Saturday, June 28, 2014

The Compromise




All around the roses grew,
their petals open and breathing bees,
the path zigzagged through
to him, benched under a tree.

He knew she was there
and patted the place
where Love held the chair,
though he was curtained
by layers of cascading doubts.

He laughed at her belief
in crossing barriers,
but some of the obstacles he built,
he released
so they could sit together
feeling the naked boards beneath their words,
wondering at the way the other thought,
for the meaning was all wrapped up
in little packages that lay at their feet.

While they sat together contemplating
what to do with all this treasure,
they learned something about each other,
for she was want to tear them open
and he to take his time.

So they sat on Love’s bench
with time ticking the roses closed,
while she learned patience
and he learned to trust.


Friday, June 20, 2014

Under the Mimosa Tree




She swept into summer
with her youth 
and her freckled sunlit arms
and she smiled
oh how she smiled

sliding was how it seemed
with long legs
and her slender dear waist
unaware of the shine
so displayed in her laugh

She didn’t care 
that the grass was damp
and the air sizzled heat
her shoes lay limp
and her toes wiggled in the air

To look up as she lay
was her delight
her elbows projected from her head
like pointed wings
as she saw her dreams dare

Love was an ever thing then
in the days of frills and sequins
she saw white lace and a plump baby
and was so tickled just to be
bare legged on the grass waiting

This tree is so soft she thought
her lashes feathering her view
‘til melding flowed the sky to peach
and her heart mellowed
and then fell like soft feathers
around her head 

She thought there would never be
another magic so fragrant
and she tried to capture its blooming
to press it for time

but the air grew chill
and the sky darkened
and her damp skirt clung to her 
and her flowing was diminished
for lasting she learned 
is only a minute
under the mimosa tree

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Memories



Come with me down this street
darling, you are my darling,
and we will notice the trees
heavy with oranges
and the flowering ones will exhale,
their heavy breath
will turn the grass pink.

Come and see
how the blue bird travels
across the ground
his eyes darting
with hunger,

and how the sun slants now
into the afternoon,
for spring is moving
and its blooming cracks
the hard caked soil
and spits out promises.

Turn to me
and see how I move,
as if spirit held me mirthful
and each step is measured
with the fragrance of cut grass.

I will not walk like this tomorrow
or see this burgeoning day,
nor will you look at me with that quick concern
that I know so well
that comes from years of reading gestures.

The language of love
dangles between us
so rare and perfect,
come with me now
darling, you are my darling,
for I will hold your hand
and listen to you weave your words
and we will be quiet
in the sunset,
that is a promise.






In lavender abandon
stretched toward the open road
these flowers of spring
these cascading wonders of color
expose their fragile elegance
as you pass and look
your dog leashed and eager

I see from the window
as you soften
your vision inhaling
the open petal invitation

Heel to the notion
I think to you
across the lawn
for this bloom is so transient
a velvet that succumbs to minutes
and through the dark and dangerous night
will not linger

Breathe it into reverence
though your tether is bounding
it is still
and in its blooming
cares not of mortal whim
and
it would make me smile



Listen this gentle house

Filled

The tile rings of wear
and surfaces ask repair

How the years have told
the children ringing still
down the hall across the floor
the laughter then the slam of door

Gone   gone

Watch the wooden chair rock
when I was just a lass of three
and my father’s lap was part of me
now it is filled with ghosts
remote and dusty

Feel the living room music
the rug rolled back
and socks on like skates
across the dip and swirl
of late I’ve missed the hold me close
and the songs within my gate

Songs ring me still   its true
and yet I love the love  the you
that fills this place
the embrace is here of years
and gentle house you keep the leak
pushing out the old and torn of wear
and the rain though falling
falls elsewhere

Listen this gentle house

Filled



Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Bend of Sky



Could I but go to bend of sky
see the things that sunrise brings
around the corner I would run
there bare shouldered dream with wings

Could a blooming backwards rose
grow from petals on the lawn
a breeze would take them to the face
and stick them there with dew of dawn

A child would know a wisdom song
an old man whimsy chase around
and ground would hold a crayon’s melt
as night moon glows a suntan brown

Love would surely stay with hands
that promised ever after
and trees would lay their branches down
for climbing faster laughter

Could I but go to bend of sky
see the things that sunrise brings
around the corner I would run
there bare shouldered dream with wings

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Under the Skirts of Palms



Under skirts of palms
my ears are full of the river
and the sound the ground breeze makes
combing the tall grasses

Looking under her skirt I see dancing
everything vibrates to her hark
the river the river a song
her skirt in sing a long
especially the rock
rising falling    calling rhyme
I hear it now distribute time

Gasping with bubbles
it percolates and rustles
as a woodpecker drums approval
leaded eyes cast into the depth of me
as I plead insanity

Under the cracked dirt
a river runs with weaving moss
the hungry mouths of babies
chase and gather found the squirm
I can hear them glee
that they have found a really worm

Singing lips so be it kind
I apologize
to the mother’s silver side
and the yellow blood of worms


Saturday, May 17, 2014

Barn Swallows

In the quite backroom
of a hundred small thoughts
nestled cozy under feathers soft
the answers and reasons are circled
holding onto each other
like the wind a tree



A small box opens
giving dimension to thought
and in fly these birds 






Saturday, May 10, 2014

Children Teach Their Mothers





Children teach their mothers
to gather pond reflections
and the opera of the sky in just one bird
when one small hand
rolls a bubble across the air
covered with a cloth of clouds
summer melon sweet
love becomes as simple
as sharp rocks and barefeet
and as enchanting as one toothless grin

Each breath like a current
now tracks the sounds left in time
minutes of milk-drained comfort
and musk-scented blankets
hair tatted to one finger
and the whole world at the same time
to keep safe by suckling

until one day a leaf is tasted and the tongue knows
there is more then jumping and falling
for there is mud and wind
and the danger of loving too much
or not enough