The Greening

A lovely Spring
Foams onto the horizon
Where it shimmers
For a brief few weeks
Before disappearing
As quickly as it came

It leaves in its place
An embarrassment almost
Of greenery and a palette
Full of summer blooms
So achingly beautiful that
I can hardly bear it

I have wondered often if
A person can die of
Too much joy ~ simply
Overload and expire of
Ecstasy at the beauty and
The mystery of it all

I give my arm a gentle pinch
Only to find that I’m still here
Relief and disappointment
Mingle but here I am where I
Should be and I give myself to
The miracle of this Spring day

Only An Illusion?

I was noticing a scratch on a piece of furniture when an old memory surfaced. It was of a story I’d read many years ago, written, I believe, by a Unity minister. The details may not be exact but the gist is close enough.

She told of visiting a dear friend who was not easily able to get out. It was a pleasure to come to her home, which always seemed filled with interesting and lovely objects, everything shining with a patina of polish and loving care. And over all, the lady spread her mantle of charm and gracious welcome. Her invitations were sought and prized, and her guests uniformly left her with reluctance – and happy memories.

And it came to pass that the friend died. The minister had been left a small bequest – a painting she had once admired – and on impulse had gone to the home, where she knew the lady’s sister would be sorting through her things. She wanted to visit once more the place of which she had such fond memories.

It came as a surprise to her when she walked in, that the rooms were not at all as she recalled. Everything was shabby and a little worn. The paint was peeling, the upholstery faded. The pretty little shepherdesses and their swains, the lovely china plates, all were revealed in the harsh light to be inexpensive souvenirs. It seems the lady had imbued her modest possessions with the grace and beauty of her inner being, so that everything and everyone around her, became a little finer through being in her company.

As an epitaph, you couldn’t do much better. Fitting words for a life well lived.

(Originally published March 23, 2014)

Evidence

Owl feathers and three

Drops of blood stain the pristine

Surface of the snow

(Originally published November 8, 2013)

Lineage

The stars are our ancestors ~
Inside each one of us
Is the same matter ~ once
Contained in the heart of
A crucible of unimaginable
Beauty and unending flame ~

We are here now ~ as we
Obviously are meant to be ~
Called forward out of
The inevitability of creation ~
The message and the memory
Of our fiery beginnings ~
So deeply graven into
The very fabric of our beings ~
That we instinctively recognize
Our kinship to those distant
Twinkling points of light ~

No wonder early humans
Worshipped stars and
Thought them gods ~

(Originally published December 12, 2011)

The Gift of Love

We plunder the landscapes

Of each other’s bodies ~

As if in search

Of buried treasure ~

Greedy and aflame with passion ~

We strain to be closer

And then closer still ~

That shimmering horizon

Surely is within our reach ~

And there in that too-brief

Transcendant moment ~

We glimpse what beauty

There could truly be ~

In living every moment

In this lovely and exalted state ~

Unable to sustain for long this

Breathless level of existence ~

Inevitably we fall back into

Our accustomed lives ~

But not without the gift of grace ~

Granted to those

Who make the journey ~

(Originally published January 19, 2011)

How Can I Fight Her?

Is this forever lost to me now
This stirring of my senses
A one last reaching out for
Love and for companionship

You see the frost upon the
Branches but you cannot see
That underneath the ground
The roots are vital and alive

Inside myself I am still strong
Creative passionate and wise
I forget how the years have
Left their mark upon me

Why would I think that he might
Choose me when she has her
Youth and her blazing blue eyes
And skin like ivory cream silk

She has one more big strike
Against her from my point of view
She is kind and not just when
It might be noticed and remarked

My womb will never fill another
Cradle while hers could fill his home
I must face facts I’ve done the
Job of Devil’s Advocate too well

I will fade slowly from the picture
Unavailable or double booked
Soon it will not be worth the time and
Eventually they will not think of me

But I will think of them

(The lovely young lady above is a typical Russian Slavic beauty)

So Beauty Dies

Isn’t it wonderful to live in a world
Where so many things exist
Only to be beautiful ~ for no matter
How brief a period of time ~ just
To be admired

Perhaps part of beauty’s allure
Is knowing that ~ no matter how
We cling and plead for one more hour
We have always known that beauty
Cannot stay

What if the human race is just
Another thing of beauty on the
Chopping block of life this time
What if we have finally outstayed
Our welcome

Lenten Rose

Sheltering among the shy
Hellebore blooms ~
In a time that was not yet spring ~
And yet not winter either ~
I knelt and looked into the
Faces of the flowers ~

They were turning their
Beauty away from the sun ~
As I had not seen others
Of their kind do ~
And I was thereupon intrigued ~

I found that Hellebores are
Also called the Lenten Rose ~
One of the earliest promises
That spring will come again ~
Made in a language each one
Of us can understand ~

Spoiler Alert! Raw Grief Ahead

They are burning his
Beautiful body today ~

The fact that he is gone
And no longer using it ~
And that it was his wish ~
Does nothing to blur
The pain of knowing ~ that
I will never touch him again ~

Never hear that familiar
Laugh ~ or see him flash
That irresistible grin ~
All that bright beauty ~
Reduced to bits of
Bone and ash ~

His voice is quieted ~
His generous heart
And hands are stilled ~
A part of me rejoices
At his transition ~ his
Graduation to the big time ~

But part of me cannot
Believe he’s gone ~
I am bereft that I must live
In a world without him ~

And while I fight my way
Through to acceptance ~
I pray for strength
To carry on ~

(In loving memory of a truly remarkable and unforgettable friend, gone too soon)

At the Pleasure of the King

The chill of
The early morning air
Is a shock to my senses ~
After the warmth
Of the day before ~

The mist is rising
Slowly ~ into the
Leafy canopy above ~
The trees murmur quietly
Among themselves ~
While underneath
Their stern impartiality
And sheltering branches ~
The futures of nations
Are decided ~

As are our own fates
It would appear ~
Swept up in the
Wake of this long
And bloody war ~
Whether we will it
Or no ~

For kings decree ~
And knights will
Fight ~ and yeomen
Die ~ and peasants
And their crops
Will be safe
From none ~

And I will lose my
Beauty ~ and you
Your youth ~ and maybe
A limb or an eye ~
[God save the King!] ~

And Gods keep the
Kings ~ and all their
Princes ~
Far away from us ~

For mortal men enmesh
Themselves in the affairs
Of Kings ~ at mortal peril
To their safety and their
Peace of mind ~

(Originally published July 24, 2013)