cliffside to welcome the day.
But look where you’re going, demanded the collie
don’t you see the sharp rocks and deep river below?
Great catfish will swallow you and shaggy bears will follow you
You’ll find more, sharper things than we guess at or know.
The fool kissed the collie, her eyes bright and joyful
see my scars, little dog, and know I’ve seen pain
it’s not the desire that makes me the fool here,
but to know what love does and then seek it again.
O taste the cool river, its depth and it currents
take the air, and bespangled in blossoms, my side—-
Then they took the leap surely, with pleasure, in beauty
and beneath the sweet sunset, they danced in the tide.
fragment/living rhyme
Apr. 15th, 2015 10:09 pmTo hang at ease in the greenly-blue seas
and swing in the surging tide:
To roam the night under purple skies
with a tall, swift hound beside.
and swing in the surging tide:
To roam the night under purple skies
with a tall, swift hound beside.
NaPoWriMo Again!
Apr. 1st, 2015 10:13 pmHey, LJ! Strangely, I still exist. I am going to attempt NaPoWriMo again this year...I think it's my fifth year, I'll count later, but it's a tradition at this point...and here I am, coming to an auspicious start by almost missing it on day one.
So, the deal: I will attempt to come up with a poem, or some portion thereof, every day 'til the end of the month. It's likely to be three lines of doggerel about ducks (duckkerel?) at least half the time. Here goes.
opening invocation/deaths in spring
Spring bites.
Remember: she wants your blood, she
is the coming of the rosebuds and
a vulture's blue gleam
as he clacks his beak contentedly, pausing
from his feast. The young raccoon told
the old story; not enough food, wasn't able
to handle his parasites, or there were just too many
in the litter, and now
parts of him shine, fresh and delicious
while parts of him are already soil, dirt-encrusted
as he melts into the hungry, teeming ground.
Come in joy, all of you, all of you
who have survived a spring, so far survived
to wear scars lightly. To not be new.
to taste beauty and feel the life come coursing down, for now
through every bone and feather; to taste delight.
To bite.
So, the deal: I will attempt to come up with a poem, or some portion thereof, every day 'til the end of the month. It's likely to be three lines of doggerel about ducks (duckkerel?) at least half the time. Here goes.
opening invocation/deaths in spring
Spring bites.
Remember: she wants your blood, she
is the coming of the rosebuds and
a vulture's blue gleam
as he clacks his beak contentedly, pausing
from his feast. The young raccoon told
the old story; not enough food, wasn't able
to handle his parasites, or there were just too many
in the litter, and now
parts of him shine, fresh and delicious
while parts of him are already soil, dirt-encrusted
as he melts into the hungry, teeming ground.
Come in joy, all of you, all of you
who have survived a spring, so far survived
to wear scars lightly. To not be new.
to taste beauty and feel the life come coursing down, for now
through every bone and feather; to taste delight.
To bite.
New Year 2015
Jan. 5th, 2015 10:59 pmNew Year 2015
It’s the beginning of another year;
Yule has been gently and lovingly folded away
while we weren’t looking.
It’s been days now since I took each ornament carefully
from my little potted trees, the ritual of wrapping up the objects
and remembering each tiny story, resting a bit
in the ache of so much love and change and loss
and love again.
Oh my dear ones—— now by the fireside, the biting,
vicious promise of this most recent January wheels in circles
upward through the trees. This is joy, this ache
this memory of having you so near, so recently——that we exist.
That we have had this time, and are breathing through this moment
and I am so grateful.
It’s the beginning of another year;
Yule has been gently and lovingly folded away
while we weren’t looking.
It’s been days now since I took each ornament carefully
from my little potted trees, the ritual of wrapping up the objects
and remembering each tiny story, resting a bit
in the ache of so much love and change and loss
and love again.
Oh my dear ones—— now by the fireside, the biting,
vicious promise of this most recent January wheels in circles
upward through the trees. This is joy, this ache
this memory of having you so near, so recently——that we exist.
That we have had this time, and are breathing through this moment
and I am so grateful.
spring afternoon
Apr. 28th, 2014 08:33 amTimeless brevity---
wildflowers blooming and
the exuberance of dogs
wood-ants carrying green seeds
past sun-silvered deadwood
mayflies dancing their time
briefly across cool
and moving waters.
(This was yesterday's poem; I am just writing it down now. I've come close to NaPo failure a couple of times now, but I'm still claiming to have succeeded at 1 poem per day so far).
wildflowers blooming and
the exuberance of dogs
wood-ants carrying green seeds
past sun-silvered deadwood
mayflies dancing their time
briefly across cool
and moving waters.
(This was yesterday's poem; I am just writing it down now. I've come close to NaPo failure a couple of times now, but I'm still claiming to have succeeded at 1 poem per day so far).
night coming
Apr. 26th, 2014 08:39 pmNight breeds stillness. Somewhere
down the canyon, one dog barks;
mine sleeps as close as he can
to where I write.
Darker now, silence, then sleepy quacking
from ducks in the garden;
a sound from a long way away
and the mist settling down.
down the canyon, one dog barks;
mine sleeps as close as he can
to where I write.
