Friday’s Pick/Poem: September Segue into Courage

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This is for all the times
we have not done enough
of what we might have done;
for moments when
language dangles between us
as heroic swinging bridges,
devised but distrusted;
for nights and days when
the ominous and sacred
are neither well discerned or heeded.

We can still seek luminosity within
pockets of space and thought,
recruit hope from the morning’s song.
And act as if truth lives here,

our efforts reverting soul’s unease,

filling needs for mercy multiplied.

I write this for you when you think nothing else can be offered, slumbering in a cave of defeat.
It is for when plenty seems paucity
and we have forgotten there is always
a greater sum than failed or shrieking parts.

You ask, I ask, what can save us?
Is not the value in our moments of courage,
readying for receipt of what may come? It may be better; our raggedness knows nothing.

What unspools next may morph with creativity, cause our cells to dance eternal, counsel us to believe. In kindness. To help each other gather up, move to the warmth in the dark, closer.

So lift your eyes before you curse every broken thing imperiling or wounding your feet.
Look up, praise the greatness of your God

without end.

Do you think we strive, fail, dream, mourn alone?
This universe does not quit, it labors, it redesigns and recovers, it offers evidence of this such

blazing love

aflame for us.

 

Friday’s Pick/Poem: Sea Wisdom

This is a moment again

that must count for dignity

and delight, here now as wind sculpts wave,

sky and its clouds slink along mountain,

sand favors skin with reminders

of pleasure and ache, body-mind

singing and howling secretly

-life this perilous and sumptuous,

it can barely be spoken of-

as summered light sifts from earth

and heaven fleeting colors,

shifts the veil of infinity,

imbues you, you and you,

yes (drinking wild sea)

most fortunate you

Friday’s Pick/Poem: Bodies of Trees (for my father)

They glowed like sumptuous bodies

lazing along a horizon, curvaceous,

heartstrings stilled from neck to belly

as they awaited your hands.

Violins wounded and worn out

were lain on the table, spruce or willow

parted from maple, ebony fingerboard set aside.

Burnished by use, flame and curl of grainings

brightened in a small pool of yellow light.

I handed you tools that pried, filed, shaved,

smoothed, fragile curlicues falling,

glue pot bubbling its tangy stink.

Your voice pianissimo, calando, as always

now more so as you split, rejoined wood

tenderly, and through thickened air it all

spread to me, the longing for symmetry of beauty,

its promise of more, all emptiness resonant

with respect for wonder,

and deft measures of love.

Tonight I rest inside this poem, watch trees,

maples shaking leaves as percussion,

pines gathering notes of blue shadow,

willows draping skirts for dancing.

The crickets call me closer to twilight.

And I know you were not satisfied

with hours of exquisite work, nor

your good, honest music making

nor the lives of your children of whom

you knew far less yet expected much more

but I tell you these trees are yet singing,

a timbre of richness and strength of the wood

and it takes hold of me as sudden light in

this deep forest, its vibrancy a sound post

for spirit, life’s movements a vibration

I claim, hum, can sing in kind solitude.

They are made of every song you taught me

and every song I did not share.

The bodies of trees ever pull me,

a living offering of grace,

their sacrifices never forgotten

Monday’s Randomness/Poem: Hold On

This may appear all that is left

after the lifeblood’s power is sown

in places so needed, its source emptying, an echo

as your voice is thrown into midnight or dawn,

when everything that could take you to

the core of need and fear and desire and loss

has done so, then again done so deeper.

That is when to wait, to pause and gather

the lost bloom of your life, cradle it in hand,

feel its riffling curves, its dense symmetry

and memorize its lushness as the center of you

expands and you cannot deny

the ineffable joy

nor it, you

 

 

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem: Sea Drift

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Pacific Ocean, 9-17, Cynthia Guenther Richardson

Sea’s breath
cashmere mist
cooling veil
lain upon
the flaring fall
bumptious minds
good fortune’s reprieve:
drift into moon’s realm
chalice of evening star

sip
deeply