Pick a Posy

Pick a posy. Set the table
with mismatched china.
 Fold soft old napkins. 

Let wine leave stains
on white damask.

Let dropped petals 

lay until morning.

My five fingered acebia

latticed overhead
gives testimony -

you were here.

My favorite thing after a gathering is the morning after glow. Tears often fall at the memory from the evening before. I'm always grateful you actually came. Your essence stays. It is a gift. The reward.  

Daisy Paths

Bev gave Tessa a bridal shower. We looked out the window to their back yard and saw Jon, her husband, placing daisies face up all over the grass in a path to the still empty wicker chairs waiting for guests.

To Tessa, daisies represent uncomplicated, unsophisticated joy and happiness.

The daisies grow wild everywhere around here. They are free. They did take some thought and planning, some noticing, some investment, some time, and some follow through.

I think gifts like this bless the giver, the receiver, and those of us watching. The shower was sweet. Yummy food was heaped on the table, and gorgeous decorations were draped everywhere.

The gifts were thoughtful. There was intimacy. There were tears between young women who have been friends a long time.

But the daisies. Daisies made a mama and her daughter feel beloved.

It brought tears to my eyes. Jon and Bev have known Tessa for many years. They know she likes wild flowers and especially daisies. Our girls always said if we died, they wanted Jon and Bev to be their guardians.

Over the last few months, Tess more than once has said, "Man, I love that Jon Hatfield." Or, "I just love Bev, mom."

I'm grateful for good neighbors and good friends. And long history that says, "You matter, we are going to believe the best about each other and see this thing through till the end. And by the way - may I borrow a cup of butter or your staple gun?" Or, "We have an extra melon, could you use it?" Or, "Here, let us help you with that." Or, "Could we go biking or swimming or camping this weekend?"

The Crazy Neighbor Lady

The crazy neighbor lady
doesn't have twenty cats
but might as well have thirty
the way the carpet paths
between leaning book piles
look like they're shedding.

The crazy neighbor lady
doesn't keep her house
of chaos ordered well -
but she knows where
the sprinkles, paper
glue, and berry baskets are
for the neighbor girl
when she comes knocking
to play and do what she
calls ought which rhymes
with not, lot, and rot but is
really spelled a-r-t.
She goes, leaving glitter
behind, blessings left
to wink at me on the chair,
table, floor, and my hair.

The crazy neighbor lady
goes out early to
water flowers - and pick
a weed or two bottoms up -
with her uncombed
gray tresses flowing and
her loose breasts flapping
under a coffee stained
robe worn to shreds.

The crazy neighbor lady
garden walks in the golden,
guilt framed morning light
and lingers for a drunken
tete-a-tete with the blossoms
drinking dew straight from
the Master's still.


The crazy neighbor lady
scoops both cats off the
front porch swing, brings
a blanket and some tea - so
you may rest awhile
and beloved be.

First Day of the Week

I don't need a greeter

obligated by duty

handing me a bulletin -
proof positive
that visitors are

welcomed to this
inhospitable

business institution.

The microphoned

message is recorded, then 

podcast to the masses 

who don't listen. They
already know more about 

what's being taught

 than they know
 what to do with.

 It hurts my ears.

 I can't hear the voices

singing next to me 

because the music

 coming through speakers

drowns them out. It's like

a staged concert that

leaves the participants

stymied, mere spectators 

 confused about when

to repeat and repeat

words supposed to get

 the spirit roused enough 

to do some mighty work like

redecorate the sanctuary

or trade the empty pews

for comfy chairs. I don't

want forced to stand and

raise my hands by a worship 

minister who thinks that what

he's suggesting is the

best way to usher

our hearts into sacred

places.

I want to break bread

at my own table and pass

it to you - so you and the

person sitting next to you

have the chance to give and

receive from each other - 

maybe touch hands, 

whisper, smile, or

graze shoulders -

until it comes back

around to rest
 waiting empty
in the quiet middle.

I want to fill your glass
more than once
with sweet wine - 

tilting the sharp,
flat world
soft and round again.

I want to hear
why the tears fell last week
and listen while you share
 the blessings 

that rained down upon you 

in spite of them.

Let's gather round the piano

with the poet's smoldering pipe

smoke curling us together

as we sing four part harmony

into each other's lives.

Let's hold each other's

aching, full hearts tenderly -

and laugh at how futile it is 

to try to do anything
other than
be the beloved. 

Do It Outside

nap

eat

read

ride

- plein air

imagine

love

dream

sing

- plein air

watch

listen

whistle

hum

- plein air

harvest

gather

pick

dig

- plein air

fish

dive

swim

lay

- plein air

skip

jump

run

walk

- plein air

draw

weave

sew

knit

- plein air

breathe

swing

linger

fly

- plein air

Yes, I confess, a new french word just took my fancy.