FLAWLESS MAGICIAN

july 14, 2002

twenty thousand

four hundred and fifty days

upon this earth

have I

gazed up

in unceasing wonder

at the

fascinating

Sky,

each morning opening

my eyes upon

a brand new canvas

lit up by the dawn,

ready for

brush strokes

by a Master Artist's hand,

in hourly transformations

bright and clear

across the land.

I look away, look back

and all has changed.

Unseen, the canvas

has been

rearranged,

like a flawless magician

whose magic is

too pure to understand,

our eyes drink in

the beauty

and applaud

the sleight of hand.

No two canvasses alike,

each one supremely

without flaw,

an ever-changing

masterpiece

created there

by God.

These days........

Sproat Lake in February

These days
I often find
my thoughts
returning
to dusty mesas
dotted with dry scrub
along the arroyo
through dry, sandy gorges
you once told me
was a river long ago

In reverie
I circle sleepy rooftops
finding yours
where we made love
one afternoon
your face so dark and beautiful
above me
those summer days
that ended
way too soon

Those days

you were an eagle
soaring/captive
caught somewhere
between the earth
and sky
while I caught my breath
and emptied out my being
into the wonder

of becoming

you and I

Now my spirit

sometimes walks
on summer mornings
-dew-fresh scent

of tall marsh grasses,
willow trees,
fresh lake ripples
lapping gently
on the shore-
the scent of

all the mornings
I remember
and I long to walk

beside the lake
once more

In memory

you turn
your slow smile

on me
always a bird
alighting on your hand
I hear again the coo
of doves at daybreak
and somewhere -
another time,

another land -
"Blackbird" is singing

in the dark of night
while two lonely seekers
try to hold their pain

at bay
by clinging

to each other

way too tight
unable to find words

to make it right
and somehow

lose their way

The dove

lost its mate

and flew
but keeps on
circling
circling

back to you
never very far

from where you are
if you

but knew

Through all

those years
I saw your beauty

plain
and now I am

remembering
remembering
again.

The single step

that started
my long journey
the thousand miles

it took
to bring me home
all I was

searching for
I found
within me
forever now
without the need
to roam

I have one more

hug
to give you
in this lifetime
one more time

to see
the smile start

in your eyes
if we never

meet again
know I have

loved you
as no other
all the seasons
of our lives

BLOCKADE

[In August of 1993, environmentalists in Clayoquot Sound launched B.C.'s largest  peaceful incidence of civil disobedience, in protest of the multinationals' clearcutting the pristine old growth of the Sound. All that summer, dawn after dawn, larger and larger numbers of people gathered at the Kennedy Lake bridge to block the road and stop the logging trucks. A Peace Camp was set up nearby, and people came from all over the world to join the movement. Bobby Kennedy came, so did Paul Watson of Greenpeace. The Greenpeace boat was in our harbour, very exciting! By the end of the protest, over nine hundred people had been arrested for standing on the road for the trees. Some spent time in jail, went back to stand on the road and were jailed again.

The multinationals, who were destroying the area and laying it waste, served no time.

 I was working two or three part-time jobs, so could not be there as often as I wanted. But I was there some mornings, the most emotional and passionate mornings of my life, united in standing on the road for the trees....for the planet!

I was there the morning of the Women's Blockade, when we spiral danced on the road. That night my conservative son called me: "Mom, I saw you on the news, dancing around the road with a bunch of hippies." Hee hee. My kids never know what to expect of this wild mother of theirs. Keeps it interesting!

It is now many years later. The trees are still coming down. Here is the poem I wrote the morning after the Women's Blockade: I can still remember the pride, the joy, the POWER we felt that morning, as the men formed a circle respectfully off to the side and accompanied us with drums.]

August 1993 - Clayoquot Sound

Grandmother,

I can feel you near me

as I dance and sing

with this group of women

on the road.

We mourn man's treatment
of the earth

as, at the same time,
we celebrate

our power.

We have a voice

and we will use it.

