Monthly Archives: December 2021

Rain

29 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by in giving, motion, poems, poetry

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Globe diamonds dangle in slanting sunlight

following morning rain.

Nothing could be brighter,

more precarious.

The river can’t gulp fast enough

after all this rain.

Days of wetness, slow, fast, hard, intermittent.

Maybe nothing more beautiful,

except that it falls exquisitely in the shallow bowl

of the bird bath.

Oh, it’s musical, even on the other side of glass.

Years of dryness and thirst, drought damage

and wondering, fires and more fire,

and now this.

The frogs are having a field day.

A field month.

And my they are sweet.

If your love

20 Monday Dec 2021

Posted by in abundance, aging, break out, death, Love, loving, new, peace, poems, poetry, shame, the road, wonder

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If your love has courted you

winding and strong

to the door of Death, again, again,

ya kinda gotta wonder- – what

in

the

hell?

(An exclamation ! floowing from that question

seems most appropriate

but not in sting of a shaming judgement, No, no,

as it needs usher in a tender resignation,

an emollient of wondering in which

you slip a hand beneath that tiny bird,

approach slowly with soft eyes to ask,

how, oh how, did this loyal heart of mine learn

to love like that, to love those with inclination,

without qualm,

to do those things they’ve done?)

A new snail trail, steady and true, awaits

in this, the second half of life . . .

How to begin a day

13 Monday Dec 2021

Posted by in abundance, beauty, community, flight, honoring, movement, nature, offering, poems, poetry, stillness, wind

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The storm is making noisy mouths of the shingles this morning,

and pom-poms of the pine’s branches.

Rain beads the panes,

droplets meet socially, gather in their weight

and river down, down towards wet ground.

A limy glow. Needles sticking long on fence, on chair,

all throughout lavender’s hair.

Yesterday at this time crows were dancing in sunrise light,

pink orange, sorbet swirl of clouds,

save one:

She sat still atop a black fir, staring.

Our four eyes, in settled bodies, soaked in the welcoming arms

of our rising Sun–

now, She knows how to begin a day.