Life Cycles

For Carolyn Sue on her birthday.

Sitting on the floor as sun spills golden
through the green, green leaves, puppy emboldened
brings her scrumptious bone and chews by my side
then chases tail. Exuberance provides

the path to rejuvenation
grief and sorrow detonation

I am opened wide before this display
antics, mischief, a desire to play

The need for qualifications release
let experts drone, opine. I am at peace
with wisdom carved from my own conscious breath
greet certainties of life: sun, stars and death.

Inspired by: Scrumptious, Detonate, Rejuvenate, Before and a puppy who is helping me today on my deceased mother’s birthday.

Featured image: After I texted my pup’s former owners with an update, she cuddled with this pink blankie she’s had since she was tiny. Before that, she posed (below).

First Grade Snafu

The abysmal ratio of teachers
one for over twenty first graders, each
child needy, lost, bored with the pace, subjects
confined and unattended, anchorless

all of his grief bottled up, the snafu
apparent in school: not enough staff who
watch over the classrooms. He’s singled out
as most egregious but I winkle out

the common theme. And so strategically
I bring wisdom to first grade so that he
under my guiding eye succeeds. Alas,
the covetous eyes of the kids in class

crave my attention, too. I glance and smile
and hug when they run up and all the while
I’m sending waves of balance through the field
the patient grounding we grandmothers wield.

Inspired by: Snafu, Covetous, Strategic, Bottle and recent visits to my grandson’s classroom.

Featured image: artwork by my six-year-old grandson. Oh, the passion with which he wielded his blue crayons!

When I Think of Purple

Your love is the promise that guides me
All of the days of my life~Dan Fogelberg

While she could still speak, I dressed my dying
mother in my new purple shirt, crying
silent tears. Combed her silver hair, face cream
and lip gloss and she called us all, agleam

a tiny voice to contradict death’s claim
and rekindle the spark of life, grand dame
so beautiful and filled with this fierce light
her final I love you‘s still ringing bright

Inspired by: Purple, Contradict and Rekindle.

Featured image: A purple iris from my mother’s garden.

I’d Best Be On My Way

And an aching in my heart…~Gordon Lightfoot

In the early morning rain, shy wren raves
big personality on the airwaves
I join–spontaneity to sit, drips
with goosebump chills. The corrigible slips

by sly and buttery through my grip. How
I hanker to improve my lot, avow
under this overcast gray mist, persist
in magical thinking, pathos dismiss.

Inspired by: Corrigible, Personality, Buttery and Spontaneity.

And this gorgeous Eva Cassidy cover of one of my favorite songs, Early Morning Rain.

Featured image: Carolina Wren by Chris F on pexels.

According to Brittanica, magical thinking is the belief that one’s ideas, thoughts, actions, words, or use of symbols can influence the course of events in the material world. Magical thinking presumes a causal link between one’s inner, personal experience and the external physical world.” Hmmm. They give you pills to stop this. Sounds like a definition of oppression to me.

The Circle of Life

The sky is crying. Look at the tears roll down the street.~Elmore James

Beneath my balcony ciphers conflate
tempt passersby to pause, puzzle, translate.
Their passion for this part-time work brings ire.
The walkers pull, cajole. The dogs conspire

to linger, sniff excitedly, intent
alive delightedly I am present.

The skies that cried with me last night engorged
heartbreak my loved one’s passing has discharged

to weep is not a solecism. Grief
and I take over skies for heart’s relief

The pressure from the barometric weight
teeth-grinding ache, striking, it bombilates
in hidden layers like the scents below
and I must sit and balance this inflow.

Inspired by: Solecism, Striking, Passion and Part Time. In memory of Mary Lou.

Here On The New Shore

Last summer each move watched with accusing
eyes, shaming my bare feet grounding, choosing
to aim the swell of denial my way.
In the crush I grew flabby, couldn’t say

my truth. I had to loose my grip and slip
into grief’s depths alone, a trip
that brings me to now’s shore of summer, strong
and gaining muscle as I right the wrongs.

Rooted at last my heart where I belong
at home and finally trusting my song
I question all the tenets I’ve been taught
discard the menace that false premise wrought.

I take this robin’s song person-ally.
My feathered messengers exalt these trees.
We breathe in tune. Petwalkers wave. I smile,
creating harmony, a life worthwhile.

Inspired by: Swell, Crush, Shaming, Flabby and the insights from a year of grief.

Caught In The Web

At sunrise I create life: cool breeze
patting green leaves to subtle symphonies
tweeted and cackled and chirped whistling
the golden light spills through trees glistening

a red-eared slider claims indigenous
rights, climbs through pond muck, slow diligence
to rest near a car tire. I endeavor
to watch and warn the beings who never

see the fluttering of wings caught sticky
in the perfect weft. Appearance tricky
impossible to capture with my lens
ambrosial essence of dawn depends

on this sweet intent to breathe. I arrive
beyond my first year of grief still alive.

Inspired by: Essence, Ambrosial, Endeavor and Indigenous

Singing Morning

The thick chilled air brings a hint of lilac
fresh tang robin-sung misty morning feedback
sequestered by archaic bonds boxed in
falling tears and broken-hearted topspin

hitting the net and out of play until
at last the ancient tale losing its thrill
I question every weighted word, sing
a new spell, bird-led, captivating spring.

Inspired by Tear and Archaic.