Swans

commons.wikimedia.org

The swans are at the river today,

the gray swollen river,

under the gray sky.

"To understand a swan,

you have to learn

how to cry,"

my son once told me,

with that other-worldly look

in his eye.

The swans are at the river today,

bridging worlds of earth and sky,

so I'll spend some time, there,

watching them

glide by.

Nine Swans Flying

[image from google]

I saw nine swans flying in the early morning dawn.

Nine. They mate for life, so one of them is gone.

One flies on alone, across the chilly winter sky.

One  left behind a song to be remembered by.

I saw nine swans in formation,
flying low through morning mist.

The hills so brown and bare await the sun's first kiss.

The leader, when he tires,
falls back and yields his place.

I stand and watch, holding my breath,
the cool wind on my face.

The deer are gentle in the fields,
the clouds are hanging low.

If I never see a swan again,
their beauty, now, I know.

                                          
                 ***                ***                   ***              

Hi kids. This was in draft, and needs work, but am posting it now to test whether I have resolved Major Technical Glitches that have consumed my evening. It appears, by Divine Intervention of the Mozilla Firefox Browser, I have resolved my difficulties. Still, in matters technical, I have a very low trust threshold. It is quite a stretch for someone who was alive before TV was even invented!

Solitary Star

[image from 200asa.nl]

Solitary star
is it cold up
where you are?
Through bare
and brittle 
winter branches
I can see you
sparkling clear,
shining your brightest
just before
you disappear.

The rooster is
softly crowing
in the barnyard,
a sleepy sound,
reluctant in the chill.
My wolf-dog pads,
silent and old,
beside me.
The day is coming
when he no more will.

Nine white swans
in formation
now come gliding
almost noiselessly
winging
overhead.
Noses pointed west,
they're heading towards
the water.
Nine swans,
and yet they
mate for life
it's said.

Now daybreak crests
the silver-peaked mountains,
lighting the frozen rooftops
etched in ice.
Tall cedars turn
from black and
towering giants
to green again,
their beauty
beyond price.

I breathe the essence
of this winter morning,
wood-smoke on the air
as starshine fades.
My windows
are lit up
and, warm
and waiting,
is the cozyness
of this little home
I've made.
I feel
the blessing
rich with
all life's worth,
just to have
another day
like this
alive
on Planet Earth.

To Understand a Swan......

"To understand a swan,
one must learn
how to cry,"
my son says,
the words
suddenly
clear.
Such truths sprinkle
his conversation,
attuned as he is
to a higher
frequency
than the
rest of us
can hear.

And these days,
I am very close
to tears.
I can't put my finger
on it.
Yes, my old dog
is failing,
but it is
something more.                  .
Am I grieving
my life's
passing,
and
all the losses
gone before?
                     
Each loss
triggers
grief
for all
the others.
A wave like a
jet plane
knocks you 
flat;
it nearly
smothers.
You tumble
on the ocean floor
a while
in pain,
wondering if
you'll
ever get
back up
again.
But when
the wave
draws back
its lip
once more,
you arise
with luck
much stronger
than before,
even more wise,
remembering
there was
much more
love and joy
than the
goodbyes.

Perhaps I'll
soon converse
with swans,
look in their
opaque eyes,
and finally
understand
what this
shifting
ground
on which
I stand
is trying
so hard
to make me
realize.

WILD SWANS

Stamp River
May 6, 2001

Have you ever seen a swan walking?
One morning, blessing the vicissitudes of a fitful spring,
a dozen swans were clustered
at the river's bend,
most in the water,
some few lumbering still
upon the bank,
furtive and embarrassed
at being thus unusually displayed
as an aging Beauty
caught in disarray.

Then, as if by an inner signal,
heads protuberant and seeking
purchase for their clumsy wide-webbed toes,
splayed precariously
upon the muddy bank,
over the edge each went,
heavy bodies dragged unwillingly behind,
each white bird
plunging, slipping down,
in a flapping-feathered flurry of distress,
the whole flock gliding off,
serene and graceful as a pleasant dream,
the way moments of sudden fleeting grace
fall on our heavy, so encumbered hearts,
transforming past and evolutionary pain
with sweet possibilities
again, and yet
again.