Those nights

Those nights, 

Those nights when sleep eludes us, 

When we stagger from the bedroom 

 And crawl into a chair to sit 

Glued to an engrossing book, 

TV, or video game,

Hoping the blood will settle down 

Or the brain will stop rehearsing 

 What we should have said or need to do 

When the world is light again; 

What might we do instead in the dark 

To make the world a better, kinder place?

Simple pleasures

Simple pleasures abound: 

The curve of the plum tree’s trunk, 

The green of grass and leaves, 

The daisies on the lawn, 

And the robin’s song of greeting…

Changes, changes

It happens like that sometimes, 

In a group of family or friends: 

 One member steps away, 

Distancing themselves for  whatever reason; 

 They die, or fly away, 

And the others are left 

To adjust, evaluate, regroup, 

Or possibly disband. 

However it plays out, things will surely change, 

Because each of us, however small, 

Is a vital part of the whole.

Broken memories

Oh, look: I found a picture of a bed, 

Like that old four-poster bed, 

The one both Mom and I 

Had been conceived in; 

The one I lay in many nights, 

Waiting for you to come home 

From whatever gig you played 

And whatever woman caught your fancy 

Once your sax was packed away; 

The one that you tossed off our deck 

So many years ago in fury, 

When I finally chose 

Myself instead of pain, and left you,

Taking the one thing that was clearly mine; 

The one whose headboard’s finial 

(So lightly curved, and topped, 

Like the four others on the posts 

With that three-dimensional fleur-de-lis) 

Broke like your venom upon landing

Where you threw it.

That bed I kept, though broken, 

Now shelters in my daughter’s home — 

The daughter I had later 

With the man who loves me still — 

And holds from time to time, 

Our granddaughter when she comes to stay. 

And though she’s not my daughter’s child, 

And my daughter isn’t yours, 

That broken bed still wraps her 

In the memories of love 

From my grandmother, who bought it, 

Through four more generations 

To the granddaughter who sometimes leaves 

The home so far away she wasn’t born in 

To sleep in this old bed that she — 

Unlike my daughter, me, and mom — 

Was not conceived in.

Imagining benevolence

Sitting in the Thai restaurant, 

Waiting for our food in that brief interval 

 While the vets subject our cat to various tests,

 I watch the sleeping Buddha’s face 

On the wall at the end of the room, 

Imagining that benevolence 

Extending to our cat, and to the dogs 

 Gathered in the waiting room at the vet’s office, 

Their stomachs full of socks, or toys, or underwear 

They’ve eaten in their hunger for exotic flavors…

Reading the yard

Sitting here, behind the window, 

A sick and sedated cat sleeping on my lap, 

I look out, through the reflections, 

At the gray of clouds, the tawny grass, 

The lavender, the Buddha, 

 And the sea that lies beyond 

 The shrub-infested cliff 

As a squirrel creeps by, pausing at every step 

To scrabble at the lawn and then sit up, 

White belly flashing as he nibbles 

What’s been found 

Until another squirrel streaks across the yard 

With some urgent message 

And the two of them speed off into the bushes, 

Tails lifted, flying in the breeze. 

Who needs a book? I’m reading the yard today.

Pet concerns

We spent all day yesterday 

At the emergency vet’s office with this little guy — 

Some sort of urinary tract issue 

Which still doesn’t seem resolved: 

He spends much of his time 

Sitting in his litter box 

With occasional breaks for water, 

Or to watch the birds.

We just have to trust that he’s on the mend.

 I ache today for all the other humans — 

Those we saw yesterday, and all the others 

Who must deal with sick or dying pets: 

 So much easier to focus on that 

Than all the larger challenges folks are facing…

Adaptability

I marvel at the ingenuity of nature;

How readily plants adapt to their habitats —

 Like these lovely golden irises, 

Thriving in the mud at the edge of a pond, 

Able to deal with both 

 The presence and absence of water, 

And the inevitability of change. 

I wish we humans could be more accepting 

Of the ups and downs of life.

Spreading tenderness

How can we extrapolate 

 From the tenderness we feel 

For these creatures; 

Extend that tenderness 

 To ALL living beings?

When opposites unite

Glimpsed through the trees, 

The colors of the sunset remind us once again 

That opposites, held in tension with each other,

Can enhance one another,

 Swirling through the heart 

Like a magical chord of notes, 

Giving pleasure to all.

In the pink

On those cloudy days 

 When artists struggle 

To create beauty, 

Nature does it for us…

Keep shining

Do not despair: 

If your light is strong enough,

 It only takes 

A slight parting of the clouds 

To be made known. 

Keep shining, 

And your break is sure to come.

Celebrating Springtime

I love this time of year — 

Not just the lilacs, rhodies and lupines blooming, 

But also watching the tenderness 

 With which the doe cares for her fawn; 

The way she tucks him away 

While foraging for food 

And licks him clean as he nurses — 

So heartening, to see that life goes on 

In spite of all the mistakes we seem to make…

Driftwood

When I first became a photographer 

 I was obsessed with shots like this; 

With the colors that appear 

On driftwood when it rains. 

Though I’m rarely on a beach these days, 

I’m still drawn to that beauty: 

For some reason, 

The textures and complexity make my heart ache.

