Falcon

If I could fly like that
cutting across the face of the wind
unruffled
If I could fly like that
wheeling, climbing, diving
as if gravity was for those more
earthbound
If I could fly like that
flinging myself earthward
until with a
snap
I stop the mad rush
If I could fly like that

Would I wonder what it was to walk?

Or...would I be so caught in the screeching freedom of the skies,
that I would simply soar oblivious
to the dreamers below?

A Day for Poetry

Relax, I didn't write it!

Someone and I were discussing poetry for a while today - something I said reminded him of a Frost poem, and nothing would do but he had to look it up and read it. We debated a while the deeper meanings of the words after exploring the surface for a bit.

This led me to think of a poem that I love by John Donne. I am fond of many of his pieces, and I will admit that my current favourite of his became so because of a movie. If you haven't seen it, Wit is a stunner, although it's a bit slow in the action department and is guaranteed to make me cry every time. Throughout, there is a dissection of the Donne poem - Death Be Not Proud, or the Tenth Holy Sonnet.

As I had the poem on my mind, I thought I'd share it:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.

Random 'kus

Small, fierce warrior
Rook leaps from hiding places
Ki is not amused.
~~~~~

Forty followers
I wonder how that happened
How did you find me?
~~~~~

Gift wrap is waiting
In the dining room corner
With ribbons and bows.
~~~~~

Poor old garland lights,
Cat marked his territory
The scent still lingers.
~~~~~

Bed nicely made up
Clean cotton sheets soft and smooth
Cats nest, contented.
~~~~~

How does cat litter
Find its way between covers
Of my tidy bed?
~~~~~

Small boy licking spoon
Brownie batter on his face
More than in his mouth.
~~~~~

Broken pinky toe
Still not fully recovered
Does not like stubbing.
~~~~~

Forgotten ice cube
Melting on the kitchen floor
My foot has found you.

Lighthearted

Oh, that I had a clockwork heart
That I could wind
When it feels slow
Leaden
Heavy
Return it to a swifter
More joyful rhythm

Oh, that my heart was a balloon
That I could fill with helium
When it is sinking
Low
Deflated
Return it to fullness
More joyful flight

Oh that my heart was a lantern
With a bulb I could change
When it burns out
Dark
Cold
Return to it some brightness
Let it shine

Oh, that I did not have this heart
This heart of stone
Cracked
Damaged
Hard
Grey
Stone

indifference

soft chill grey wet

fog

wrapped around me

like arms

the opposite of loving

but with the same force

prickling my skin

damping my skin

permeating

into spirit

limp as rags

well worn

and

forgotten

in the grey

Summerlight

The light is hard in this hour
Between afternoon and evening.
It is not sharp lemon
Nor honey sweet
Nor gently flowing
Into the hollows of the land
The hollow of my throat.

I do not walk in this light,
As much as into it
With a clatter and a clang
With a ringing
Like some great, golden bell
Announcing my presence
To all and sundry
In the Summer foundry.

Wound Tight

I know just how they feel,

Waiting for the sun to rise,

Shine on them,

Warm them,

Coax them open,

Envelope them with his light and love.

So tightly wound, ready to burst,

I know just how they feel.

Lady Moon

Lady Moon
Climbing the neighbor's tree
Light silvering the crown
Against the star-freckled night

Lady Moon
Resting in the topmost branch
Stark black shadows
Cradling you

Drenched am I
Lady Moon
In your radiance
Soaking you in
Drinking you in
I am replete with you
As you rain down your light
And I shine, too.

Cat

cat
black and white
cat
why do you insist
upon placing
your
furry buttocks
so close
to my face?

cat
sandstone tabby
cat
why do you insist
upon dashing
out
into garage
where you
get stuck?

cat
soft black
cat
why do you insist
upon meowing
crying
so loud
you wake
us all?

Clouds on the Lake

Clouds reflect in the water
Smooth, smooth surface
A mirror
Showing the sky where to blush
Where to dab
With powder-puff clouds

Clouds

Clouds on the lake

Clouds in the lake

My mind wanders,
sees strange birds swimming
in the blue
lake
sky
sky-lake

I wonder if the fish ever look upward
and find themselves confused
wondering why they can't swim
in the lake above them

Everything scatters
shattered
when the alligator
answers
philosophical questions
with his prosaic teeth.

Beltane

For last year's semi-entry, go here.

This year, I give you...poetry.

