11 Thursday Aug 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Cats, Death, Death Poems, Feral Cats, Freedom, Hope, Life, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Survival, weeds, Yearning
when she hid
behind the grasses
and weeds
you could only see
her eyes
but you had to be looking
all I want
is to exist
on this earth
I could hear
those words
I swear
I could hear her
say them
04 Thursday Aug 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Death, Death Poems, Fathers, Forgiveness, Hope, Letters, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Love Letters, Love Poems, Lovers, Memory, Mothers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Survival
Whisper me a tale of lovers,
Through limbs of trees and years,
Rattle a leaf, turn a page,
Rifle through an abandoned dresser.
You will find them there among socks,
With no feet left to cover.
The body is taken away,
Yet, rises again in pen.
She recognizes the scrawl,
It is as much him as him,
And hymn to her hurting heart.
You realize love too late,
She thinks, beyond the day-to-day
Bicker and fuss, we lost us-–
She sees her lover now,
In what is left undone–
The many things he touched
And with his touch, flourished,
They wilt now that he’s gone.
Yet, in her hands,
She holds his scribbled words:
Nineteen sixty three, nineteen sixty four–
And, it all comes back to her.
01 Monday Aug 2022
Posted in Poetry
29 Friday Jul 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Dad, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Fathers, Hope, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Survival, wolfhound, Wolfhounds
Some gifts are better than others,
The way I saw your heart extend
Into past memories of her—
Tears from your uncrying eyes—
Her loss was the one loss
That broke you like that,
Like that,
The sobbing unashamed.
And then, it’s as if we fast forward
The great movie of our lives together:
You’re dying,
I’m a middle-aged woman.
You give me a dog.
A wolfhound,
Like the one whose loss broke you
Way back then. Riagan. Riagan.
Whose eyes held our gaze,
Whose eyes sought to impart wisdom;
Perhaps, her eyes saw beyond this life,
To where you are now.
Wouldn’t it be something
If our lives are that special,
They continue forever,
Two points–three–an infinity of dots
On some great line that extends forever.
12 Tuesday Jul 2022
Posted in Poetry
19 Thursday May 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Fear, Fear of Death, Hope, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Promise, Quartzite Mt, Skunk Cabbage, Spirit, Spirits, spring poem, Survival, Truth, Yearning
No, I did not bend down too near
To smell the yellow flower
Which grew in weaving lines through
The swampy crack, the scraggly creek,
Creeping amid mid-high, mid-spring grass.
We were at the base of Quartzite Mountain,
Nestled behind a tiny ski town, ghost town,
When the skiers don’t ski, or snowboard,
Or venture icy roads to snow-topped peaks.
You said the clicking was cicada,
I said, cougar, because I’d seen a video
Of a cougar making a clicking-ticking sound,
And decided the next clicking-ticking
Behind a bush, or tree, or grassy knoll,
Would be a mountain lion. You see,
We will never know who was right,
Because we passed safely the miles up,
The miles back down the hill, to the creek,
With those most beautiful, yellow flowers;
You could see them recede into the woods,
Like mystery, like scattered crumbs,
Showing us the way to an unknown truth.
I followed them for awhile, alone,
While you stayed back, and packed the dog;
Those irresistible, extra steps along their path,
Like blazing torches, luminous, yes.
12 Thursday May 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Beauty, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Happiness, Hog Lake Falls, Hope, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, prairie smoke, Prayer, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spring, spring poem, Survival, The Universe, Truth, Yearning
Hog Lake Falls, a cool breeze,
One single, solitary swan.
I think I see him preening
From this vantage, far away.
Last time I hiked here, you’d just died,
And I thought, how lovely to know
I can bring you with me,
Free of the dying chair,
The dying bed, the whole dying room,
And house, where you’d locked yourself away.
Such days are ripe with feeling alive:
Prairie smoke droop their heads,
Their beautiful faces turned down,
As they wait for the kiss of a bee.
Then they will finally look up at the sky,
Say one last prayer, go to seed.
01 Friday Apr 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Alone, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Grief, Healing, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spring, Survival, Yearning
They say,
There are five stages to grief;
All, feel terrible;
Where’s the relief?
When can we expect
To accept the loss of being
Who we were together.
The knowing alone–
Is that it, the end;
Is it final?
Mending spirit,
Where are you now?
Are the returning birds
Too loud to hear?
The Sun, too bright
To see?
The wind, too cold
To feel you?
14 Monday Mar 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Belief, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Heaven, Hope, Infinite, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sacred, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Survival, The Universe
If there’s a heaven,
Who’s to say
It’s not right here,
Next to us,
Rather than far away?
