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Archive for March, 2017

Under the full moon
I stand
gatheringDSC00426
dreams
woven
long ago
into my spine,
stars
frame the lake
radiant halo
of tears
dogs
howl
stories
of broken
promises
land
broken
by the sword
and golden
cross.

Oh warriors
children
of the maize
gods
born
as sun
and
moon:
where
have
your songs gone?

The owl
screeches
from top
the cave
winging
lightly
over
sleeping
souls:
their dusty
shoesDSC00491
by the door.

Once these
diminutive
gentle
folk
worked
night
to day
and back
ran
rocky
hills
grew corn
laughed
happy
for the sun
the wind
stars
but most
of all
the sacred lake.

A boy was a man
when he could
cross
alone
in his canoe
the widest
length
of the lake:
loincloth
adorned in parrot feathers
bringing gifts
of sweet fruit
and precious shells
to his
one and only gifted
child wife
waiting
dressed
in fine
embroidered
skirts
the color
of violet sunsets
and tangerine sunrises.

Once they played
pok a tok
sang
from the heart
swam
at duskDSC00517
and slept
under these same stars.

You,
sons and daughters
created
from the lake
not of mud
or wood
but molded
from sweet corn.
I see you still
in San Marcos
carrying bundles
to market
on your
brightly adorned
braided heads,
or herding
goats
on the hillsideDSC00479
smiling
waving
gold teeth
catching the light.
I hear you
whispering
in Mam
Sunday morning
rushing
across the plaza,
the guttural sounds
echoing
on the cobblestones.

Two little girls
laugh
and saunter
side by side
toward the lake
three dogs
thin
and mangy
follow
tails low:
warm wind
blowing
morning mist
away
so they can
laugh
and build
castles in the mud,
adorned with stones
while the dogs
stand
guard.

Tonight
the lake
quivers
with stories
so many
and I hear…..

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Margarita(for all my Portland peeps)
I’m done with the long
dark days
wet boughs
weighed down
daffodils
bowing
heads tipped
to the mud.
Green
crawling
tenuous
on the hills
smothered
by rain clouds:
somewhere
a flicker
screeches
loudly
voicing
what is in my heart:
done
so done……

Plodding the same
morning route
past rivulets
draining
into lush
rain gardens
and flowering
daisies.
It’s the rain
that brings
colorful
days
I tell myself:
be a glass
half full
kind of gal
I remind myself –
lift that head
toward the sky
and drink in
this wetness:
remember
that day
long ago
when you
ran
naked
free
wild
burning
desert
child
drinking
drops
sacred
lapping
tasting
clear
blessed
monsoon
rain.

Remember
be kind
be free
be wild
the heavens know best:
keep on keeping on……
sun is sure to come.

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(for you dad, because you loved ravens!)
Ravens rule my hood:
Perched on the oak tree
whose branches
skirt the bedroom window
they bob from low
to high
their pitch
changing
as fast as this
early spring sun:
high
low
high
barely a whisper
hoarse
dense
light
here now
gone in a flash.

In early morn
they cackle
rattle
shriek
trying
to shake
a solid beam
of warmth
down to their
purple black
cowls:
ruffled
from the night air.

Its the break
of dawn:
humans lay wrapped
in the night warmth
of the hearth,
squirrels curled
nose to tail
in nests
deep in hollows,
a dog beside
his human
stretched
in dream bliss:
all one long sigh
of dark silence-
till the dreaded ravens’ call –
all at once,
stirring traffic
summoning loud
garbage trucks
speeding cars
breaks screeching
children rushing
and the indeterminate clanging
of a million
city sounds.

They rule the roost,
ring the bell
run the show
wear the pants
and they know it.

The dog rushes out
his nose
reading
sordid
night tales,
snout high
sorting out
the details,
tail swaying
in the morning mist,
they swoop
down
landing
close
but not too close
suddenly silent
marching
side to side
in that menacing swagger
their beaks
black
and hard
as African ebony,
jabbing at the wet
muddy earth,
parading
always
one step ahead
curious
playful
scornful
of the sad
domesticated
creature.
They let the dog
have his silly
moment of glory
let him think
he’s chased them off –
and sit on the fence
watching
him lift his leg
under their roosting tree,
marking
what they know
all too well
is their territory:
later in the afternoon sun,
they’ll laugh
in scorn
loud and free
from the highest
branch
and close their
beady eyes
to the world below
confident
spring is sure to come…..

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IMG_2724It’s been three years since my father died – and 7 years since we started this blog together.  His birthday is March 15th and I would like to celebrate it – even if he is not on this earth anymore.  He is still with me – more so each passing day.  I promised him I would keep writing – many times during his life and now I am trying to keep the promise.  I admit it has not been easy – without his mentoring and love, I have lost my words for months at a time…..I wonder why we poets even keep writing – no one reads poets, but poets – I think we all know that, but I remember my father’s words – “it’s the process, the doing that matters.  I write because I can’t live without it.”  Well, sometimes I feel as though I write because I can’t live without you, father – I write to keep our dialogue going.  I write to honor you, and despite the absurdity of it –  know you are a witness – if ever silent.  But not so, as I hear you on my long walks in nature.

This winter has been long and hard for all of us – I don’t know a soul who hasn’t felt the darkness of our times.  But as you once told me, father – “poetry saved your soul.”  I feel that all the more these days.  I lift my voice looking for the “light” and in your honor.  Know that you are cherished always.

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