TEN YEARS LATER

Ten years and more later,
walking without you,

there is a familiar loneliness, that

has always been mine, ten years of being alone

at the edge of aloneness,  a peaceful stillness,

a solitude that understands there will never 

again be you and me, the complete companionship

of two wild hearts.

At the river's edge, the dappled sunlight

plays across the water; the great trees

lean down. We walked here, so often,

together, your brown eyes gleaming,

nose to the ground, smelling all 

the wild smells, tail and ears up,

alert for scurryings in the bush.

Ten years ago, I dreamed of you.

You had been gone for more than a year.

You looked uncared for and sad.

You were missing me,

as I was missing you.

I am always missing you.

I carry you within, a big black wolf,

in my wild wolf-woman heart.

On nights when the moon is full,

we both give a long, silent howl.

Inspired by David Whyte's Ten Years Later. The italicized lines are his. Sharing at earthweal's open link.

I Would Not Have Been a Poet....

 

I would not have been a poet except

when I was just turned fourteen, sitting

in my grade nine class, a poem

began writing itself in my head;

quickly, I wrote it down,

then sat back, amazed.

I would not have been a poet except

I have always been in love with blue sky

and trees, with lakes and rivers

and the shimmering sea,

and have tried to capture their beauty in words,

more or less unsuccessfully.

This hampered ability has

kept me writing poetry ever since,

thousands of poems,
by now,

all saying some version of
"this is all that I know of beauty

and most of what I know as joy."

I would not have been a poet except

I have had my heart broken, and have lost

everything that I had more than once,

have loved more than I have been loved,

except by a big black wolf, who showed me

how love was meant to be done

when two hearts love as one.

I would not have been a poet except

every morning, when I sit down at my desk,

even after all these years, the words still come,

singing my song of gratitude for that blue sky,

those ancient cedar, for the beautiful

non-human creatures that are the true wonders

of this world, and for pearly pink dawns

and amber sunsets that lift our eyes

up above the cacophony
of our noisy human day

to seek a higher path that will
lead us forward

in a better way.

Inspired by VII by Wendell Berry. The italicized lines are his.

SACRED GLIMMERS

 

Between bombs falling and wildfires burning,
grain not getting to market and people hungering,
midst floods and storms and distressing shootings,
as we catapult ourselves into a fiery future,
lie the moments of our lives: the sweet slow waking,
on a West Coast summer morning, to blue sky,
the memory of standing, late last night, star-gazing,
the waves calling me forth with their forever siren song.
The tiniest wildflowers poking from rocky cliffs
are whispering: sometimes you have to just hold on.

There is an apple orchard in my heart,
incongruously, as I live beside the sea.
My childhood resides there, underneath
the blossoms, full of dreams
that did not include all I have come to see,
or how this long, surprising journey
fashioned me.

It is the sacred glimmers that have drawn me forth:
sunrises, sunsets and the glimmering sea,
forests of ancient cedar, dusk and dawn,
the way each early morning smiles "trek on!"

These sacred glimmers are still shining here
as we hobnob our hectic way along,
still flying, driving, consuming desperately,
humming our frantic, existential song,
an earthly species that does not understand
that we belong.

I am nearing the end of the journey
at the end of the road
with gratitude for every shining
glimmer life bestowed.
I would like my casket woven of seagrass
so that I can all the more quickly pass
into the welcoming, mothering,
nurturing earth, the better to have
a swift transition,
and a swift rebirth.

for Brendan at earthweal: Sacred Glimmers

FIXER-UPPER

 

The search for home began in childhood.
White picket fences, milk bottles on doorsteps,
safe imagined domesticity,
made her cry.
As a young unhappy wife, she walked
city streets by the hour,
after dark,
looking in at the warmly-lit rooms
of others.
She still remembers a young woman
reading a book, looking up, smiling,
as a young man brought her a cup of tea.
Her wonderment, that such a life could be.

As a single mom of four, she pushed
baby buggies up and down country roads,
kibitzing women hanging washing
on the line, men washing their cars.
The dinner hour,
with all the fathers coming home,
was a hard time of day at first, until
she realized she was happier
and laughed more when it was
just her and the kids.

Finally, she managed
a home of her own - a run-down trailer
in a trailer park,
a total fixer-upper.
She rolled up her sleeves
and made it home.
By then she was joyously walking beaches
and forest trails.
It had taken half her life,
but she didn't have to
walk past rows of
other peoples' houses

any more.