Oppositional forces

The power of those giant roots, 

Not deep, but on the surface,

 Clinging to uneven terrain,

 Movement so fluid, 

Contrasting with the linear 

Solidity of the tree they support; 

A marriage of opposites, 

Not unlike my own…

That ray of light

Sunset, on a cloudy day, 

When all the world seems gray 

And just then, at the last minute,

 A slight parting, and a burst of color 

Ignites both sky and lawn, 

And turns the lavender from dull to vibrant: 

Just think! 

If each of us could be that ray of light, however small, That heightens all the beauty lying dormant; 

Waiting for that spark of hope…

Lupine season

It’s lupine season at our local lighthouse, 

And their lemony stalks are everywhere, 

 Lining the walkways and framing the vistas 

With their delicate scent.

 I’ve never been a big fan of yellow, 

But yellow roses and yellow lupines 

Make my heart sing 

Even as the harsher golden shades 

Of the ubiquitous scotch broom 

Make me grit my teeth and grumble. 

What is it about us humans 

That always wants to say 

That I like this, but not that? 

Why must we always divide the world?

Why cast blame?

Which do we find more beautiful: 

The reflections water casts on the boat? 

Or the reflections cast by the boat upon the water? 

And why be forced to choose? 

Isn’t it the wholeness of the scene 

That has the most impact? 

As in any relationship, isn’t the beauty in it — 

Or the darkness —

 Compounded by and greater than 

The individual contributions?

Beauty in loss

The flowers tell us 

There’s beauty to be found 

Even in loss, 

But that’s not a song we care to hear 

In times like these 

When there’s so much to mourn…

Moonrise

Struggling to fall asleep, 

I wandered out to the living room 

And there, there poised the moon, 

Suspended on an invisible rope 

In a patch of clouds 

 Between two trees, 

Their branches reaching out like fans 

To touch the garment of a passing celebrity.

Hidden in the grasses

It’s Sunday, and if you do not go to church, 

Then take a walk, and sense the presence 

 Guiding you as you step. 

Look up, of course; 

 We all do that on Sundays, 

Wondering if God is there, and watching, 

But look down, as well, 

For hiding in the texture 

 And the color of the grasses 

Lurks a reminder of how alike we are, 

 Though different;

 Of how those differences, united 

Can form beauty; 

Of how, when one is downtrodden 

 All are crushed…

Madronas

The magic and the mystery 

Of madronas on the waterfront: 

The way they cling to the rocky cliffs; 

The beauty of their peeling bark 

And the vibrant underbelly it reveals; 

And finally, in spring, their golden florets, 

Igniting the evergreen-darkened hillsides 

With the promise of new life.

Apologies

Unlike this busy little bee, I realize 

I’ve been slacking off, 

And now I wish to apologize— 

Not for plays unwritten, 

Or still-bare canvases, 

But for not reaching out 

To friends and neighbors more.

 I could blame my inner introvert, or age, 

But I suspect it’s the news that’s got me 

Hibernating: Exactly the wrong response, 

But it seems to sap my energy 

When it should be rousing me to action — 

But what action could I take? 

Then round and round, and roundabout, 

My brain starts spinning 

 And soon I just need to nap.

A beautiful collaboration

The flags we posted to keep the birds 

From crashing into our windows 

Grow even more enchanting 

When our Rhodie is in bloom. 

 Wouldn’t it be nice if that were always true; 

That instead of always being in competition, Collaboration to make things better 

Were the order of the day?

Tangled

When the world gets all tangled, 

So do my paintings: 

It’s hard to stay calm in times like these…

Mountain blessings

We rise, and say good morning 

To the mountain that hovers in the distance, 

Blessing all who fall within her sight. 

May all who struggle find comfort 

 In her serene presence.

Joys of Spring

Autumn used to be my favorite season, 

But now it’s spring: The daffodils, the tulips; 

The cherry and the apple trees; 

The glorious scent of lilacs; 

The rhododendrons blooming 

In all the colors of the rainbow,

 And then the fawns arrive, 

So tiny and so new, 

Their mama is still licking them clean — 

Irresistible!

Spring’s invitation

Like wheels of sunlight, 

Or troupes of dancers spinning, 

Their golden skirts flaring, 

The rhodies in my garden burst into bloom, 

Welcoming the return of warmth, light, and color. 

O, darkness in the world and in my heart, 

How can you resist their invitation?

Some of us, like cats

Some of us, like cats, 

Hoping to fit in, 

Like to crawl into boxes: 

Like labels, they give definition 

To the challenges of life, 

Narrowing our options, 

Reducing our decisions. 

But something in me resists categorization; 

Seeks ways to do and be and see 

What’s unpredictable — 

Except when it comes to food!

Golden evening

A calm and glorious evening, 

With neighbors gathering at the cliff’s edge 

To watch together as the golden glow 

Spreads across the water, 

Tossing all that is not light into shadows.

Past and present

It’s rhododendron season, 

And their lacy ebullience enchants me; 

Hints of purity and weddings, 

A lush promise of perfection and abundance, 

Yet still I mourn the lilac bush 

I’m told once graced our yard with scent

But was torn down to make room for our garage. 

I tried to plant another 

But the deer keep nibbling on 

Its leaves and branches:

It looks like a pile of sticks, and never flowers.

I try not to let what’s lost overwhelm

The pleasures of the Now.