Tiny Poem Tuesday: Shelter In Place

Tiny Poem Tuesday: corona virus edition :: ::
shelter
neighborhood swaddled by
morning fog keep in those
fingers and toes! faces, routines
dizzy uncertain squirrels balance on
branch ends freshly budded weak spring sunlight warms
quiet streets a tele piano lesson
in place
MFS 3.2020

Tiny Poem Tuesday: Friluftsliv

Tiny Poem Tuesday: Corona Virus edition :: ::
Friluftsliv, a new to me word encountered yesterday in this cocooned time of slow
seclusion: "fresh air life," an idea I can get behind as I tilt my head to identify the song of a newly
returned bird, Earth turning to absorb more light, periwinkles peeking through waxy greenness,
sweet blossomy scents perfuming evening air, whorls of fern and maple leaf
stretching and widening, spring tornadoes and earth shakings, the still leafless poison ivy blistering
the tender skin of my inner arm, microscopic virus settling into throat and lung.
aaaah, awe nature

Tiny Poem Tuesday: The Weight of Snow

Tiny Poem Tuesday: Corona Virus edition
::
::

I felt the weight
of snow
bending the hyacinths
as I brought my
first baby home,
full of love
and bewilderment;
the scent of witch hazel
and the smooth skin
of a newborn's neck
swirling around our little
nest, the fluttery chest
echoing my own
determination to live.

Now, as then,
topsy turvy time,
reckoned by
which window is
currently best for
sunbathing,
wondering when
was the last
time I brushed
my teeth.

mfs 4.2020

Tiny Poem Tuesday: Crow

Tiny Poem Tuesday (it's Tuesday, right?)corona virus edition::::
Following the crow'sdistant flight, yellowtreasure dangling
from its ebonybeak, I'm gratefulfor the still bare
branches, gratefulfor the claritythat scarce sparsity
can bring, gratefulfor the chance to see, the chance
that this pause, this wide calm,has bestowed.

What Does a Leaf Know

Does a brittle, prime 
past leaf, plucked
from its cozy life

by an errant breeze,
wonder why it is
somersaulting precariously

through the air? Does
it question where
it is being tossed? Or

when it might once
again tumble jarringly
to a stop? Would

knowing change its
capacity for delight?
Or change the fact

that, in the end, we are
all inexpressibly, unalterably
alone?

I Crave Light

Some people
find it soothing,
the grayness,
but I find it suffocating --
draining the world
of its variety and color
smudging the details
at the edges.

I crave light.

Once an opaque plane,
the ice on the
kitchen window transforms
into a thousand glittering
crystals, each one a
snowflake of
incomprehensible beauty,
captured on glass
to extend its fleeting
existence.

I crave light.

Once dark, abbreviated days
at year's end,
illuminated by
singing, bells, old
friendships renewed --
by a thousand
acts of glittering
kindness.

Not all grayness
Not all light
is surface: we allow one --
or the other --
to infuse, consume
become part of us,

Pay Attention

I found you again!
stretched out cozy
dark evenings, temperatures 
falling, radiators hissing
nature patiently prodding,
pushing us to ponder
(reflect) on this latest
rung in our life
spiral, as we spin
headlong into the
next layer.

Holiday busy-ness
fills each moment --
cards caroling crafts
concerts -- (deflect)ing
introspection.

The perennial rhythm --
hushed tones, muffled
palette, the cocoon of
muted light, remind us:
pause, plan,

pay attention.

One November

One November, when
I needed them most,
all of my words

bowed out. No way
to explain, no language
to make sense of

our surreal new reality;
leaving me with a body
waking in the predawn

light to lift weights and
sweat, guided by Mother
Moon to run and run

on soggy trails through
a dying landscape, and
yoga -- hoping to twist

the knots out of my
stomach and dislodge
the despair settling into

my lower right hip.

Am I preparing
for battle?

Election Night Haiku

This is so scary
I think I'm going to throw up
It must be fiction

I wasn't worried
He has shown his true colors
Weren't they listening?

For Nicole

For Nicole

The phrase "a heavy heart" 
never struck me before.
I feel it now.
The lowest chambers
of my heart sinking
into my gut,
the grief settling there
with a mournful melody.

It has been one week.

One week of being startled
over and over and over
by the (un)reality of her absence.
An absence that goes
beyond blankness
into the realm of void
and vacuum.

One week of memories
tripping and falling,
nipping at my heels:

Our daily song began first thing,
herding kids off to school,
five minutes stretching
to many hours
of gliding fluidly
from one yard to another
pushing a swing, catching a ball,
soothing a hurt, nursing a baby...
without missing a beat
without dropping a note.
The afternoon movement
a crescendo -- more kids,
homework, guarding the alley,
making dinner --
hers planned for the month
mine always a surprise.

