Category: Poems

Walking was difficult now

so how could I enjoy the spring?

Was I forever banished from strolling through the woods?

From greeting the buttercups, the trilliums,

Spring Beauties, the May Apples?

“No way, Jose!”

For $30

I bought a bike from the sixth grade boy

next door.  His dad

adjusted the seat on this

old no-gear stop-with-your-pedal bike.

Not able to get my leg up and over I

sat it on the ground, stepped over and

pulled the bike up between my legs

undaunted.

And then:

Get those pedals right,

here at the top of the slanted drive,

hop up on that seat and I’m off!

Sailing down the drive into

the quiet street, no cars,

I’m pedaling happily and free!

I’m 71 and I can still ride a bike!

Around the corner onto the next quiet street,

wind and sun on my skin, in my hair, on my face,

I wave at the neighbors and they

Smile back and wave me on.

But down the way

I’m surprised to see where this

street is going – into

A car-busy street, I

see it coming up – Must either

stop or make a U.

A wide driveway offers

space for a turn and

I go for it,

for the U turn,

but  don’t   quite   make it.

Whoops,  Whoops I’m on the pavement

 really  hard.  My arms reach out to

   protect, to stop, bike on top of me, pain in shin,  blood?

      can’t tell, try to gather

         nerves and muscles back together quickly,

car coming down the way, pain actually

  pretty bad.  “Are you Okay, Ma’m,”  the young man asks

  passing very slowly in his car?

“I’m fine; thanks.” I lie and smile, and he

moves on and so do I,

walking my bike till

I’m stable enough to get on again.

I get on again,

Pedal with effort towards home,

afraid to look at my throbbing shin

but once again on wheels

and I’m still 71 and still

riding a bike!

Imagine a magical universe in which we never die!  We live forever and whenever we want, we take different forms of our own choosing, in order to learn and grow in whatever ways we want to. 

In such a magical Universe,

Oh, I want to be a buttercup! A buttercup!  A buttercup!

O warm richness!

O passionate color!

O enthusiasm for Life!

I’ll plant myself by a watery place

  and laugh for joy.

I’ll glory in the singing birds,

the humming bees,

  the busy pesky flies,

   the tickling breeze.

And the sun’s salvation,

“Relish in the warmth of sun!”

my shining saffron face will sing.

“And don’t forget enthusiasm, passion.

Dance, swim, listen, sing, love,

    feel and sense.

      Celebrate like me,”  I’ll laugh,

I, the cheerful buttercup!

                               ***

 I’d be honored to be a jack-in-the-pulpit.

Oracle of the woods.

With my tri-leaf behind,

erect, serene,

I’ll receive searching visitors.

From my rich roots

through my straight stem

into my waiting cup

will flow wisdom from our Mother Earth.

Whoever has the patience to sit before me

and ask a question

listening

to them I’ll speak the truth.

Truth is solid ground,

 fecund.

Standing straight and quiet I’ll speak.

Who sits straight and quiet and opens their own cup

will receive my thoughts.

We’ll nod to each other respectfully,

they’ll pass on,

and I will wait

to be again an oracle for Wisdom.

     ***

Spring Beauty,

most delicate of all spring flowers,

early to appear,

how lovely to be her!

Small and sweet and dear,

my white five-petalled face with pink mint stripes

  will smile up like a shy girl-child

     at the awesome world around.

Simple, friendly,

I will open to the sun.

My thin stem will dance with the smallest breeze.

Never alone, I’ll live in a world of gentle friends

   like me,

all of us playing

in the sweet spring sun and wind and rain.

O beauty protected,

O tenderness extreme,

I will speak to all the world

of the great sensitivity

of The Source of All Life. 

                                ***

I would love to be a white Anemone,

Daughter of the Wind.

Thin and graceful, dancing open,

    never shy.

Taller than my little sisters,

leaves much greener, fuller,

    bigger face,

my sunny yellow center begging to be pollinated:

“I am ready,

I am beautiful!

O come to me now, Life,”

I’ll say with guileless joy.

Free maiden of the forest,

I want to be seen,

not hidden.

I know my beauty,

O tell me how beautiful I am!

Notice me,

   my white loveliness up from the rich green floor.

Notice my readiness,

   my aliveness.

 Love me now in the springtime of my life.

                                           ***

Snow flung haphazardly across the sandy beach,

bare trees wave slightly, unable to

 really catch the winter wind.

Giant white lifeguard chairs

watch long winding stripes of orange fencing

valiantly try to stop the march of sand.

Wind pushes aggressively inward.

Sleeping grasses and skeletons of small plants,

nod stiffly against the cold.

Rows of lonely boat racks,

beach buildings boarded up against the storms,

feel round for walking life.

And the soothing sounds of waves still rolling in,

  tumbling smoothly each on each,

    white foam rising, disappears,

as if

     nothing

         is changing.

The hug I didn’t give

still waits here in my arms

  longingly.

An old acquaintance,

we’d found a sudden deep connect.

Then time to leave,

I kissed her dear old mother on the cheek

and smiled goodbye across the food.

Off I hurried,

arms bound fast

by some strange hesitation.

Now my arms reach out to her,

O heart-sister,

but miles prevent their satisfaction.

Time stands still

where my body holds the hug in endless wait.

There were hugs I had to give:
my body flinched.
We pulled apart with clay
smiles, I backed
away and turned
to anything else.
Truth betrayed.

.

Passing in a crowd

a month ago

I saw a treasured face-

I owe this friend so much!

She changed my life.

I threw my arms around her,

kissed her face,

reminding her just who I was.

My joy and gratefulness

still radiate through all my body

  pulsing in and outward.

Orange like the sun with

yummy white throat and breast and paws,

he nuzzles nose beneath my curled hand:

We feel his body rise and fall as

my abdomen breathes in and out.

I see his little ears turn toward my useless hand

that stopped caressing:

begs sans words.

Small and big against myself, but

warm, warm, warm.

Julius no longer kneads my body before

settling down. J. can hardly walk a line these days.

At 84 in human years

my beloved, beloved friend is nearing

transition into spirit,

back from where we came like

   spring flowers jumping up

     from nowhere.

He’ll go first. and then this

warm and loving weight here on my lap will not come round

begging for a hug,

Then my arms and lap will all be empty,

a drifting boat.

And here am I with tears though

he’s present with me now,

my brain in both the now and then at once.

Perhaps he only feels today.

Or not.

I wouldn’t guess the amazing consciousness of cats.

Is he even now with Tom in spirit? In both worlds at once?

Julius, the last physical remnant of my son.