Another dimension,
Our souls
Walk through at death,
More whole,
than in life.
Scientists say,
Our lives replay,
As we pass,
They can map
Our brain’s waves,
An almighty flash
Of memory cells,
Flashing.
What’s that about,
If not
Making us better?
And so
I talk to him,
In woods and fields,
My father,
Who loved woods
And mountaintops,
And me,
Less alone than before
He walked across,
Or flew across,
Or emerged across
The invisible line
Between life
And death,
The breadth of which,
Seems smaller
Than I knew before.
04 Tuesday Jan 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Courage, Death, Fall, Healing, Hope, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul Poetry, Strength, Survival, Truth, Winter poem, Yearning
You must admit,
a song of sadness
Is a decent song;
A song of rage,
The songs we banged to
In our younger age,
That made us stand
And raise our fists–
Is better yet.
The rage is gone.
Somedays, sadness, too,
And happy tunes
Are few.
Yet, sing we must
To shake the silent woods.
Our souls,
They still have much to say,
Of getting past, beyond,
The dull,
Diminished days.
02 Sunday Jan 2022
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Aging, Belief, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Fear of Death, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Survival, Winter poem
A fog over the snow-covered hills
Of the Palouse, loosed delineation
Of hill and road and sky,
It seemed an infinity of cloud,
A shroud, over our eyes,
As we returned from a ‘last visit,’
The one where we said ‘goodbye.’
A great chain is about to snap,
The ties that bind crackle,
Grow weak, tremble, cry:
This too shall pass, everything must die,
But at last, we don’t believe it’s true,
Do we? Life is all we’ve known,
And its roads extend for our ever,
And ‘our ever,’ doesn’t come to a tidy end,
But it does begin to blur at the edges.
01 Saturday Jan 2022
Tags
Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, New Year, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Survival, Yearning
The past,
And its happiness,
Sadness,
Must its minor role
Encompass,
As we seek renewal,
And move forward
Into the unknown
Abyss of a world
Made new by one day,
One day,
A New Year—
Think of it—
A chance,
A calling,
A maxim:
To start again.
Happy New Year, Friends everywhere!
29 Wednesday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Aging, Death, Family, Fathers, Forgiveness, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, Memory, My Dad, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Survival, Winter
“Weep for what little things could make them glad. Then for the house that is no more a house. (Directive, Robert Frost)
1.
The frosty backs of horses at the bale,
The red fence, framing the snow,
This is the beauty I found
In the extreme cold
of December.
And I remember
Wishing for it.
2.
Do you want to save this bird,
It was a falcon,
And it ran, with broken wing,
At the edge
Of a barbed wire fence.
He asked me, as he knew
I was a lover of wild things,
And a nurturer of broken wings.
I do, I said, I do.
Then, he was out of the car,
Walking among snow
And wounded bird.
I watched him from the backseat,
The car, I would someday wreck.
But that day, it was whole,
And we were whole,
And he returned, victorious,
Gloved hands,
Cradling broken bird.
3.
I don’t know why he gave it to her,
But she was in possession
Of his cowboy hat,
And she knew
I was the one who wanted it.
I was in possession of money,
And funny prankster that she was,
My sister knocked on my bedroom door.
She was having a yard sale in her room,
And I was invited to shop.
I can’t remember how much I spent,
But the hat became mine,
and I was wearing it.
He laughed when he saw me,
His big hat on my small head,
And heard the story of its quick journey
From her to me–
He’d given it to her for free–
But I didn’t care,
I wore that damn hat everywhere.
4.
Before I wrecked his car,
I slid his truck off an icy road
At two am, in a snowstorm.
I remember hiking to the first house,
And a man answered the door
In his underwear, staring dumbly
At me. I was desperate for a phone
To call my dad, praying he’d pick up,
Otherwise, I’d be stuck
With the undressed stranger.
He did, and soon my dad was sliding
down the dangerous hill,
In the car I’d soon wreck.
Next, he held his metal two-ton jack,
And ratcheted the truck up, and off,
And up and off, back
Onto the road, where the ice melted,
And the snow turned to rain,
And the sky filled with lightning,
But we survived, and now,
We can laugh at this story.
25 Saturday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Eternal, Hope, Infinite, Infinity, Life, Love, Multiverse, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Survival, The Universe, Unity
In his last days, he contemplates this:
In the multiverse, our universe,
In the universe, our galaxy,
In the galaxy, our solar system,
And in that, our planet,
Where you find us,
Small as we are,
Celebrating
What it means to be eternal,
To join the stars,
To become one with love,
Two points on a line,
That extend forever.
