A Piece of Heaven

The Music Says It All. (Daehyun Park via Flickr)

I am longing for beauty and warmth ~

For color and sunlight on this dreary

White-skied day nine weeks from Spring ~

After the glory of multi-hued holiday

Decorations ~ this season of the year seems

Like a penance or a punishment ~

With no time off for good behavior ~

I have already braved the icy winds

Once ~ fighting to keep my umbrella

Turned right-side-out and my hat on ~

And now I watch with jaundiced eye

As icy rain smears itself across the panes ~

Ravel’s “Bolero” pours from the speakers ~

Impassioned notes that labor to dispel

The chill of this winter-dark afternoon ~

I sit up taller and unconsciously my body

Turns and yearns toward the source of

All that liquid beauty, those singing

Strings, the spear-like bursts of sound ~

From the bright gleaming brass, with

The underbeat of the drums throbbing

And urging me toward an end I do not

Comprehend but am quite unable to resist ~

And while the chords rush toward the final

Crescendo, my soul is ravished and on fire ~

In a consummation of beauty and music

And the words that cannot describe it

This side of heaven ~

Moments

Crescent Moon

The surface of the

Water dances ~

As the wind

Passes by ~

The sky is a

Brilliant blue ~

With tiny wisps

Of cloud ~

Palm trees rustle

In the slight

Cool breeze ~

A bright white

Contrail ~

More than the jet

That precedes it ~

Draws my eye

Upward ~

And in its wake

To my surprise ~

The merest hint

Of an infant

Crescent moon

Appears ~

How lovely ~

I sit in my chair

And gaze up to

The heavens ~

So still I feel, as

I contemplate

My part in this

Cosmic journey

Undertaken by

Us all ~

Filled with a peace

I have never

Felt before ~

At one with

The Universe ~

As I have never

Been before ~

But the moment

Passes and I am

Myself once more ~

Waiting for the

Next moment

Out of time ~

Charlotte (Snooki) Brontë Scandal Ends in Court

Charlotte (Snooki) Brontë

Wednesday, December 16, 1840. Here are the latest developments in the adventures of Snooki Bronte as she charts her willful course through the salons and ballrooms of polite society, head held high. The ladies put their heads together behind their fans, to whisper of rumors and sightings, while the gentlemen greet her with compliments, toasts and languishing glances.

This Reporter was in court to witness Miss Brontë’s appearance before the normally austere Judge Clarence Anthony Roberts, whose collar wilted as visibly as did his usually stern visage, as Snooki worked her feminine wiles upon him. Clad in a sober dark blue gown which nonetheless managed to cling to her form just a tad too faithfully, the Defendant appeared young, demure and fragile. Her abundant brown hair, caught up in a becoming style with wispy curls escaping, caught, too, the light and the avid eyes of the spectators gathered to watch the drama unfold. The crowd was warned by the Judge that excessive emotion would not be allowed!

Snooki, as she prefers to be addressed by friends, presented a picture of repentance as the numerous charges were read out. She expressed herself to be desirous of making reparation and of leading, in future, a life of sobriety and good works. She accepted Judge Roberts’s sentence to ‘acts of charity on behalf of the indigent’, with grace and a becoming humility, and thanked him prettily for the Court’s forbearance.

As part of the plea bargain arranged by her shrewd and obviously smitten attorney, Snooki will be accompanied on her outings for the next three months by a matron trained by the Bow Street Runners and currently in the employ of the Metropolitan Police. If this stipulation frets the suspiciously quiet Snooki, it does not show. One could almost be forgiven for thinking that some outrageous scheme lurks behind those limpid eyes, that enigmatic smile. I doubt she will leave us in suspense for long, and this Reporter will be the first to bring you word!

Following is a link to this Reporter’s earlier story: 

http://pacificmelody.wordpress.com/2011/02/02/charlotte-snooki-bronte-ditches-rehab-again/

For The Children In My Life

Christmas Tree

Christmas lights drape every window

Though there’s not a hint of snow

I could hear the church bells ringing

As I hung the mistletoe

Familiar songs play everywhere

And signs count down the shopping days

Santa’s enthroned in his big red chair

At the mall while elves fill up his sleigh

Even Ebenezer Scrooge would smile

To see the happy children’s faces

The reindeer will fly for many a mile

As through the night dear Santa races

Bringing stockings, gifts and Christmas joy

To fill the hearts of each girl and boy!

