Archive for the 'Musings and poetry' Category



All we can do

Leave signals.

It may be all we can do.

Not as beacons illuminating the darkness

but lighthouses, foghorns

warning of shoals, reefs, rocks

too far below the surface to see but

there nonetheless and ready to

tear our small boats apart.

 

Leave signals.

Write letters take photographs

make notes record

something — do something

memorable if not

important.

 

Make maps.

We’re all wondering how

to get from here to there because

life is short

and fast and no one knows

what happens next.

Offerings

Missing my dog Buckley, who died of congestive heart failure on Sunday, January 25, 2009.

Come, we have our
rituals. The small habits
anchoring our days our nights
in their comfort
convincing, secure.
Love is in these:
the dog who waits then jumps
onto the bed, settles
affirming rest companionship
sleep and the promise of waking again.
Creatures all, we have
our necessary smoothing guarding turning
soothing
the animal in each offered
to the other.
Brief as it is
it is everything, all there is.

Dormancy

Await

Underneath the January snow growing things gather energy for their time. Art is like that for me. From about Thanksgiving until sometime in February, I am dormant, gathering my resources, pondering and planning.

I am bundled against the cold, following behind my elderly dog (who doesn’t know he’s elderly). He smells something interesting and plunges his nose into the snow repeatedly, joyous and fully present. The sun is near setting. The sky is full of fading light and high scudding clouds, tree skeletons outlined starkly against a red sky rapidly turning dark. I think about how I could capture this, not just its visual richness, but the feeling of the moment. My dog’s rapture, my uplifted heart, the movement of our warm bodies through the cold air. I have probably written more poetry during the winter than in any other season. Something about its nakedness pulls the words from me. So while images sleep, words awaken. Here are some.

It is the first snow deep
enough to redeem all
the unraked leaves
covered now till spring.
The air warms to it and
wind quiets while it falls.
The whole that I can see
is leveled with a tenderness
like music late at night.

A crystaline horn concerto siezes
me and and I sit
enraptured while snow blankets
the twice-cleared windshield
and the warm car cools.


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