Wet With Rain

Wet With Rain
My heart mourns
the loss of words
once ribboned into poems
now empty – a clothesline
between two poles.

My throat lumps
at the muddle of notes
no longer giving voice
to windstorms or the sky
holding its breath.

My eyes mist over
the just-before-moonrise
when twilight offers its nakedness
on a purple breeze
and wild bergamot wet with rain.

And my lonely heart,
lost in a mulberry thicket,
longs for the night when the moon’s halo
no longer lingers, long and sweet
on your lips.

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January Thaw

Can it ever be too warm in January? Yesterday, it got close to 70 degrees in town. Really? It made striding a loop around Bamboo Brook Park a very comfortable no-brainer, and I even spotted two bluebirds – symbols of spring, happiness and transition. A nice thought, but I’m not ready to relinquish winter’s introspective and quiet beauty just yet. Today was not as warm, however we had the windows open in the studio. Some like hot – some not. I worry about  polar bears and polar poles’ rising temperatures and melting icebergs. Is it just about our expectations or is it about loss? Not quite sure. Snow in the forecast tomorrow.

~

no wolves howling last night their full moon lost in its lore

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It Helps To Remember

Good morning!

The garden is glorious. More so as
early clouds pearl the earthy color.
Hummingbirds, butterflies and all sorts
of winged and waddling critters
are hard at work on the Sage, Snapdragon and Angelica
that gently ripple and titter in conversation.

Such a poppy of delight! I do my best to savor
what we shared in the garden, and it helps to remember
that your hands and fairy blue eyes
also loved to caress the Calendula, Cleome, Rue
and sweet September mornings
such as this.

For Robin
September 2016

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January 30…

We often give very little consideration to those people who live toward the edge of our lives. They’re not part of our inner circle but orbit somewhere on the far circumference – so much so that we hardly pay attention to them until they disappear. Usually for me this means they move out of my figurative or literal neighborhood. When this happens, their presence comes into sharp focus because of their new or pending absence. It does not matter how little contact I really have with them – it’s always more than enough for some tearful grief.

 

news of her moving flashbacks to winter in fourth grade

 

ag ~ 2015

Mindful Writing ~ 2014:18

Yesterday our haiku circle on Facebook received the abrupt news that one of our fellow poets passed suddenly of natural causes.  It was as incredible as it was very sad.  She was a friendly, supportive and welcome voice in our haiku community that is close despite worldwide presence.  What was once a far-flung network now becomes implausibly narrow and closer with each loss of a distinct poet’s voice.  It’s happened before, albeit not as unexpected as this one, and will happen again and again.  When it does, despite life’s fragility, we can choose to remember all the beauty that poetry and a poet’s voice add to all our lives.

Rest in peace Kat.

winter shore
every once in a while
the tide tosses
the poet
a real keeper

ag ~ 2014

Mindful Writing ~ 2015:15

Space For The Pain.

Funny thing how the heart works.  And how the mind works to “protect” the heart from pain and in doing so – damages at the same time.  We fight against heartbreak even on the most simple levels, and yet in the healing of inevitable heartache, if we allow it, there is a new space – a space for the pain.  Not the searing knife-like spasms of grief, but the more nuanced pangs of loss and letting go.  The mind no longer fights the pain, and thus releases the need for an ever open wound.

“What you resist persists.”   “When you yield you heal.”

That’s what I mean by “space for the pain.”  The pain does not go away completely, however it is like a wise elder who nods with a knowing that it’s all part of the plan.  It’s all for the good.

spaciousness
nature’s window into
a knowing heart

ag ~ 2014

Crusty Ends ~ NaHaiWriMo #7

I have been missing my dear friend who passed into her next life this last September. I am still grieving through all the ‘firsts’ without her and wobbling between disbelief and blessed gratitude for all that we shared. Despite my desire to live in the present, I find my mind travelling and my heart following to our conversations at this time last year. Although failing physically, she was vibrant, wise and poetic. We shared a love of food as well as so many other things. We bonded over the sensual and earthy sharing of food, nature and beauty. Food for the body, mind and soul. Number seven haiku is for you Robin:

we share a crusty end
and the warmth
of bread souls

ag ~ 2013