24 Saturday Jul 2021
Posted in Poetry
The universe told me
Our hands are empty,
They do not contain miracles
Or, even wise words.
Moment by moment,
Only moments,
The brokenness of hearts,
A temporary rise to our feet,
As if to help,
but we didn’t–Did we?
Because our hands are empty.
13 Sunday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Belief, Death, Death Poems, drought, Dying, God, Heat, Hope, Horse Poem, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Life, Loss, Love, Miracles, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Sacred, Sun, Survival, weeds
Drought year,
Everything is dying early.
We realize what is hearty,
And what is not.
Weeds, they multiply,
Even after we spray,
As if they know,
This is their time.
They sink taproots,
And suckle what is left
Of underground aquifers.
We’re breaking heat records in June;
The sweltering, unrelenting sun
Is just getting started.
How many trips to the barn,
Down this cackling road?
The day I saw the barn cat
Kill father Robin–
It was an ominous sign
For the foal.
And then I succumbed
To this hackling cough.
Death is a time for prayer,
Calling out
for whatever hope God can spare.
Cries sent, not into a dark night,
But a hideous brightness.
13 Sunday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear, Fear of Death, Hope, Horses, Life, Loss, Love, Miracles, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Souls, Survival, Yearning
When death gets a foothold,
You don’t know who it will take.
Souls grow heavy with guilt,
And the weight of silence.
Hope, a fragile light;
It fuels us.
Small, but mighty.
We wait for miracles;
They are fickle things,
Miracles.
24 Saturday Apr 2021
Tags
Children, Courage, Death, Family, Forgiveness, Generations, Hope, Life, Love, Marriage, Mothers, New Collection, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Strength, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning
It’s a wonder I’m here, progeny of lost souls,
orphans, abandoned wives, poverty & places
so uninhabitable, unsustainable—
Yet, I’m here, and the generations beyond me
refuse to wither, too.
When the earth begins to close,
there’s always just enough left
to sustain us. One small patch of grass,
free of weeds, or drought,
and just enough blue sky and sun.
We find that place, and stay long enough
to drag another survivor on.
23 Saturday Jan 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Ash, Beauty, Bird Poems, Bowl and Pitcher, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Healing, Hope, Life, Moss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa, River, Soul, Souls, Spokane, Spokane River, Strength, Suicide, Survival, Winter, Winter poem, Yearning
I wonder how many have plunged,
broken bodies against the steep,
unforgiving basalt, to flow far away
from the tether of this rocky outcrop.
There are worse places to die
than underneath a basking ponderosa,
on a glorious day in deep winter,
high, above the earth’s mucosa.
Here is heaven, its gods, the osprey and eagle;
they preside from piney thrones, regal,
and survey with indifferent contemplation;
from their perch, suffering is also celebration.
There are less noble ways to die,
than beneath the wings of geese.
See them glide peacefully
over the rapids of the Spokane,
rage of water in the ears,
shiver of blue sky, full sun.
Yet, if hopeless traveler made the steep climb
to this one, celestial throne:
its blood, a brilliant green moss,
its body, the bare, leafless skeleton of alumroot,
entreating with outstretched arms:
See, the promise of spring.
If they were to navigate loose rock,
on the treacherous path that leads here,
would it be enough to make them cling
to the rock wall in front of me,
this low, precarious barrier between?
13 Sunday Dec 2020
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Chaos, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Healing, Hope, Life, Loneliness, Loss, pandemic, Poem, Poems, Poetry, spike protein, Survival, vaccine
I lost my desire to rhyme
about the same time
plexiglass invaded our stores
and pimply clerks ordered
me to click the bleached pads
of dollars, exchanged for goods–
shoppers, too long locked up
and lonely, a kind of death usurped
a joy, usually reserved for spring,
and retuning things,
but the unknown lacks name,
and there’s no map through,
our hearts were confused
and there were no rhymes,
and no rhythm, because time
ceased to be the count count
of seconds, minutes, hours–
Remember, I said it,
it’s unknown, the future bits,
wrinkled, in those deep wrinkles
a hot iron can’t unwrinkle–
so we resigned ourselves
to the sloppiness of prose,
in uneven meter,
I mean, me,
I resigned myself to getting by,
and now I’m on the other side,
of a vaccine,
MRNA with a spike protein,
and I say inject it in these veins,
so I may return to living again,
a life, with enjambed rhymes,
with slant rhymes, NO, a life
with hard rhymes,
like strife,
and knife,
and happiness.
Bits of Poetry 