Dancers, Part One

Dancer, Woman
~~~~~~~~~~~
She is in the shadows
Swaying hips, swaying skirt
Eyes closed, lips parted, lost in her dance
I watch her from the ground up,
Gaze lingering at the curve of her leg
Where calf meets knee, wondering…

...what it would be like to touch her there…

Rising up the swell of thigh
Seen through fabric
Backlit by fire and moon
Soft, silken, my hands imagine
Gentle touch
The mystery of her shadow, wondering…

…what it would be like, to taste her there…

Hips slow gyration
Body in motion, swaying
Hypnotic
Strong back,
Proud bearing
,In the shadows, dancing, wondering…

…what it would be like to press my hands there…

Belly taut,
Anticipating every motion
I watch the play of muscle
Her breasts glisten
Nipples alert to my wandering eyes
Tracing the curves, wondering…

…what it would be like to caress her there…

The hollow of her jaw
Just behind her ear
Invites scrutiny
I see her lips
Velvet soft
They invite me closer, wondering…

…what it would be like, to kiss her, there…

Dancer, Man
~~~~~~~~~
Bold, powerful,
He leaps the fire
From darkness to darkness
A momentary glimpse

Consider…

Legs, strong,
Imagination wraps them around me

Eyes, smoldering intent
Imagination locks his gaze with mine

Lips full, firm, inviting
Imagination touches them to me

Arms muscular
Imagination holds me in them

Hands, graceful and strong
Imagination caresses me with them

And that which is hidden
But still seen, limned in the glow of fire
And moon

Consider…

The passion of the dance rises in him
Imagination answers his need with mine

He is
We are
In darkness dancing

Haikuties

Roll of white paper
The empty spindle awaits
Your tidy presence
~~~~~
The counter's no place
For a toilet paper roll
So why is it there?
~~~~~
Dishes in the sink
Will wait a little longer
Now it's time to play
~~~~~
Laundry in baskets
Waiting for agitation
Spin cycle and dry
~~~~~
Small cat, soft and sweet
Suddenly a giant is
Sleeping on my bed

Crow Heart

crows are history keepers
not historians,
keepers
different
they don't wonder
study
guess
crows know
they were there
and they know
one to another, they tell
one crow
to a murder
they relay battles
won and lost
crows never forget
if you know how to listen
they will tell you, too

I think my heart is a crow.

Maybe Another Day

Yes, there's a story here. It's not over, so I can't really tell it. The following poem-ish thing was written in the moment...but the moment changes...and I have no idea what it will be in an hour, or tomorrow, or next week. When it's all played out, maybe I'll tell you about it. But not until then, because I don't want to waste words.
~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, love...

I was in a creative place,
A hopeful place
Looking to a day not too distant
When I would dare to spread my wings
Throw myself from the cliff
And soar

I was in that dreamy
Half-awake
Half-asleep place
Where I believed I could
And wanted to
Succeed

Floating, I came
And spoke of maybe, and time,
And effort
Of looking at tomorrow a little differently

And oh, you couldn't know
How thoroughly you deflated me
With bitter words

How well you broke the nascent joy
Into tiny pieces
Dusty particles of
I can't do it
It won't do any good

Your hammer
Was someone else's words
Deeds
But you swung unconsciously well

So that one misbehaves,
Is selfish, careless
Cruel

And I suffer

Broken wings

A Brief Interlude

Upon sun-blasted desert stone
A single flower grew
And we who passed by the furnace
Of earth and light
Wondered about the bloom

One said "It is a fluke, a mistake..."
To which I replied
"Everything is always as it should be, when it should be
The Universe is a perfect place, and we are all expressions of that perfection."
They took my shoes, that I would feel the burning sand and comprehend
How wrong I was.

One said "It it unnatural, it does not belong..."
To which I replied
"But here we are, immersed in nature, forging ourselves upon her anvil
just where She placed us; nothing grows where She does not Will it. We belong because we are here."
They took my clothing that I might feel the sun scorch my flesh and comprehend
How wrong I was.

One said "It will die, it cannot sustain itself here..."
To which I replied
"Perhaps the future looks grim, but for now, in this moment that we all share
breathing the same air, being in the same Now, it lives as we do. We will die too, one day, but here and now, we live as it does."
They took my water and my food and left me to feel the desperate parch and hunger and comprehend
How wrong I was.

I lay me down beside the flower, and breathed upon it and was Wind
And wept upon it and was Water
And loved it and was Fire
And became Earth sustaining it

I was not wrong.

Vignette

Little boy excited about prospects of going out into heat wave to play!
Because he's a child and doesn't know what "hot" means
And a friend is coming over to play in the rippling light waves, too
So little boy is excited
Getting dressed, he chooses a black t-shirt
But at least it's not long-sleeved - his usual choice
And overalls - long, but it's OK - fewer bug bites
The shirt is no problem, goes on without a fight
But the pants
Oh, the pants!
One strap fastens fine and dandy, no worries Mom, easy-peasy
But the other?
Oh, no, no, no. It will dangle down so!
It will slip out of his small hand, twisted behind him to catch the erring strap!
He is reaching behind, behind, behind himself
Turning in circles to catch that strap
Turning, turning, turning in circles, excited little boy.
Don't grow up too fast - Mommy needs a store of these little things
To remember when you're a surly teen
Who can fasten the straps just fine.