Because I Must

It Blooms Because It Must

I am opening myself, body, mind and heart, for the first time in days, no weeks, edging towards months, that the words have not flowed, and I have felt so cut off and so alone, away from the fire that has warmed my frozen bones ere now. Come back, I know you’re out there. I know you’re waiting for me, and the key which seems to be mislaid, to unlock the floodgates and let it all come swarming in again. I have been bereft without the passion that warms my blood and keeps my senses alive and questing. Ah, here it comes, I can feel the movement, feel the slumberous spell sloughing off in waves as it all begins to flow again, to move within my brain and heart and nudge the words loose, make space for all the new growth, the new ideas, the new moods and needs and desires and the total unwillingness to give in, to let what is be enough, when I know it never can be ~ not for me with all the questions racing still through my brain and my life, and I know the answers are out there. It’s just a matter of connecting the two and finding the perfect ones as the light burns ever brighter and closer and I race, I race, to keep up as the tempo surges and I must catch up, there are words I must hear, carried in the wind moving ever and always away from me. I must be very quick to hear them, with all their nuances and meanings, just for me. And the music pours over me like honey, this is right, this is perfect and meant to be from the time before time was measured in the tiny increments of hours, minutes, days, this is from a time when it was all beginning and a time that will never end and I will search and search for the elusive answers as I travel down this road which owns me and my tired feet. I will send you word when I am able . . .

City of Roses

Roses for my City of Roses

My apartment perches

Atop its tier of four

Where I look out into the

Treetops that surround me.

In winter when the branches

Are bare and sere and twin

In color to the leaden sky,

They still are beautiful to see.

The longest and the coldest

Of the three autumns I have

Passed here, the rainiest and

Grayest I have yet endured,

Will in the end be only water

For my City of Roses

Patterns

Me on my way out of town. Photo by Anastasia Koros

Tonight as I gazed into

My mirrored eyes

I saw in my reflection

The shape of my skull

Beneath the flesh, and

I saw the pattern

Of my life, and

Perceived the rhythm

Underlying the flow

Of my days.

Perhaps I have gained

A newer perspective

As the years have passed by

Or perhaps I have simply

Learned to recognize

The threads of the patterns,

But whichever way the truth lies

I will follow to the very end.

Deep in the night

The church bell tolls and

Someday it will toll for me

Autumn Again

Some of the leaves are a

Lip-pursing, sour-apple

Yellowy green, so tart

I can almost taste the

Sharp crisp bite as it

Implodes on my tongue,

Leaving my taste buds

Dazed and aroused and

Waiting for the next, almost

Painful, burst of flavor.

There are the trees with their

Leaves of red and orange,

Standing like flaming

Sentinels, spearing into

The blazing blue

Of the autumn sky.

Oh, how can I survive

Such burning beauty,

Season after season,

And not lose my hold

On reason, my sweet reason.

The smoke from the pyre

Of roasting leaves

Perfumes the air and

Brings back memories

From all the autumns

Of my days,

As I add another

Brightly-colored memory

To the story of my years.

Portland Pearl of the Pacific Northwest

Portland's Man In Pioneer Square With Umbrella

There’s something autumnal

In the air today, some scent

That wasn’t there yesterday.

The trees are beginning to

Show their true colors, as

Children return to their

Classrooms, clad in their

Own bright, fall hues.

It grew light later today, and

Will grow dark earlier tonight.

The sun will go wherever the

Sun goes in these autumn and

Winter months, taking with it

The warmth and the long dry

Days, and the rainy season

Will get under way. Umbrellas

Will open like flowers to the rain

And all true Portlanders will come

Home, like so many birds, to

Their evening roosts again.

Changed Forever

Ground Zero Towers

I hear the whisp’ring of the leaves

Rustling and murmuring to the breeze

As it ruffles their lacy branches.

The trees show no resistance

They bend and sway and

Dance in the arms of the wind.

I, too, have learned to bend and

Sway, and to do what I must to

Survive this brave new world, but

Sometimes when my heart is weary

And wond’ring what the future

Holds, I allow myself, just for a

Moment, to pause and remember

That day in September …