Wounded Jaguar

worldwildlife.org

The wounded jaguar came when I was dreaming

and lay beside my bed with bloodied paw.

The jaguar's eyes were wild and dark and gleaming,

and mine were open wide with breathless awe.

Jaguar lay beside my bed with bloodied paw.

Traveling through dream-time,we met a shaman.

My eyes were open wide with breathless awe

at  leopard, jungle wild, I, just a layman.

Traveling through dream-time, we met a shaman.

When  his gaze beheld the jaguar's wound, it healed.

The leopard, jungle wild, I, just a layman,

yet the secret of healing wounds had been revealed.

When his gaze beheld the jaguar's wound, it healed.

The jaguar's eyes were wild and dark and gleaming.

The secret of healing wounds had been revealed,

because the wounded jaguar came when I was dreaming.

A pantoum. Just because.

Princess Bride

This photo by Nina Green Photography

The rest are mine, other than those credited.

My beautiful granddaughter, Ali, on her wedding day. 

She loves the forest as much as I do, 

and Brian proposed to her in the forest.

Before the ceremony

I fell in love with this tree.

I believe it was mutual.

The groom's parents' back yard was such

a beautiful setting - magical.

It was decorated like a fairyland.

My beautiful daughter, Lisa,

Mother of the bride and

Matron of Honor

Grandson Tyler

Grandson Josh

Grandson Caleb

Ali's son Damian, my great-grandson

I suppose I'm to blame for

the size of this clan, LOL!

Sister Lori

The girls

The guys

Adorable flower girls

Tyler walked his sister down the aisle

[Nina Green Photography photo]

Ali, trying not to cackle

All my fault, she told me later. LOL.

A new little family, joining together

                                     

Mr and Mrs Chase and Damian

                                     

The Wedding Party

Ali and Damian Selfie

Family Dance

Brian, the Protector

The Tables

The Dancing

This tree was Feeling the Love!

Grandmother Moon, sending us 

some magical moondust

It was wonderful, kids. Ali had planned and decorated down to the last detail and she said it was exactly the way she wanted it to be. A golden keepsake for the memory banks. I am completely thrilled, and wish the young couple a joyous journey of discovery. May laughter ride along in their chest pockets!

NO TURNING BACK

On the path of transformation
there is no turning back :
autumn turns to winter,

middle-aged to old,

every step and every moment

moving us forward.

We carry nostalgia

for the times that are no more,

resistance to the speed

rushing us through

our shortening days.

The secret is to let go 

like the last leaf

on the fat old oak

and drift dreamily through 

the present moment,

Knowing that above all, 

around all, 

beyond all,

all is as it is meant to be.

We wander through our days

wrapped all in beauty.

The moon will be waxing 

half-full tonight.

Listen for Wild Woman's howl.

One from 2011 today, kids. Posting it for Poets United's Poetry Pantry tomorrow morning Check it out for a lot of good reading. Am busy with my granddaughter's wedding, which is going to be magical and wonderful. Will take lots of photos to share with you.

Morning Smile

source: Photo by Christine Kasmerski

Anyone know what kind of hummingbird this is?

Someone has a sweet tooth!

Ashes and Bark

manataka.org

I spread your ashes

in the bark-bowl of an old tree,

fire's embers red-hot, sizzling,

the last of your radiant beauty 

aflame against black night.

Coyote Woman prays, voice and drum,

at the river, asking it to flow,

serene as a dream of atonement,

its song teaching us what it is

to give, to forgive,

and to finally let go.

For Words Count With Mama Zen: to use the list words and write a poem of 60 words or less. I used bark / ashes / to flow / fire / black / old / what / to give. My poem is  60  words, counting hyphenated words as one word. 

A Smile From My Father

I closed the book on those early chapters,
since aging is about embracing what was,
letting go of what wasn't.
But I remember how you loved to tell jokes,
acting them out, making us wait, grinning, 
for the killer punchlines.

I got my love of music from you.
You played a mean sax, a mellow alto clarinet. 
When the band got grooving,
towards midnight, my mom said 
the walls and floors themselves
thumped and wavered with the beat.

Sometimes you'd get me up in the middle of the night
to sing and dance for your friends.
I'd do a song, a self-taught, shuffle-ball-change,
in my ratty old plaid bathrobe,
bow to the applause,
go back to bed,  face shining,
feeling like a star.
I would be discovered!
Just a matter of time.

I remember after you died,
when I was just fourteen,
I was standing in the aisle 
of Long's Drug Store, up at Capri,
and oddly, there you were, incomprehensibly,
behind the lunch counter, 
with the waitresses.
Impossible that there would be 
another man who looked exactly like you, 
wearing your clothes,
looking at me, and smiling.

I turned away,
because...it couldn't be you.
Could it?

And now I know it was.
You peeked in on me
to make sure I was all right,
offering your unspoken love
through your smile
from the other world.

- a little late for Father's Day, but here it is.