Who doesn't want to be...

held
comforted
protected
cherished
desired
aroused
sheltered
safe
ardent
connected
wanted
fulfilled
embraced
encircled
loved
home

Summer Eyes

Whew, I was up quite late last night. As a result, I slept a touch late this morning. Hey, I was awake at...umm...well, it's not noon yet, is it? Bird slept, too. I was getting up when he stumbled into my room and rather imperiously informed me that we were going to snuggle, so I couldn't get up. Ah-hah. I crawld back under the covers and we had a cuddle, and then played for a while - he wrestled my hand, and it fought back by occasionally tickling him silly. We finally had to stop when my stomach informed us both that it was rather more empty than it liked. So up we finally got, and now he's pretending to be chased around the house by various dinosaurs. T-Rex, Archeopteryx, Euplocephalus, Celophysis, Stygymoloch, Stegosaurus, Ornitholestes, Bracchiosaurus, and a Pentaceratops (spell check just fell off its seat and is now staring at the ceiling - I don't think it was prepared for all those dino names!). Yes, he knows what all of those are. So far, he's built a shield to protect himself, frightened them away with fierce noises, distracted them with Frisbees, flown on the back of a Pteronodon, and shrunk them so they were tiny and couldn't harm him. Wow. Busy morning.

Me? I made tea, weighed myself (I lost a whole pound this week, whoopee), and sat down to rest from all that exertion. When I opened this post to write, I couldn't think of anything to write, so I decided to share an old poem I wrote back in '97, when the world was young and I was younger. I was cheesed off at one of the few guys who'd actually ever flirted with me, because the only time he ever seemed interested was when he needed money or no other girls were around. How annoying. So, for your enjoyment, avoidance, or torture, I give you...

Summer Eyes

Would you have noticed my eyes
in Winter's darkness
if the garnet-dark lips of another
had drawn your gaze?
No,
for feasting at the King's table
you had no need of common fare.
Now, though, in the heat of Summer's fire
you have been left wanting.
Somehow through the scorched copper heat,
the waves of bronze sunlight
reflecting from earth and sky,
you have noticed them.
The romantic in me (foolish child),
stunted by reality's radiation
sighs at your sweet words of affection.
Limpid pools are trite,
but sweeter than mountain water
to a moisture starved heart.
Indeed.
Am I so easy to misread?
I sought not your words,
your company.
I am as happy alone.
As well be alone
as accompanied by the knowledge
that when Summer's heat
is soothed away by Autumn's breeze,
I will be a forgotten apple in the orchard,
wizened through Winter
as a discard.
I have pride, if not beauty.
I will await my own Winter prince who loves not my convenience
but rather what lies beyond
the "limpid pools"
and is the heart and soul of me, reflecting my Summer heat
in shades of cool water greens and blues.

Speaking of memories...

Ah, the place where memories wait
And oh, how dusty and sad some are
That once were so very bright and new

Some have fallen into fragments
Slivers of color, light, scent
Half forgotten feelings tickling dust-like
Bringing on an eruption of sneezes
Little emotional outbursts

Some few pieces have been joined
Wrong
Bits from different puzzles
Made into an erring picture
Something slightly out of place
Or time
Or the right place and time
But the wrong people

So confusing, sorting it all out.

One or two
Or a dozen or more
Lurk in the corners
Waiting with teeth
And claws
For unwary pokes
And prods

And there are always cobwebs
In the face.

Sympathy versus Empathy

Sympathy = I see your pain and I am sorry you suffer.

Empathy = I see your pain and I suffer with you.

Got it? Good.

Oh, why did I feel the need to post this? I've been blog-hopping again, and I got caught up in this blog. I read the whole thing and cried several times. I really, really wanted a happy December for her.

Because I have a child, can I be said to feel empathy for her? Or is it just sympathy?

I want another child. I am greedy. Really, I want three kids, all told. I have one, and one is all I shall have. There's no way my body could do it again. Last time, with Bird, my appendix exploded a third of the way through. I don't want to think what would go, a second time. Also, we can't afford another child. How sad is that? So many people just have them and worry about the money later, but not me. I refuse to lessen the quality of life for the child already here just because I feel twitchy and...empty. Also, also, I haven't been entirely sure I wanted to remain married for the last couple of years - not the best of times to add a baby to the mix, eh? Logic is hard cheese when faced with wanting another little one. So I read that blog, and I started weeping and trying not to get tears in the keyboard because then I would not only be sad but bereft of Bob the Wonder Computer.

I wasn't crying for me. I was crying for a woman who has been dealt a crappy hand and is struggling to play it. I was crying because I know a woman who has terminated pregnancies because condoms were inconvenient but abortions weren't. Six of them. And there are women in the world who are beggaring themselves for the chance at one baby. One.

So, sympathy or empathy? I think empathy...if only because I hurt to the very heart of me, and I just don't think sympathy goes that deep.

So, after I read and read and read and cried and cried and cried, I wrote this:

From the Outside Looking In
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You know mama, you give us this expectation
That we are supposed to be fecund,
We should be able to produce children as readily
As the blood that comes with each passing moon

How unfair, then
To deny that fertility
To break the body from creation
So that it will not produce

How unkind to surround the grieving womb
With babies, fresh, sweet, soft
To remind it of failures as it struggles
To hold on to a handful of cells
Just one more day

How much worse to give out the hope
That this time will be different
That the struggle, the pain, the misery
The rage
Will finally pass into beauty
Into joy
Only to dash it all
With a scarlet streak
A twinge
Splashing drops
Pitying stares
Awkward silences
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am not sure it's finished, but for the moment...I am.