Ginkgo Leaf Study

Oh Ginkgo - 

where does 

color 

ink

lead 

go? 

Any Apron Will Do

Did the mother
try to shush
her little boy pointing
and proclaiming
truth about
the exposed
private parts
of the Emperor?

Perhaps she hurriedly
took off her apron
and tossed it
over the naked paunch
parading proud - oblivious
to his pathetic
condition?

Did she take her son
home by the hand
ignoring
the infuriated
mob directing its
anger at him instead
of the crooks who
imagined an easy
fortune?

Did she reward his
guilelessness by
making another
apron just in case
destiny provided
another opportune time
for him to exercise his
not so little voice?

Saved By It

I only give myself
ten minutes

timed

to curl up under
the covers
wipe my nose
swipe at tears
before the timer
goes off
putting a stop
to indulgent grief
that if left to itself
has enough
momentum to
snowball
uphill.

Kathleen Norris
reminds me how
acedia and ennui
can be disarmed by
quotidian mysteries.
I'm grateful for clean
warm towels to fold
and hot sudsy dish
water.

Enlarge My Heart

Whiners stuck out
in the desert eating
heaven sent manna
without garlic and onions
gave murmuring a bad
connotation.

When my heart murmurs
atypical it comes out
my mouth and throat - a mixture
of sounds between a moan, a groan
and a gasping whisper.

Tonight we stopped on the side
of the freeway to watch a
rare blackbird murmuration
against a peachy mauve
sunset. I  kept
murmuring as six perfect heart
shapes folded back
upon themselves, blanket like
in silhouette one after the
other. Each one laid on
it's side, stretching.  One
had the feisty tail
of a kite
complete with three bows.
I do have a human witness
who is unfamiliar with
embellishment.

Lover divine,
I would have been
overjoyed with a small
display. Or one heart.

I do love it
when you overdo it,
but take care -- I'm human --
an overdose could
overstimulate the meager
capacity of my heart.

Intimate Irony

The Eagles' song -
Too Busy Being Fabulous
gave context for gentle prodding
and spiritual direction. "Be at ease
living with irony," he said.

You have never been
too busy being fabulous.
Thank you, Loverby.

Ironically, this makes
you fabulous.







History of the Eagles streaming on Netflix prompted this.  Earl Palmer encouraged us to be comfortable
living with irony. I keep trying to place it, recognize it, notice it….. and find a context so I will learn.

Eat the Props

Will it always be this way?

I see the hand thrown
pottery framed in a
vignette - full pitcher,
waiting goblet, and plate
holding artisan bread
with a perfect crust
curling away from its
maker's mark. All this
rests stylized to the side
of the stage on a white
starched linen table cloth
covering a rustic round
table.

Will it always be this way?

I'm pleased to imagine
these are the very utensils
and ingredients we will
use as sacraments for
communing
one with the other.

Will it always be this way?

The silver trays full of quivering
plastic cups filled
with the perfect amount
of Welch's grape juice passes
down my isle. I take one, feeling
tricked. I pick up a broken soda
cracker, unsalted to fake it better.

Will it always be this way?

I want to stand up and point
at the forgotten accoutrements of
sacred remembrance and symbols
of poetry staying untouched -
merely props used on stage.
I feel a fierce urge to rip the table
cloth out from under the mockery
and shout -- I want some of this. 

Pilgrim, Pilgrim

When said twice
your name
becomes
double sweet --
a carte de tendre, 
a path of love --
like Martha, Martha. 

Pilgrim, pilgrim,
appear off the page
appear off the screen
appear off line
appear as a host
appear as a friend
appear as you really are.

I am an earthbound pilgrim
and hear it double sweet
without contempt for lowly,
unlikely pilgrimages.

To be a pilgrim
rather than to appear
to be a pilgrim is how
I hear the repeated,
affectionate affirmation.

The Comfort of Carmelized Crust

Heat sears crust
edges dark. It might
have gone badly -- but
caramelized crunch
sweetened the deal by
interrupting destruction's
efforts to leave burned,
blackened ruin.

Edges curl back
revealing tender
crumbs of mercy.

Pilgrim, pilgrim,
scatter them when you
must find your way back.

Proverbial Sweet Night

There are three things which are too wonderful for me, no, four which I do not understand: The way of an eagle in the sky, The way of a serpent on a rock, The way of a ship in the middle of the sea, And the way of a man with a maid. Proverbs 30:19 

 I must add a fifth.
The way of Linford's
hands upon piano keys.
I weep because it feels 
the same when God 
plays me. 

And a sixth.
The way honey escapes
honeycomb's wax cap.
Is it beads of honeyed tears 
or beaded honey sweat?

And also a seventh.
The way honeyed music
weeps and sweats.
It escapes ivory keyboard
confines, floods the black stage
floor, and oozes thick
and slow over the edge.   





Yes. Do buy Over the Rhine's new Christmas Album - Blood Oranges in the Snow. 
My favorite is Let It Fall. Find a hanky. Honey and tears heal…… 

Their concerts are warm and hospitable. We can't wait for them to return to Seattle next year. 

Snookered By The Business of Poetry

Should I separate
wax and honey from
the comb to embalm
the black feather and entomb
the golden spoon?

Bee keeping lore says
corpses covered in honey
kept preserved without
a stench until buried.

Old blind Huber mentions
intruding rats stung dead -
encased harmless in wax
by vigilant bees guarding the hive.

I scour away the honey puddled
on my table like amber weeping
from wooden wounds.

I puzzle over toast crumbs
picked up and pressed into the tip
of my middle finger.