Our drumbeat is
the heartbeat

of the Earth Mother.

After all the untold years

of pain and tears

that held me down

I have risen

as an eagle
seeks higher ground,

no more earth-bound.

I have found my voice

and I will sing with it,

laugh into tomorrow,

feel my strength,
my peacefulness

and my joy,

along with love and pain

for Mother Earth.

Grandmother,

now that I am
a grandmother too,

I can hear you.

THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON

Clayoquot Sound - August 26, 2000

We leave the bay,

I, looking back,

at the green, green

living island

that I love:

rounded hills

humped under wisps of cloud,

looking like misty Mountains of the Moon;

jellyfish bubbling eerily

among raindrops in the bay,

eagle hunch-shouldered in the rain,

the wake behind the boat

marking the distance

I am forced to travel

again and

yet again

away from the place

where I most belong,

my eyes loving each tree, each hill,

each bird along the way,

my heart singing its

farewell-till-next-time song.

This is the landscape of my soul,

where my spirit

is at home,

where I no longer live.

In my life,

what I most want

to for forever keep,

the Universe

always asks me

one thing:

give.

On the other side of the island,

my lover lives.

With him my heart resides,

my body

constantly journeying

back and forth

for time spent

by his side.

There and away,

there and away,

I go,

taking with me

every golden moment

for I know

it has to

last me

till another day. I gave my heart.

This is the price

I pay.

I live

somewhere

in the middle,

in between.

Alone, and missing both,

I store

all that there has been,

carefully

as nuts for a winter squirrel,

to bring out

when the visits

grow fewer and far between:

a rounded hump of mountain,

his head on the pillow,

his tender smile,

misty cloud on old-growth,

the way we watch the stars a while,

an eagle soaring skywards

in full and joyous flight,

and the way

his tender hand finds mine

within the dark of night.

It seems I am always

driving away

from something I love,

always in a state of longing,

loving

loving

with all my heart

but not belonging.

Why does life require

so much more from me?

Yet I remember

how my soul needs to think.

I am always driving towards

something I love

as well:

that glorious sweep of waves

rushing to shore,

the way my car speeds up

as it heads his way,

the way my heart lifts

at the sight of what once was home

before,

or his face,

lit up in welcome,

that dear face

I spent my whole life

looking for.

My heart waited a lonely lifetime

for happiness to begin;

for my two loves

to find the waiting chambers

of my heart

and move right in.

Now, rich in love,

it has much

with which to fill

those empty rooms:

my ocean-spirit place,

my dear one's face -

my heart,

making its evolutionary journey

via Coombs.

Oncology 101

June 4, 2010


"I feel like an angel,
burning up
from the inside,"
my son tells me.
We're in the
oncology ward.
Chemo is
drip
drip
dripping
into his arm.
His hair is wisps now,
across his bald head,
like when he was a baby.
His eyes are still
as blue and true.


"I view reality
with perfect clarity,
but I've become aware
of another dimension.
When I look into a flower,
I see the whole universe.
I can hear the earth
groaning in ecstasy
and, in my body,
I can feel, with my heart
of compassion,
myself groaning along with it.
It's a good thing,"
he smiles
his unchanging
smile.


The chemo
drips
drips
drips
into his arm.
My son is an angel,
burning up from the inside.

THE MOON POEMS

Mandarin Moon

March 2, 2002

I awake in the deep dark

of the night

to see

a huge round full-faced moon

staring in

at me

as if it had zoomed close

with my eyes closed,

I catching it

unawares

before it rose.

There she sat,

perched in the bowl

of my old tree,

like an over-sized Christmas ornament

thus adorning

just for me

the starkly bare

and brittle branches and,

much more,

allowing me to see

its beauty

closer

than I ever have

before.

I stare back:

eternal purveyor

of myth and mystery,

as if it holds the secret

of whatever is to be

and has ventured thus

to urge me forth

from out

my purple bed,

to find a path

where all my dreams

can be

much better fed.

