Ode to a Boulder

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I wish I could just bulge up out of no where

Geez you’re so gutsy

You don’t apologize for existing

Or taking up too much space

Wouldn’t that be nice

 Because I really do think you’re beautiful

With your crags full of resurrection and neon lichen

With your asymmetrical sides – one smooth  – arced  –

One harsh and steep

And I really do like you just the way you are

Found Poetry: In a Tree

It’s a burden to desire
– yet sweet –

to follow the trail of fantasy
– and yearn –

from my depths just pointing me to a shape in the distance
to follow a trail of choices
– and transcend –

an identity I think I know
to trickle past a forest funk
to find the gold and green surprise
to duck past flowers
and creep towards crickets
and float on my merry way
and marvel – confused, unknowing –
and discover my bubbling identity
a source – a spring – deep within
stitched from ambition and smoke
I found it by following the scent deep
into the throat
of the woods

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This is a poem made of “found words.” While other writers read poetry aloud, I wandered among them and wrote words that jumped out at me. From the list of random words, this poem was crafted.

Pollen makes my nose run for president

green pollen makes a haze in front of mountains

Photo: Jay Koeppel, cropped to emphasize the powdered green slime invading the valley

 

Pine Pollen,

You are yellow like mucous

                Insidious like bad ideas loudly stated over and

                        over until people take them as normal.

You sneak and leak into every pore and cranny.

Oh, pine pollen, you are magical

The way you sneak and creep

                 Into the tread of my bike tire

                        Into my bed at night

                                  Between my toes & up my nose

Why won’t you leave me alone?

You cling like a child

               You invade like a Hitchcock movie…what was it’s name …”The Birds?”

You make me cry

                 Make me question my fate

                        You’re worse than a presidential candidate.

Peaches

I found a new favorite poem for favorite life moments…

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From Blossoms, by Li Young Lee

From blossoms comes

this brown paper bag of peaches

we bought from the boy

at the bend in the road where

we turned toward signs painted Peaches.

 

From laden boughs, from hands

from sweet fellowship in the bins, 

comes nectar at the roadside,

succulent

peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,

comes the familiar dust of summer

dust we eat.

 

O, take what we love inside,

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then 

bite into

the round jubilance of peach.

 

There are days we live

as if death were nowhere 

in the background; from joy 

to joy to joy, from wing to wing, 

from blossom to blossom to 

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom. 

 

***

Aren’t we lucky?

Breakfast for Four

 

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The fluff of a muffin

… the tug of a crusty bagel

The squish of the cheese

the pop of a grape

The clink of a fork

on the flat of a plate.

It’s Saturday.

Four friends gather after day break

– two groggy, two ready –

It’s the heart of a family

a ritual meal

Tick tock clip clop

They move through the kitchen

– a clockwork machine –

They work together with rhythm

-from the cook to the clean-

and they don’t have to think

when one’s at the table; another’ at the sink

with food spread wide

the ladies recline

and they laugh at the gaffs of the week that has past.

The day stretches long

The coffee keeps pouring

– sun glows breeze blows –

And the magic of four makes a breakfast that goes and goes

and a friendship that grows

and a laughter that heals a week of woes.

Living far from family, many of us assemble our trust of friends who stand in and become the support and safe circle we need in the absence of family. Mine are the Western Women, who – when we all lived in the same state – gathered every Saturday morning for brunch. 

#sisterfriends #chosenfamily #simplepleasures

 

Drip

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She sits curled up with her feet tucked under

-a notebook on her knee-

Her hair wraps around her neck warms up

as the rain streams down outside.

Pen scribbles words, the dryer clicks and the

gold light fills the room

The day quiets down from a week that’s thick

with commitments and time and kids.

A friend might come if the rain calms down

But for now it obscures the mountains in the clouds

And she sits and she waits and she nibbles and sips

enjoys the hail and the drips that keep her inside

with a book and a beer and her jeans that are ripped

 

#stolenmoments #poetry #solitude