A SMALL MOMENT OF JOY

Pink tips edging buds

on the springtime cherry tree

Small moment of joy

For Marian’s prompt at Real Toads: celebrating a small moment of joy as I anticipate one more as-if-for-the-first-time spring.

Petal by Petal, Carefully.......

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Does one ask a flower to grow?

I just let it be,

letting it unfold

as it unfolds,

petal by petal,

carefully.

I take care not to thwart

the solitary splendor

of its blooming,

remembering

a flower glows

just as brightly in an empty lot

as when my eyes

turn upon it

to share the sudden sweetness

of its garden plot.

As petals catch the wind

and dance under the sun

so do you glow.

Your beauty casts

a clear and steady light

that does not dim

and it shines more

the more

I come to know.

We touch elusively

as fragile stems

holding up heavy blooms,

nodding in the breeze.

The blooms are our two lives.

From underneath

their precarious weight

our hands emerge

like leaves.

Your solitude speaks

to the peaceful solitude

in me

and deep within

my quiet heart

I can feel

something gentle

yearn to be

set free.

A very old poem from 1981, to share with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. 

The Kindness of Trees

Row upon row 

of Bodhisattvas,

they stand -

green, peaceful warriors,

kind, gentle beings,

habitat for birds

and wild creatures -

patiently absorbing our carbon,

breathing out healing oxygen

and peace.

Walking the trails,

we are transported

to a world of silent well-being.

Holding hands under the forest floor,

they send each other messages

of hope and support.

They tell the others

we have arrived.

They stand, listening,

watching us with benevolent smiles,

spreading their arms protectively

to shelter us.

We enter their world of green

and emerge transformed.

And in return,

they ask only

that we let them live.

In Tofino, as everywhere, the trees are falling to make way for more and more of us. Wildlife are being pushed to the margins, displaced, hungry, seeking shelter. I learned recently that only trees 25 years old or more absorb carbon. So even replanting doesn't replace the job mature trees do. We cannot lose the old growth. Trees are what lie between us and intolerable heat. They help us live.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Kindness

Lover of the Sky

I am a lover of the blue sky,
perfect clouds like a dream sail by;
of a green walk in the wild wood;
of trees dripping on me where I stood;
of mist rising up where the river bends;
of the small sweet song of a striped-headed wren.
I am a lover of the burning flame
lit for world peace in hearts the same.
I am a lover of the morning sun,
already radiant the day begun.
I am a lover of the whale, leaping,
of the blue, blue hills
in the sunset sleeping.
I am a lover of the eagle's cry,
who sweeps and soars without a Why.
I am a lover of life alone,
of the heart's peace when it's at home.
I am a lover of my old dog's smile,
of his warm brown eyes,
of his lack of guile.
I am a lover of the warm spring rain,
of the smell of earth stirring
to life again.
I am a lover of the ocean's roar,
of the sandy beach stretching all before.
I am a lover of rock and log,
of driftwood shapes looming through the fog.
I am a lover of clouds, of stars,
of the falling dark, of soft guitars,
of the meadowlark, of the summer's breeze,
of days of struggle, days of ease,
of heartfelt love gone away too soon,
of goodbyes under a slice of moon.
I am a lover of fresh-cut grass,
of children's laughter, of dogs I pass,
of babies all innocence and rapture,
of the bent and aged who tremble after,
of the falling leaves, of a job well done,
and I am a lover of beasts that run,
of water that moves and creates its own way,
of the journey made and the price I pay.
I am a lover of brand new books,
those journeys that I never took.
I am a lover of music that sings,
songs of the heart, the hope it brings,
and the flight of poems for a brand new dawn
that knows this life is Moving On.
Like the heron, stalk-still at the water's edge,
makes a sudden leap - I am the same.
Poised to dive from a tilting ledge,
the horizon lit with a golden flame,
I'm waiting to hear
Someone
call my name.

An old poem from 2002 that I felt like sharing today with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads where the theme is Blue. The sky, the looking back, the old dog's smile, the nostalgia - yup. Blue.

Another Spring

“I’m sorry,” the specialist said. “Given the ultrasound, the testing doctor and I think it gives every appearance of being malignant.” The lump on my ankle had started growing. It now was the size of an egg from a small speckled hen.

“Get it off!” said the doctor who did the pre-op tests, recoiling.

I could gross my grandkids out by asking, "Do you want to squeeze it?"

Oddly, I felt no fear. I thought, well, this is the pathway we’ll be going down, a diversion from the one I had assumed I was on. I readied myself for the journey. I put on my wolf medicine: a silver wolf head on a leather thong, my wolf sweatshirt; I took up my walking stick. Ready.

They fast-tracked me to the oncology clinic in the city. The surgeon and his team wafted in the door on a tide of positive energy. All smiles, he looked at my egg. “It looks to be encapsulated. If it is benign, we’ll just take it off and you won’t need to come back.”

Wow. I had not known that was a possibility.

All went well. It was encapsulated, and benign, and when I got the news, I had to re-adjust my thinking once again from the harder path I had thought lay ahead, to one that was, itself, much more benign.

With gratitude, with the understanding I had been granted a great gift, I would get to enjoy yet another spring. And more after that.

250 words

For Magaly’s prose prompt at Telling Tales With Magaly : to write the story of one of our poems in prose. This one is from the poem "Traveler, Diverted On the Path", written in February 2013. The one regret I had, when I thought my energy would be going towards battling cancer, was that I had not archived my work in book form. With this reprieve, I immediately began doing so and now have a nice little shelf of books to (hopefully) keep my life’s work from being taken to the landfill when I die. Smiles.

IN THE BRACKEN

                                          
                        by Ian McAllister of Pacific Wild


If ever you would speak with any tree,
come walking in the forest here with me.
I'll show you the wild mushroom and the root,
but where the ancients gather, set no boot.

If you would speak with nature spirits wild,
you must maintain the heartbeat of a child,
learn riversong and mountain chasm deep.
You must commune with angels in your sleep.

As you step lightly on the pungent moss,
and feel the leaves the winter wind doth toss,
let your spirit fly away among the trees.
It will return upon the morrow's breeze.

I go into the forest dark and deep,
every night after I fall asleep,
become a woodland guardian, reborn
I do not want to leave when it is morn.

Last night my spirit fought as a black wolf,
against four brown wolves on the forest floor,
This told me that a battle lies before,
my spirit having recognized its door.

Come with me. I will show you secret groves,
moss-hung and ancient in this stand of pine.
Deep in the bracken, where the hoarfrost glows,
the Old Ones are singing Home this heart of mine.

A pantoum from 2012, for dverse, where they are celebrating the pantoum, one of my favourite forms. 

SING TO THE TREES

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The trees are falling in the forest - blight,
as humans clear away the ancient sites.
Make way for Progress, all wild and beauteous beasts.
When money rules, no living thing has rights.

As humans clear away the ancient sites,
we sing to the trees, our sadness at their plight.
When money rules, no living thing has rights.
A dirge we sing, in humankind’s dark night.

Sing to the trees, our sadness at their plight,
a lullaby to ease their pain and fright.
A dirge we sing, in humankind’s dark night,
a hymn of hope, that we will see the light.

A lullaby to ease their pain and fright -
make way for Progress, all wild and beauteous beasts.
A hymn of hope that we may see the light -
the trees are falling, protest as we might.

for Gina's prompt at dVerse - to write a pantoum. I always like tackling a pantoum. Mine turned into a rather gloomy one........I was thinking of how The Tree Sisters are planning a global event on International Womens Day - to sing to the trees. I will have to sing a more cheerful song than this one!