This radiant

so-close moon

and I agree:

surrender to no man,

and yet

in giving

I'm most free.

This silvery ambassador

is urging me

to find a way

to give

all that I can -

Mandarin Midnight Moon

that sailed here

last night

from Japan.

*** ~~ *** ~~ *** ~~ ***

OBELISK MOON

May 13, 2000

Obelisk Moon

suspended in the sky

like a seven-months

pregnant woman

gliding by,

four times I sailed

proud and serene

like you,

small voyagers

aswim in a sea of dreams

all safe within.

I tacked and drifted

set the mainsail fast

those sunny days

we thought would

for forever last

How I dreamed

such simple dreams of happiness:

the future such a whole and shining thing

life's songs

all waiting there

for them to sing

joyously

like laughing lovers

in the sun

and be happier than I

when I was young

Now one son laughs and lives his life

and one son weeps

in a maze

from which he canot find his way.

One daughter struggles

but goes on,

one daughter sweeps

from depth to wave-peak

in a single day

four small precarious passengers

hanging on

without a chance to choose

to a mother

not completely here

they are afraid

to lose

And I?

My heart still sails

through seas sublime

my compass pointed firmly

towards a hope

that I would keep

but all the time

a nightwatchman lives on board

who never sleeps

and I wait

for that call

that knock in the night

to sound again

that is my world come crashing down

in pain

My heart lives now

four others hearts inside,

their journeys become my journey

and it is a bumpy ride

32 mother's days

sailing by so fast

on this sea of hope

where nothing ever lasts

days of unbearable beauty

unbearable sorrow

the best gift:

my children,

all alive

tomorrow.

***~~***~~***~~***~~***

WATERMELON MOON

May 10, 2000

The soundless night

huddles under

its blanket of darkening clouds

faintly rose-etched

by fingers of fading sunset.

Settling,

it pulls its mantle of repose

tenderly

across the sleeping city

and a slice of moon

portal of mystery

recipient of dreams

sweet prompter of desire

inspirer of songs,

hangs over hills

bunched like a lumpy giant,

a slice of watermelon

swinging soft

in a pomegranate

sky

***~~***~~***~~***

OBELISK MOON II

March 5, 2001

Awake at four in the morning,

looking out,

looking up,

at a dark blue sky

luminous with

a hazy radiance,

streaked with layers

of pale blue gauzy clouds,

through which

a sedate silver moon

sails so serene.

Stars solicit

secret wishes

my heart

no longer has the hope

to make,

and I feel sad.

I can no longer look up

at the night sky

without thinking of you,

my fellow dreamer,

fellow sky-watcher,

without remembering

all those night skies

we watched together

before I lost you

and I lost

the night sky

too.

***~~***~~***~~***

oldgreymare: Project Genesis 7/1/10

I cant seem to find out how to post blogging stuff to my blogging page so for now my site will be a hodge podge with blogs in among the poems. I surrender, for the moment.

oldgreymare: Project Genesis 7/1/10

I am linking my site to The Old Grey Mare's brilliant Project Genesis project, an on-going discussion about what we can do for the earth.

Wonderful project and idea! Way to go! My somewhat-behind-the-times town finally started a recycling program last year THANK GAIA!!!! but have been recycling for a decade at least (not long enough).

All of the obvious things everyone already knows about, replacing lightbulbs with the more energy-efficient ones, solar porch lighting, asking stores to use biodegradable bags, or, better, religiously using your cloth bags. Planting trees, planting trees, planting trees!

The excessive use of styrofoam and wrapping of products drives me crazy. Maybe we could start leaving the wrappings at the store and making them deal with it? (though they likely wouldnt recycle, maybe that's a bad idea.) Is there a governing body we could bombard with customer demands for less packaging?

I am worrying a lot about environmental damage to the ocean AND fresh water supplies. Any ideas out there on what concerned citizens can do to bring this to the forefront and get some action?

Will keep following this discussion. I LOVE Project Genesis! Brilliant!