02 Tuesday Apr 2019
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Canada Geese, Cowboy, Freedom, Hope, Horse, Horse Poem, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ravens, River, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spokane, Spokane River, Spring, Survival
We rode dirt and mud,
through standing water,
like ponds, to verify
the sun, and life
of returning things:
Canada Geese, wood ravens,
mule deer, grazing at dusk,
and the river, surging
with the spring run off
of our souls, singing.
21 Wednesday Mar 2018
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Canada Geese, Canadian Geese, Flocks, Hope, Love, Loyalty, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Words
Suddenly out of the north came the sound I had been waiting for, a soft, melodious gabbling that swelled and died and increased in volume until all other sounds were engulfed by its clamor. Far in the blue I saw them, a long skein of dots undulating like a floating ribbon pulled toward the south by an invisible cord tied to the point of its V. Sigurd Olson
First, let me say, I couldn’t give a damn
The correct way to name them. Words
Spoken a thousand times, woven together
With emotion, standing with lifted arms
Underneath a flock of forty mighty wings.
Have you ever been so close, you could hear
The swish-swush of the air and feel its tremor?
The words they speak between them,
Their flight calls, their gabbling back and forth,
I swear, it’s all about second chances:
Those with cancer, might live,
Those with sins, might be forgiven,
Those who lost lovers, might be loved
Again, in the way of not letting go,
In the way of never letting
Even one,
Fall away.
26 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in Uncategorized
1.
Under the wings of Canada Geese,
Rushed time:
Moments we wept
In our loss,
Wept in our fear,
Abandoned each other.
I stood alone,
Amid an ocean of dry leaves,
As the sky flew by in freedom,
And helplessness.
2.
How can I forget
That great yellow butterfly,
As big as a barn swallow?
It hovered around you,
Like a message
You wouldn’t hear.
Finally, it landed on your bare shoulder,
As you stopped work,
Leaned against your shovel,
Encircled of frail spirit,
And our children,
Chasing, laughing around you.
While I, woman in flight,
Watched silently from the back door,
Knowing I was letting you go.
26 Tuesday Aug 2014
Posted in Uncategorized
I remember what it was like
To be unstricken,
To think my life would go on,
To think I was owed a spot here,
And that spot was permanent.
Once your body lets the thing
Grow, you understand something else,
That mercy comes in miracles:
The Canada Geese overhead are miracle,
The smell of your son’s hair is miracle,
The arms of your friend wrapped ’round you,
Saying, it will be okay, is miracle.
Love is a miracle.
That we can be loved is a miracle.
I asked only that I’d see my son graduate,
And I did. That is a miracle.
I am a stricken one.
I was stricken long ago.
I’m part of the great finite,
And I’m part of the great forever,
So in need of mercy,
So thankful for miracles.
13 Wednesday Aug 2014
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Bird Poetry, Bits, Canada Geese, Death Poems, Dreams, God, Life, Mental Health, Poem, Poems, Robin Williams, Suicide, Suicide Poetry, Thoughts
The storm came, like so many storms,
More dark, more swift, more rain.
Before that, the first migration,
Canada Geese in mid-August clouds.
I wonder if nature follows news
Or news follows nature.
We quiver with uncertainty,
Our frail choices to live boldly.
Etta says, We get on our knees,
Pray for help, sometimes we gotta,
Just help ourselves.
But it’s hard missing,
Each one gone too early,
Disappeared into our dreams.
He’s an old man, he’s crying,
It scares me. Am I scared
Or sad, or terrified?
He’s an old man, he’s crying.
Says his brother stole his–
He says, his inheritance.
He’s an old man, for god’s sake.
Does it ever get easier?
And when did I start to envy geese?
September fifteenth, two thousand one.
When they fly by, I escape.
When they honk, I worship.
I think that’s what I wish I was–
As buoyed, as certain, as free.
This is what he said,
Before he was gone,
But only in their dreams
can men be truly free.
It was always thus
and always thus will be.
Why are we so afraid of leaving?
It’s much worse to be left.
We don’t know; we’ll never know.
The storm came, faster than we knew.
It did things, storms don’t usually do.
