Let Words be Few

winter sun whitens
without uttering one word
seeded grasses’ tales

Cycle

Swan Jellyfish
Genus geopsychosis
Dwells in watery, cavernous fissures
Tenebrious and abysmally submerged
Among scars of geodynamic dross

Waiting for turbulent tides
To send it gliding through
Mirrored shafts hewn
Years of erosion refract and reflect
It’s venomous attraction so
Exquisitely arrayed

Rippled apparitions silently announce
It’s emergence at the surface to feed
It’s prey - oysters in penumbra
Stunted from lack of light
Beguiled into opening up for a
Sweet bouquet of plankton
Transported from below

Where, after dining sufficiently
It returns to proliferate

Adrift

sent adrift
slapped about
by furious fists of sea
beacon fades
emotions crest
obscure light is out of reach
faith plunges
into dark abyss
abandoning futility

dawn inflicts fog
beacon’s blurred
no tide to wash ashore
anger dissipates
indifference creeps in
efficacy’s left laying
on the ocean floor

Light You Up

photo found on the web

freedom and fame programmed at birth
taught to desire, but not self worth
put down for buckling under the heat
“suck it up, it gets tough on the street”

spark of anger ignites a flame
drawing desire to a mesmerizing game
to stand apart from the common mire
to fit in with the trendy hot fire

forging a world where losers are cool
idols imprisoned for breaking the rules
heroes demanding, lewd, and crude
success is loud arrogance with a ‘tude

heat of the fire brings life to a void
perishable warmth flares up annoyed
how long will it last before feeling the burn
numb propaganda bombards every turn

hey sister, look at your duplicity
equal “party” rights say “humiliate me”
do you really believe you can piss on a wall
light up so you can see how far you can fall


I really loved this poem by Laura Tattoo on Moineau en France.

Recycle

This weeks "Weekword" is "Recycle". Below is a story about my friend, Lynda, that I posted on Silk Creek Portal back in March of '08. When I hear the word "recycle", I think of Lynda, and this is why:

Since one of the themes of this blog this month is Women in Nature, I thought I'd write about my friend, Lynda and her garden. Lynda has been fighting breast cancer for about ten years now. When she first started on this journey, doctors told her that the odds of surviving this long weren't good. She is currently undergoing the last and harshest chemo treatment for her cancer. She was told that she would be on this one for the rest of her life. It's left her very tired and weak, with a low blood count and low kidney function. So, when she told me about her plans for this garden, I was surprised, but happy to hear it. It could be so easy for her to dismiss the idea as being too ambitious right now.

I drove to Beaumont this weekend to help her get it started. The place she plans to grow her vegetables is at her in-laws house. In the back there are 8 or 9 raised beds that have been overgrown with about three years worth of weeds and grass. While we were busy pulling weeds and turning the soil, I asked her, "what does this garden mean to you?" She said, "recycling." I asked her what she meant, and she started to tell me about her father-in-law, Spud. These were once his gardens. He built them about 20 years ago when he retired. He was very passionate about them, especially his strawberries. He worked in his garden when he was well into his eighties. Once, not long before he died, his doctor asked him if he ever suffered from shortness of breath on exertion. Spud said, "define exertion." The doctor said, "when you're going about your normal daily activities." This eighty something year old man told his doctor that sometimes after several trips of carrying 80 pound bags of sand to his garden, he would have to stop and rest for a minute. We should all have that problem when we're eighty. Anyway, Lynda said it made her sad to see these gardens that were once the pride of such an energetic man who was so full of life become so overgrown like this since his passing.

Spud passed away about 2 years ago, so being the nosy friend that I am, I wondered why is it now that Lynda wants to start these gardens back up again. I pried further, "so you're doing this as a memorial to Spud, or does it go deeper than that?" She thought about it, and then said, "this is what kept Spud alive after he retired." I said, "so if you have no work, you die?" She said, "yes." But, it was more than that, because she added, "I can't give up now, I have gardens to tend to."

She also has work to be done at the animal shelter, puppies to rescue, foster, and find homes for. She won volunteer of the year for her work with animals. I think that all of this is more than just work for her. She used the word "recycling". In this context, it makes me think of the cycle of life. This garden is an integral part of that cycle. In spite of the gloomy forecast that the doctors give, she continues to fill her life with life, and give back to life.

Lynda passed away in October of '09, and then my mom the following January. Many of my creative endeavors came to a hault, including gardening and blogging. Slowly though, I'm coming back around. Last October, I wrote this poem for her.



Lynda's Poem

You embellished my life
with the last five years of yours
Adorned it with stories
from your animal rescue adventures
while I cried on your shoulder
after losing mine
Bejeweled it with bead work
made from our treasure hunt bounty
while helping me blow dust off mine
Illuminated it with photographic treks
no one else had the patience to join
Enriched it with gardens
that renewed environmental wonder
and recycled life

Hours spent in unspoken mirth
or in epic laughter
We shared the same muse
Your diagnosis was terminal
yet you filled life
with life and gave it back
Until the last harvest moon

It’s been a year since then
My camera and beads have
once again gathered dust
But, an overgrown flower bed
outside my door whispered
It’s creator died years ago
A thorny rose stem among weeds
Tiny begonias hidden in the grass
told the story of her love
I thought of you and recycled it

In memory of you
I took a new photo
A huge white bloom
that only opens at night
While inside my house
a bird screeched
A rescue you’d fall in love with
Thank you

Simplicity

dormancy pervades
gray coated simplicity
Winter pond’s secret

This is for "Weekword", a weekly blogging challenge that I discovered on Mary's blog. The Haiku was inspired by hers. She went into a wonderfully in depth discussion of how difficult it is to attain simplicity. My photo probably doesn't seem simple, but for me, it represents the simple peacefulness I felt while taking it. That day at the arboretum, it was so quiet that it seemed like even the turtles were hibernating; like earlier that morning they squinted a sleepy eye at the gray clouded sky and said, "Yup, today is a good day to go back to bed." In contrast, below is complexity in winter colors.



Winter’s veneer hue
cloaks complexity within
strives for clarity

You can find many other blog posts on "Simplicity" by clicking on "Weekword" above.

Bridges

arching vines mirror
amber drifts cushion crossing
traversing dank murk

Fall bridges twisted woodland
in ravines of awareness