She is still here in
the high frequency
of our duet --
joys, sorrows,
depths, shallows --
an eternal vibration.

Ode to a Lovely Maple

• Shifted light leaves me off - kilter out of balance Last night we dined "en plein air" as we do, unable to stop gazing up up up at the dizzying absence. Before they had finished chopping, chipping, my daughter and I ran to measure -- our arms encircling her wide expanse -- a farewell embrace. 14 feet 2 inches! How long was she standing watching over this house so steadfastly? We first stepped inside one golden June afternoon, sunlight dancing and jumping in glittering patches across the wood floors. Through humid summers her vast canopy shielded us from the heat, keeping our rooms deliciously cool. Each October brought a burst of flame, bathing us all in shimmering yellow. She shook each last leaf to carpet the grass, benevolently brightening the months of darkness. Disoriented, I mourn my faithful friend in this new, alien space.

Ode to a Four Year Old

A terribly ripe four year old
likes to ride his bike until
sundown, play the piano
in the early morning quiet,
and ask important questions
before breakfast:

Can I sleep on the pillow
with you? Is it boom de
yada time? Why do people
need belts? How many more
days until my birthday?

Tiny Twinges

I felt a tiny twinge --
to give a friend, 
who was feeling down, 
some flowers. An
easy enough charge

with the flashy
tiger lilies
screaming for attention
over in the corner,
the clematis curling
seductively round the
garden gate,
the fluffy zinnias
beckoning
with their toothy,
multi-hued smiles.

However,
 I stayed inside,
quieting the
karmic jabs with
flimsy excuses,
leaving the friend
to sit alone
and the floral fete
to be enjoyed
solely by the
bees.

So Civilized

Can I tell the tale of
humankind?
My story is a biased
one, just one
individual in the
collective mind.

A chimp will not eat a grape unless
all the chimps have a grape.

History is pocked --
great craters of
devastation, terror,
and
Enlightenment!
minuets, sonnets
(clubs, spears)
The Pieta, a perfect rose
(rifles, drones)
survival of the fittest
(maddest, meanest)

We are so
so civilized
compared to
the chimpanzee.

Still Spinning

In other lifetimes, 
it took years 
to crisscross 
this glorious globe,
but as the distance
diminished, knowledge
expanded and
we know (we KNOW)
that all of us want
the same things:
peace, safety,
love...

This Earth,
so buried in
grief and confusion,
is somehow,
somehow,
still spinning.

Still producing
fresh green cucumbers
and fireflies
that dart in and out
of the hydrangeas.
Little girls still
selling lemonade
on Sunday afternoons.

How can it all be so
exquisite? So beautiful?
How can it all be so
(crushingly) sad?

A Summer Morning

A chubby four year old finger
tentatively touches the space
between my eyebrows -- 
flipping a switch
the chattering squirrels already deep into 
the negotiations of the day,
the birds concluding their dawn chorus

stepping outside with a stretch,
an eight year old garden nymph
stirs up the mint, oregano, and sweet pea,
my skirt brushes past the roses

I sit in a pale slant of sunlight,
the laundry fluttering dreamily in time
to the scales floating through the window

A summer morning garnished, sliced, and served

Mother's Day Poem

I perch near my light 
infused window, 
soak up afternoon warmth, 
and pretend not to worry.

They know where to find me --
bouncing back like yo-yos
to seek tear-filled sympathy,
to share triumphs with a kiss.

No more babies to
cradle in this little nest;
the strings have
lengthened.

Fretting over heartbeats,
first breaths, unsteady steps,
wobbly friendships,
chronic self-doubt...
each fragile phase interwoven
with uneasiness and relief.

I sit at my perch and pretend --
it is now as habitual as breathing.

Tranquilo

my eyes stay closed, 
blocking out the
warm yellow light,
while birds sing lustily
outside my open window;
jasmine and lemon blossom
breeze in with the sea air,
swirling around my feet
as they touch the
morning cold tile;
the whine of the gate,
the screech of the
neighbor's shutters,
the toll of the church bells,
announce the new day.

Another day of escape,
another day of
tranquility.

Ancient Walls

pressing my ear 
against stone,
I hear the
faint echo
of voices
from those
who came before;

secrets, worries,
hopes, joys...
swirl everlastingly
through
the walls;

the walls
their hands
painstakingly
built,

the walls
that outlasted
frail mortality

Mandala

truth vibrates in all
philosophies (harmony)

echoing in every
curve (compassion)

a tremor nudging
continents (honesty)

sending ripples across
the seas (balance)

we are all
pilgrims,
making labyrinthine
circuits,
searching
in dizzying
circles,

but, from the
grand sphere that
houses us
to the humble coil
housed within us

there is only one --
there is only
wholeness.