For Carrie at The Sunday Muse

WHEN SUN DOGS DANCE ACROSS THE SKY

 

Wickaninnish Beach Sun Dog

by Mark Kiver

(the driftwood looks like a wolf to me)

When sun dogs dance across the sky,

the sacred prophecy is at hand,

as the Children of the Rainbow

begin to walk across the land.

Hush, now, and listen;

the Grandmothers are speaking:

"Like a new-born, wobbly foal,

you're trying to find your skittery legs,

in a time of great change

as land and waters re-arrange.

You'll feel the wobble in the earth,

turmoil in the land and sea.

As our Mother Earth gives birth,

we'll learn a balanced way to be."

The people of the Rainbow

were born seeing with new eyes.

May those ready to awaken

hear our Mother's painful cries.

"Getting More must now give way

to sharing All with All.

We must return to the Old Ways,

let polluted systems fall.

There will be turmoil in the turning.

Trust those with kindness in their eyes.

They are cool water to ease the burning.

They are the Messengers, so wise."

Mother Earth, I feel you quickening

as the new world is a-borning,

like a shape-shifter, transforming,

response to evolution's dawning.

"In the time of whirling rainbows,

dance your prayers under the sky.

Hear the song of Brother Wolf,

fate of the wild world in his cry.

"Sing songs of love and peace.

Watch for a rainbow 'round the sun.

When sun dogs dance across the sky,

the Fifth World of Peace will have begun.

A'ho. Now we have spoken."

Thank you, Grandmothers,

for this hope and trust.

We will help the people change,

because change we must.

We will sing with the wolves

our song of tomorrow,

work to heal the planet's people

and the earth its sorrow.

To the Navajo and the Hopi, the Prophecy of the Whirling Rainbow speaks of Ancestors who will return in white bodies, but who are Red on the inside. They will learn to walk the Earth Mother in balance again. The generation following the Flower Children are prophesied to be the ones who will see the dawning of the Fifth World of Peace.

An older poem to share with earthweal's open link.

The New Normal

 

There is cloud cover, this morning, as on

so many mornings this summer - better than

the heat which is setting towns and cities ablaze

across the world. Would we ever have dreamed

the world would be in such distress this soon,

with politicians setting target dates farther

and farther away, hoping it becomes
someone else's problem?

Now you are getting used to things

you never expected - the "new normal",

and it isn't normal at all.

Uvalde, a shooter at a 4th of July day parade,

rockets bombing civilians and towns into rubble,

poles melting, animals starving, people dying

of heat, from floods, from drought and famine.

But yesterday I went to the local animal rescue

and volunteered. I met a diffident white wolf

whose trust has been broken a time or two.

I looked into his wolfy eyes. He doesn't know

what truly belonging somewhere even means.

I will go back and walk him. I will hope

his forever person finds him and teaches

his watchful brown eyes to shine.

There is a bird that can only be heard

by someone who has come to be alone.

That someone is me, content in my silent rooms,

my silent life, ears tuned for birdcall

and ocean roar. Grateful that this moment

is peaceful, and Enough, and knowing

all too well, watching the news, that,

at any moment, everything I am used to

and take for granted

can be gone.

Inspired by Into the Mystery by Tony Hoagland - the italicized words are his.

It's the Smallest Things

It's the smallest things.....

after days of overcast skies,  

it's blue and cloudless overhead.

I go out first thing to take

sips of water to the flowering pots,

then open the windows to 

the cool morning air against

the heat of the day.

It's my cup of morning tea,

a ritual of 50 years, watching it steep.

Over 18,000 teabags in a lifetime.

Twinings are best.

It's smiling at people going past

with their dogs, knowing tomorrow

I am going to help at the local rescue,

and will meet all the critters.

It's walking into town where my eyes

bless the shops, the water, the small
bouncing boats, and the rounded
womanly slopes of Wah'nah'juss.

It's the smallest things that bring us

comfort in life - keeping our eyes open
to the beauty and the wonder,

even though we know 

about the climate crisis, 

we keep up with the news,
and so much of it is bad. We know

what we know, and it is hard to bear.
But, for now, there is no
state of emergency, and we know
only too well, one day we might be looking back
thinking how much we 
took that for granted-
ordinary days.

We fall back on the beauty, the cups

of strong tea, the small things that

comprise the goodness of life,

ours still to enjoy with gratitude
that I woke up still alive,

for eyes that opened this morning

that still can see, for knees that ache

but will still get me into town,

for the beach calling to me

with its siren song

in this place where I the most

belong.

Gratitude,
gratitude,
gratitude
for it all -
the things we thought so small
are the big things, after all.

Inspired by Laurie Wagner's "It's the Smallest Things". Different for each one of us,  the Lego blocks that build our lives.