Friday’s Poem: Moving Day

This is it, I think, the last walk to your door

and I pass ravens and horses and geese,

bears and fairies, tidy bright beings

that crowd the hedges waiting to be seen.

They are what you made them, vivid, simple,

creatures rendered of rocks, wood or plastic,

guardians of your ingenuity, vivacity.

Recycled bits and pieces that shone under your hand.

They mark your presence on the way to the house

soon to be emptied as you are moved elsewhere

 

from this place which gleams in light flowing from a

brittle blue sky, beauty a taunt and a poultice. 

It may be the last time I climb this rise in the land

to see you. I mean you, the one I’ve known all my life,

not the one you are becoming with your odd shyness

and vibration of fear and fatal gaps in conversation

memories loose and tangled like threads beneath

the great tapestry of your industrious, iridescent life.

 

I climb the five sienna red steps. You come after a

moment so long that I am deafened by 

sirens screaming toward some far-off disaster,

and clouds converge and bunch, then race over city

center until blueness has gone slate and I sense

the stealth fire invading our territory.

I am trying, pulling you closer as you blur 

like there are veils of smoke that have swallowed us

 

but I cannot save you. So I cross into your

netherworld, one sister welcoming another

with our arms still mighty and weighted with love,

heavy and sound like the heart of stone

you painted for me so long ago

 

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem: Gathering Here, There

May your quite simple or elegant repast

serve you well, shared at tables of hope

and warming cheer, of peace and forgiveness.

And may your soul’s good ease capture

a gift of delight, and voices free music, and your

hands hold gently all hands in widening circles.

And even if not so fine a thing as all this,

do not turn back, the longing falling away.

May you not regret each trying, and not

dismiss balm and beauty of care we are meant for,

but keep asking for power of Love to bless and

fill you long, long after candles burn down.

When you leave the table, you are not truly alone.

Remember this: that eternal flame glows for you.

Merry Christmas.

Saturday’s Passing Fancy: This Wintry House

DSCN1028

This sturdy house of seven,
how it gathered close snow and people,
the ice-light of winter a magic reveal;
how yellow circled thrumming life, a
collective heat of its dense center:
such music, affection, courage, prayer.

And she lept into the beauty of it,
dove into wide, steep snowbanks,
rode the glistening waves on her
Radio Flyer or creaky toboggan
which transported her to Alaska
or Antarctica, toward the edge of dreams.
On her tongue snow melted sweet-sharp,
water for the thirsty child
who could have been lost but was given
doorways to joy, exploratory powers to
forge freedom in December treks.

Oh, such dancing flakes sparked air, drifted
in tenderness to kiss her face,
wind sang out, trees waving bared arms;
her mittens and boots grew encrusted with snow,
feet were certain of their simple fate as she made her way.

This house with simple Christmas greetings
on door and porch goes blood deep,
felt like our hearts worn on our sleeves.

And I confess each year my spirit strengthens:

how the God of Love reaches to uphold us,
how the winters can rescue a woeful child
how wonders cannot be separated from the living
and those gone weave a music of their own

how Christmas still carries hope of peace,
a great promise of healing that cannot be undone,
a blessing of mercy folded ’round broken hearts,
how good will can reign when all else has fallen away

Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: Here We Go Again

close up of tea light candle against black background
Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com

So here we go again, a-swim in burgundy blood,
minuscule camera moved upstream into secrets,
the interior business of the engine of all.
The precocity of this act!
The magisterial powers of science and flesh,
the thrum of the vessel which
allows me enchantments by day and
freedoms by night–such privileges do I have.

My heart today matched my footsteps,
the trundling and climbing as the
fist-sized drum spoke of work and wear,
and small terrors and triumphs.
But it labored right, almost lightly, a gift.
My heart’s dense interior, inner sanctum
of a great house that bears my thinking,
doing and being, how it transforms into
a fortress of peace, rock of resolve.
It offers promises of loving and giving
for this small person, my passionate designs.

My simple devotion is to serve it well,
as it serves me even with remediation.
To uphold its intentions,
as it upholds me even when under fire.

So here we go again my genius companion,
tender ally, key to breath and bone,
sinew and pore, taskmaster and teacher
of wisdoms, stirred with rhythms, a symphony
weaving ache with ardor, this open heart
that sings of all I will not yet lay down.

Let us enter your temple once more;
let us bless and heal, reap more miracles

 

(My WordPress readers/friends: I was diagnosed with heart disease at 51, and have two stent implants that have worked beautifully for 15 years. Lately things has been a bit wonky so Monday I will once more undergo an angiogram, with a possible intervention. Thus, I may miss posting next week– but I intend on returning soon!)

How Can We Keep Them from Falling (for Thousand Oaks Victims and All Others)

Autumn leaves dodge the rage of this world,
descend in swirls, a tender confetti like
righteous flares of charity: a chance
for me to break full open to wonder.

An easy thing some days, thrills of nature,
yet it is innocence hard to save from terror,
to cherish as human lives fall faster, redder,
farther, erased in ways that cannot be forgiven.

Yet still leaves release from high perches,
and grace my passing, whispers of mercy,
a breath passing one from another and
to me as I weep without making a sound,
and kneel at their blazing, frail beauty
and loosen and strew my heart among them

and call into stillness

oh
stay

Photos by Cynthia Guenther Richardson