We all have one

According to Jung, and while

I grasp the concept, the particulars

Slip through my fingers, like

Grains of sand

On an empty beach. Besides,

There’s only so much time and attention

I have for this stuff anyway, and that’s

The problem.

I glimpse her occasionally, out of the

Corner of my eye. She can’t

Tolerate my direct gaze, Like

Staring at a faint star….it

Disappears before your eyes, and

Then pops up again, just

Off to the side when

You and your eyes have

Moved on.

What if I could just

Reach a hand towards her

Palm open, slowly, without

Looking? Could she

Begin to forgive me then?

And I, her?

Headphones on, a morning outside.

Piano notes dance in my ears light and quick

The coronet paints

Distance in long tones, spooling out in

Ribbons of gold, peach, deep blue.

My eyes rest briefly on

Vivid vermillion nasturtiums,

Easy to grow - with faith, and

Patience and something about them

Sparks a memory...

Me, eldest daughter finding

Refuge of a sort in the old upright

Piano, purchased at some

Yard sale - a sad, dull gray, but

We painted it bright cherry red.

Practicing was tedious

Scales and chords and Czerny combinations

Assigned compositions that

Sounded not at all like the

Rock and roll on the radio.

But when they showed their

Colors to me - I could paint them in my mind, I could

Give them names and places in a musical family tree.

Chorded conversations - and sometimes

Arguments in loud angry dissonance.

Baby Blue B and

Yellow Sister D and

Green Grandpa G can make for a

Harmonious major chord

Walking down the road for ice cream.

Synesthesia is what

Science calls this, but

Why, when Science decides

On a name, does it sound

Like disease?

I would love to have

Time and space for

Many pursuits,

Piano among them, just not

Czerny.

(Photo by Joshua J. Cotton for Unsplash)

Feathered balls of fluff

And fury, always

Tightly wound at my feeders

A gulp of seed

A furtive look over the shoulder

A mad flight into the safe green underbrush…

But this morning

The world is theirs

The males parade splashy colors

Hummer, oriole, grosbeah and

Finch, cardinal, woodpecker, jay.

Even the fat squirrel takes a look and

Decides “never mind”.

I sigh.

My only camera is

My mind

My memory

My pen.

(Photo by Zamri MS for Unsplash)

River gargoyle

Still as ancient truths atop his

Petrified stone.

He knows we are here

Gasping at his stolid glory

In our silly vessel.

Is he so still in fear of us?

I think not.

He’s seen many of our

Frivolous kind before.

He simply has

Richer dimensions on his mind

All of them

Beneath dark waters.

Strangers in a circle

Eyes on hands in laps

Or on the ceiling

Or on our teacher

Anywhere but on

Each other.

Sometimes though

A shy smile

Nervous and

Brightening.

Our teacher leads us

In a warmup, it sounds

Complicated as she demonstrates and

Suddenly, I’m back in middle school

My voice small and shaky

But stronger now as I find my

Notes again after

A way too long time.

And as we gain our balance

Confidence and shaky strength

More smiles bounce around the circle and

Laughter even as we let ourselves

Play yes play and join small groups

Given simple cadences blending with

Other groups singing something

Completely different and then

Out of nowhere a single voice soars

Free above the rest

Not knowing where I’ll go

Spinning sound into an

Adventure a journey and maybe even

Eventually a story, a

Shimmering launch into space…

A song!

(Photo by Louise Whelan for Unsplash)

No elbowroom here

Except for what is earned

With a sharp jab and a

Cry of pain.

I meditate - or try to

Each morning

My thoughts jabbing into

My breathing. So

Used to being in charge

Front and center

Running the show.

How will I manage

The limits of love and resources

Holding my thin and

Threadbare purse, that

Must, somehow,

Perform miracles?

(Photo by Andy Luo for Unsplash)

Cats can teach us

Needed lessons in

Boundaries.

I’ve never encountered

A wishy-washy cat

Have you?

They come equipped

With all they need to

Take their place wherever it is

They place themselves.

Why do we go all

Wiggle Wobble when

Faced with someone’s potential

Displeasure?

Why should we wrap ourselves in

Scratchy old burlap just so that

They - whoever they are - can avoid a little

Inconvenience?

Watch a cat, you

Probably know a cat

She’ll stretch all languid and she’ll

Let you know -

She has claws.

So do you.

So do I.

Let’s use them.

Today it is a morning tilted slightly sideways

And I can’t decide how I feel about it

Although yesterday I fell into the clouds

As I write, I am aware of a clock - ticking

When I was younger, journals were tedium

I couldn’t have known the weather would change so abruptly

And anyway, journalling felt like another “assignment”

I had a dream where the pages of my journal became wings

1 Today it is a morning tilted slightly sideways

2 And I can’t decide how I feel about it

3 Although yesterday I fell into the clouds.

4 As I write, I am aware of a clock - ticking

2 And I can’t decide how I feel about it

5 When I was younger, journals were tedium

4 As I write, I am aware of a clock - ticking

6 I couldn’t have known the weather would change so abruptly

5 When I was younger, journals were tedium

7 And anyway, journalling felt like another “assignment”

6 I couldn’t have known the weather would change so abruptly

8 I had a dream where the pages of my journal became wings

7 And anyway, journalling felt like another “assignment”

3 Although yesterday I fell into the clouds.

8 I had a dream where the pages of my journal became wings

1 Today it is a morning tilted slightly sideways

(Photo by Tatiana Dobreva for Unsplash)

The skies

The light

My car, and I can’t

Forgive it somehow for

Blending into the asphalt.