The Mad Sun

by RealTDragon

The mad sun rides the heavens like a cyclops,

scorching all with his glare.

Grass turns brown and crunchy.

Wildfires  incinerate  the hills.

The water tables run alarmingly low.

And it is only June.

Somehow late-summer 

has come too soon.

for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Entering Summer

Here in the valley we are breaking all records for "hottest spring on record", "lower water table than has ever been recorded this early in the season", "the entire provincial annual budget for fighting wildfires has already been used up." It is a huge concern. Yet all we can do is move forward into the days and weeks, and try to stay out of the sun.

Summer

uswateralliance.org

Seven summer sparrows

sit upon the lawn,

having a sprinkler tea party

before the day is gone.

The dog days of summer 

- three fat dogs on their backs -

paws waving at the sky

as in the heat they bask.

The squash leaves, they are climbing

but the squash aren't here to stay.

Soon they'll roll right out the garden gate

and make their getaway.

The grass is brown and crispy

and it is only June.

It seems with global warming,

mid-summer has come too soon.

Sun rides the sky with a merciless eye

like a cyclops on the wing:

the heat, wildfires, the threat of drought - 
what will this summer bring?

A Wedding In the Garden

*photo credit

There is going to be a wedding in the garden
this morning,

Mother Earth, the patient bride,

awaiting fickle Sky-groom,

fair-weather friend.

He is dawdling,

arranging his clouds just so,

to look his best.

He can be seen casting glances

at neighboring planets.

The groomsmen look at each other

and shake their heads.

The bride is resplendent in her grass-green gown,

dotted with magenta rhododendrons.

 Her cascading waterfall tresses
roll bountifully down,
and an exaltation of skylarks
cavort about her head and shoulders,
joyously singing.

Birds just love a good wedding.

Wild bunnies peep, big-eyed, 
from under the floral garlands.
A mama deer and her fawn attend
but at a distance, out in the pasture.

The bride's attendants are covered

with pink and purple blossoms.

The trees stand tall in their tuxedos,

sporting a carnation in every lapel.
From every bough,

a collective of assorted yard birds 
warble a clarion call
to the assembled guests~

joy on a summer morning.

Sunflowers and weeping willow

line the aisle with splendor.

Mother Earth approaches,
carrying  pink luscious peonies,

smiling a tremulous smile,

faintly tinged with tears.

She is softened and sweet,
 with an attitude 
of wistful hopefulness

against the inner fear
she does not wish to see:

her groom is changeable,
can burn or freeze her at will.
Nevertheless,
she is dressed in her best,
lets her heart do the rest.
She steps forth with head held high,
into the moment.

The only time for love,
my friends,

is Now. 

Happy Solstice, kids! Mother Earth is putting on a wedding of blooms and beauty this summer morning, just for us. Drink it all in. I am posting this for Poets United's Poetry Pantry, where there is always a rich feast of poetry on Sunday mornings.

WHEN YOU LOVE A WILD THING

When you love a wild thing,
you're rekindling your kinship
with the wild.

Every cell in your body remembers
when you once lived free upon the land,
when you lived the Old Ways
we once used to understand.

Part of you remembers
when you hunted the deer,
and part remembers when you were
the deer being hunted.
Both sides know fear.

The part of you that
catches your breath
while your heart quickens,
when that old grey whale
turns her ancient eye on you,
is the part that recognizes,
but can't put words to,
the message in her mournful song,
about this planetary home
where we all belong.

I gave my heart to a wolf-pup,
his eyes intelligent and true.
He loved me more
than anyone I ever knew.

He remained wild,
but left both wilderness and sea.
In order to be with me
he relinquished
being free.

And when it came
his time to leave,
he tried so hard to stay.
Since he's been gone,
it's like the wilderness itself
has gone away.

Now when I walk,
yes, I'm looking at the sky.
I'm listening
at each full moon
for his lonely cry.

I walk the length
of his favorite river
with tears that we're apart.
But I'm glad
I loved a wild thing
because he fortified
my heart.

from July, 2011. Thinking of my boy these days. And homesick for the sea.

Pictures of a Big Black Laughing Dog

Gamboling along a happy beach,

lolloping in and out of the waves with a loopy grin

lying far out on the shore at sunset

watching the colours fade

running ahead through the forest,

then looping back to check I was still there

his eyes following me everywhere

his footsteps padding beside me

his big head  resting against my knee

his nose on the edge of my bed every morning

his whuff of greeting

his big delirious grin

him standing on his hind legs to hug me 

on my return from being away

his face peering at me 

from the depths of a snowbank

So many moments captured,

against his being gone,

against that final ride to the vet's,

his bent and broken body padding softly, 

against his will, to his doom

In my mind he is as alive as he ever was,

a presence in my life too large

to ever be truly gone,

a spirit too big, 

to ever really die.

for Fireblossom Friday's prompt at Real Toads: Pictures of............Of course, choosing the photos and writing the words made me cry. I have cried a river over missing that big black laughing dog.