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Sunday, February 24, 2013

Poem one for my upcoming chapbook, Alice in Wonder Garden (previously published in other versions as My Life as a Flower


My inconvenient love

Either this is happening or this is not happening,
            I am the only witness who can decide.
I take a willowy path into my cave saying,
            If it is happening, then it is happening,
If I don’t believe it I can go ask myself.
Close to god, I mumble
All alone
or else: a fire sale.

On other people I have always depended,
and at regular intervals been called from my cave,
but I like the idea of being alone.

Walking downtown the phrase falls
            through my mind again
“At anytime I may proclaim my love,
            more irresistibly than ever before.”

I drive home perhaps I am crying,
            As if crying were not yet defined by other
experiences.
I am straight faced, dry-eyed, objective.
I wonder if this is crying, but this gentle breeze
carries no rain, no fabled clutching at the breath,
the photosynthesis of tears
            a self-proclaimed curtain call of feelings,
all waited for and subtle like northern lights.

Because of the fullness of my self,
Like a moon waxing to fullness
 I am willing to accept
the turn of tides, and what comes with it,
as much as the stars will give me,
the full load that fortune falls.

I saw the night blooming Cereus


Thursday, February 14, 2013

A Valentine's Day poem concerning the environment, politics, and my sweethearts arm.


Love

Where are you?
Love, that human virtue that must stand up
or perhaps lie down.
Among the pistol and the automatic?
Or perhaps a bow ‘n arrow, drawn around a cartoon heart.
Where, when this world is so full of human crimes
is love’s lost art?

In the stands of oak, quaking aspen and -
hemlock?
The unforgettable problem
is roped around the map,
like a war on life itself.

Far away and long ago
before boneless chicken breast
and military drone attacks
before the epidemic of ever more epidemics
and the supersized madness
after the darkest night when I knew God was love.

My husband’s arms and my arms both are strong
from pumping water, and carrying wood,
lifting supers full of honey from the beehives.

At night his arm at rest, is beautiful on a pillow.
his naked unarmed arm is all:

A milagro drifting in my dreams,
the figurine of a small gentle arm
a charm, to cure our violent culture,
hangs from my skirt, just beginning the fringe


I took this picture while walking in the woods recently.  I'm including it here because people like pictures.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Out on East Hill

This is NOT the elm tree in question, just a nice picture I took at Wind Horse farn in Nova Scotia



Out On East Hill

I once started a rumor of a missing tree.
I didn’t become famous or loved in that neighborhood
For writing or painting, but everyone listened and cared
When I gave voice to that missing Elm tree

You know the one it’s always silhouetted at the top of the hill,
Vines run delicately up the palm-like trunk and limbs
How alive could the tree have been, always stark and leafless?
Beset with vine out in the field, on the left as you travel north
Where the sun sets behind its thought provoking limbs,
Spreading in the shape of a ginkgo leaf at top.

“Well, coming home yesterday afternoon
Rushing over rutted roads
Bringing my girls home from school,
I saw that the tree was gone!”
Thus I told my neighbors. I told my friends.

There was indignation, disbelief, and sadness
 The thing we had all so unknowingly feared had happened.

I felt unity for the first time.
Everyone knew just which tree I meant,
Though we had never talked about the tree before
We now know that the tree links us all.
We had been linked all along by the love of this tree.
…Looking for it as we crest the hill coming north
Or coming south on East Hill Road…

I suppose the tree never knew how important it was.

In the weeks following this sad news,
People visited the place where the tree had lived
And gradually reports trickled back: The tree was still there!
We celebrated with such relief and happiness to be
Reunited with our familiar: Landscape with Tree!

There must have been one day at least though
When we all failed to notice our lovely tree.

I moved away from East Hill; I don’t think anyone misses me.
For a moment I had important news, and it was heard, that’s all.