Darker now, silence, then sleepy quacking
from ducks in the garden;
a sound from a long way away
and the mist settling down.
coyote love song
Apr. 25th, 2014 09:11 pmOh baby, baby, remember when we
went running out together that one night
when our paws stirred up the dust of August
until we fell the long lope down
down into cool and twisting
river sand
I remember and I miss you, oh my dear
leaping into cool dark air and knowing I
will see you move again, oh beauty dearer than my
sweetest, best chewed bones.
Again we will
again
amen
aroooooooooooooooooooo
went running out together that one night
when our paws stirred up the dust of August
until we fell the long lope down
down into cool and twisting
river sand
I remember and I miss you, oh my dear
leaping into cool dark air and knowing I
will see you move again, oh beauty dearer than my
sweetest, best chewed bones.
Again we will
again
amen
aroooooooooooooooooooo
obviously, today's poem has to be Bliss'.
Apr. 23rd, 2014 11:47 pmBliss the collie sidles up,
as though to say
the world is hard, and I
am a dog of the softest edges, we
can play gently. Trot lightly
with me up the springlit trail, and we
can share that still insistent peace.
as though to say
the world is hard, and I
am a dog of the softest edges, we
can play gently. Trot lightly
with me up the springlit trail, and we
can share that still insistent peace.
Oh precise, measured poke from that long snout
and the lips that draw hopefully back to reveal
all of her teeth, while her eyes glitter meaningfully.
Is it time for you to do something interesting?
Can you throw a thing? Might we run?
Something relevant and interesting to hounds?
and the lips that draw hopefully back to reveal
all of her teeth, while her eyes glitter meaningfully.
Is it time for you to do something interesting?
Can you throw a thing? Might we run?
Something relevant and interesting to hounds?
Her minions came by nightfall, when the tide was high
and it was almost too late:
I’d not have let you die, the waves whispered in her voice
as gulls tore skin from small unmoving feet
and sculpins bore away her lovely bones.
I could have warned of his rejection.
If they understand, it is so often too late---
So did he see the wildness in your seal-dark eye
that did not blink enough, not used to blinking
and flashed fish-silver?
You would have moved too quickly still, and stumbled
So let me guess, he was afraid, not knowing why
and in his grasp, that fear outdid attraction, when he had you
in his land-rough hands.
Later, my pet, the ones ashore may tell their garbled story:
The unfortunate mermaid and the boy
and how our young must give too quickly, before understanding has
time to come;
how subtle value is, how hard to judge---
How sharp the price of leading with our hearts,
and why we must regardless, my little one,
my dearest one,
my priceless rag-finned jewel.
Abjure these rough magics? And why, my finest pet?
I would never be so foolish, to throw away
a precious thing, for I know
of its importance. I have learned.
And I see you also, you have learned, my dear
The shadow in your eyes, fish-quick:
Oh best beloved, I will treasure you
cherish your torn fins and broken voice
And the touch you give now, knowing what it means---
For your scars have beauty
An old shark’s grace at last,
too big and toothy to be taken easily
slicing fathoms under the beautiful dark.
and it was almost too late:
I’d not have let you die, the waves whispered in her voice
as gulls tore skin from small unmoving feet
and sculpins bore away her lovely bones.
I could have warned of his rejection.
If they understand, it is so often too late---
So did he see the wildness in your seal-dark eye
that did not blink enough, not used to blinking
and flashed fish-silver?
You would have moved too quickly still, and stumbled
So let me guess, he was afraid, not knowing why
and in his grasp, that fear outdid attraction, when he had you
in his land-rough hands.
Later, my pet, the ones ashore may tell their garbled story:
The unfortunate mermaid and the boy
and how our young must give too quickly, before understanding has
time to come;
how subtle value is, how hard to judge---
How sharp the price of leading with our hearts,
and why we must regardless, my little one,
my dearest one,
my priceless rag-finned jewel.
Abjure these rough magics? And why, my finest pet?
I would never be so foolish, to throw away
a precious thing, for I know
of its importance. I have learned.
And I see you also, you have learned, my dear
The shadow in your eyes, fish-quick:
Oh best beloved, I will treasure you
cherish your torn fins and broken voice
And the touch you give now, knowing what it means---
For your scars have beauty
An old shark’s grace at last,
too big and toothy to be taken easily
slicing fathoms under the beautiful dark.
The taste of salt air
the warmth of my beloved
the running dogs
these things
this moment,
another inbreathing
another exhalation
another taste of joy.
the warmth of my beloved
the running dogs
these things
this moment,
another inbreathing
another exhalation
another taste of joy.
Reflection Cat's poem
Apr. 12th, 2014 04:57 amHe's a kitty cat
just a squiddy cat
such a squiddy kitty
squiddy squiddy
kitty cat
little lap squid
purring.
***
OK, scraping the bottom of the barrel for this one. And really, I meant to post it last night? But it's not 5 am yet and we're about to head to a dog show. Best I can do.
just a squiddy cat
such a squiddy kitty
squiddy squiddy
kitty cat
little lap squid
purring.
***
OK, scraping the bottom of the barrel for this one. And really, I meant to post it last night? But it's not 5 am yet and we're about to head to a dog show. Best I can do.