The color leaches from the world

Your hair

My pallor - in certain lights

Like these.

Like now.

I wonder if

Like kintsugi, there might be

Threads of

Gold in the gray

Golden linings in these clouds

Like that rock I found

On a faraway beach

On another gray day

A fissure of light

Fighting back

Against the marble, against the

Tides of time.

(Photo by Phillip Pilz for Unsplash)

Sudden silence

All birdsong ceased

As if a plug had been pulled

As if the mighty wind was

Compelled to

Hold

It’s

Breath.

But no. Something

Worse

If you’re a songbird.

I’m a human but

Even I am compelled to

Check the sky

I see the white head, the

Wingspan - the sound of

Air sliced directly overhead

Unstoppable.

A missile on target

Who has lost their small and precious life today?

The world breathes deep, lets it go, and then

Proceeds as if nothing at all

Has happened.

(Photo by Nikoloz Gachech for Unsplash)

I can remember to breathe

To focus for awhile

On the small steps

In front of me…

Even if they appear so

Unrelated to the day’s pain.

If I have faith in the

Rightness of my intent and have

Steely compassion for

Those who oppose me.

And you..

And all of us…

Then the clouds will clear

If just for a few moments

Long enough to reveal

The next few steps.

(Photo by Jason Leung for Unsplash)

In my 60’s

I realized yesterday that

My life is more than

Half over.

I’m no longer slowly

Ascending the hill but now have

Crested the summit and am

Finding my way down. Or is it

The other way round?

There are days

That feel like an arduous ascent

Full of boulders and

Maps that don’t

Don’t speak to my topography

The “Use by” date long gone

As is mine.

Some days.

(Photo by Atul Vinayak for Unsplash)

Even the dust can

Burst into bloom

On the almost May plains.

Dim brown and a sudden

Shade of green against the

Gray cloud drizzle.

A tumble weed crosses the road

Somehow, I’ve always loved them.

And I drive

Slowly (for a change)

Mom and me - remembering the

Old streets and the

New pink blooms.

Her face twinkling

Into wrinkles, and

Mine softening the lines between

Past and

Present and

Yet to come.

(Photo by Tom Swinnen for Unsplash)

It was…

The last one

Tucked back on the shelf

Looking Wal-Mart morose

Box cracked in careless shipping

But still singing to something

In me.

The voice inside me didn’t miss a beat

“Oh. Really.”

“And what are YOU going to do with THAT?”

(Eye roll) “Oh Please…”

“Because you have all KINDS of extra cash…

And so much extra TIME

Don’t you.”

It’s only 10 dollars.

“Don’t think for a minute…”

It’s small, won’t take up much space…

“Don’t you dare!”

I dare.

It’s mine.

The seduction of…

Potential.

(Photo by Pascal Debrunner for Unsplash)

It’s a different color

A shade brighter

A stronger flavor

of Shine.

It’s a “wake up and pay attention” call

To the world

Our world

And all we’ve done to it.

Still, the Sun burns the cloud away

The grass insists on greening

The dandelions raise fierce and joyful faces

They will not be thwarted

Not now, in this splendid season

Some forces still have the power to

Eclipse even us.

(Photo by anil baki durmus for Unsplash)

Suspended by

Long silken threads

The figures dance singular and

Spinning in

Separate spheres, fearing

En

Tangle

ment

And yet

Were they truly free

From each other, they would

Shatter against the floor

Destined to become the

Cat’s plaything, or a

Painful splinter of glass

In the foot of a

Tiny child.

So

Best to keep you

If not in my arms, then

In the corner of

My eye, each of us

Still spinning.

(Photo by Eric Prouzet for Unsplash)

There is a mind for poetry

A mind not always open to me.

With doors surrounded by Light

Yet closed. And locked.

Sometimes, I can hear the latch click…

And the door opens - Just

A

Crack… and

Something bursts through

From the other side.

A scent, a snatch of song

And then, just as I reach

To grab it

It’s gone. Slammed shut

The laughter

Echoes…

(Image by Diana Hauan for Unsplash)

Granite melting

What once was impenetrable

Now shattered.

The ground beneath us

Tilts into strange terrain.

The tears of our fathers

Wash into a dark ocean

That can’t be crossed

With words alone.

Hold his hand.

As he has held yours

So many times before

Watch your childhood

Sail off the edge

Of the world.

When finally

At day’s end, the

Sun bursts through the

Gray, like a golden

Sabor slicing lint.

The gull tilts his

Airborne wings and

Catches the underlight, as he

Soars into a

Relief of sky.

Finally

I can breathe..

(Photo by Colin + Meg for Unsplash)

Natural History happens

Everywhere - it’s all around us,

Whether we sense it or mostly

Not.

Even so…

That empty lot, that

Brick boundaried corner, the one with

Plastic bags spinning in the wind, like

Dervishes of destiny… even

These places have stories,

Mysteries spoken in the

Skitters of nocturnal

Creatures and the

Crevices carved in

Concrete, they hold something

Growing, searching

Moving towards the sunlight

The detritus of what we discard

Ruin and abuse remains, reimagines and

Becomes.

Even here

Emptiness is but a

Mirage and

Miracles are waiting for their turn to

Birth.