Still bringing love

Like this tree, which, though it’s fallen, 

Still produces apples every year, 

We may be down, but we’re not out: 

 We can still bring into the world 

What we were born to bring: 

Faith, Hope, and Love — 

And the greatest of these is Love.

A renewed sense of purpose

I need community; we need community, 

And, however naive this may sound, 

I believe our community 

Needs voices of hope and faith 

To keep our spirits up 

For the challenging path ahead. 

And so I’ve decided to reduce my exposure 

To the darkness we're all seeing, 

And I pledge to do my best 

To be one of those calm voices. 

Thank you for your patience,

And thank you for listening.

Spring returns despite our fears

As the first wee daisies 

Begin blooming in our lawn 

And the bellies of our does swell with new life, 

We know that spring is on its way again, 

Unhindered by the many worries 

Intruding in our thoughts and fears.

How can we stop this?

Even the plants are lifted in prayer: 

Please, can’t someone do something to stop this? 

And the echo in my heart: 

What can _I_ do to stop this? 

The helplessness is paralyzing.

Even the animals

Even the hawks are watching in horror. 

Perhaps all the money 

That didn’t get spent yesterday 

Needs to go to the Ukraine.

Economic Blackout Day

 I won’t be here on Friday,

but I’ll be back Saturday with a report.

Painstakingly constructed

Like this little gazebo, our government 

Is a painstakingly constructed edifice, 

Built to stand the test of time 

And shelter those who need it. 

To destroy the work of so many 

Is a brutal tragedy.

Dismantled

Watching the dismantling 

 Of the systems put in place to protect 

All those less fortunate than ourselves 

 Creates an unassuageable ache in the hearts 

Of all who were once proud to have been 

Part of a country founded on the principles

Of inalienable rights and equality. 

What will it take to rebuild?

Maintaining focus

There’s still clarity and beauty out there, 

It’s just hard to detect 

When so much is happening in the foreground: 

The reflections of our own thoughts and fears, 

The raindrops of our tears,

The light all the pundits try to shed, 

And the flag waving of both sides — 

All obscuring what we know to be true: 

 Compassion and hope must prevail.

Artist as poet

It took me sixty years 

 To discover I was an artist, 

And I may spend another sixty 

Exploring what that means,

 But I always knew I was a poet; 

I just didn’t know I could be both; 

That I didn’t need to choose between the two, 

Or that the rhythms found in one could be 

Reflected in the other…

Creative tension

The question is this: 

What do we choose to focus on? 

The fierceness of the storm, 

Or the colors in the sky — 

Or can we hold it all in creative tension; 

That both are true, 

And therein lies an opportunity 

To express what needs to be birthed 

 At this particular moment in time?

Be watchful and brave

Despite the high winds, he climbed 

 To the topmost branch of the tree, 

Then crossed to a neighboring branch 

That swayed in the wind, 

Then climbed back down 

To a stabler place 

And settled in to watch the deer. 

We’ll need to be equally watchful 

 And brave in the coming months: 

There’s a lot at stake.

Living on edge

It seems we’re all living 

Life on the edge these days. 

Somehow we need to find 

The beauty and possibility in that 

And not become paralyzed 

By our fear of falling…

Morning greetings

It’s morning, 

And the mama and her yearling 

Are here to greet me as the day begins. 

My heart sings, 

Rejoicing in our connection.

Resilience

The iridescent moss 

Clings to the trees and rocks 

Just as we cling to the old ideas 

Of honesty, integrity, humility, and compassion. 

 May such values prove resilient 

And as hard to eliminate 

As that ever-present moss…

A sedentary day

And now, a chance 

To sit in peace and appreciate 

The quiet of a sedentary day; 

The trees, the hills, the fog, the sea — 

All reaching out to calm our troubled hearts 

And sing a song of peace.

Surviving unexpectedness

Gliding into port on a gray and rainy day,

 I looked beyond the barriers 

 To the strange day that awaited us —

 So many cries for help: 

A forgotten purse, a misread schedule, 

A child’s grief-stricken act, 

Unexpected turbulence, 

A crack in the wall, and a frog: 

 And yet — it all worked out. 

Surprised, and grateful.

A Sunday kind of sweetness

Morning, 

And the moon hovers in the blue mist 

 Overlooking the water, 

Spreading a gentle glow below 

Her delicate lavender blanket. 

There’s a Sunday kind of sweetness in the air.

Don’t miss it!

The beauty of the day may go unseen 

If we’re busy locking horns 

With some annoying adversary. 

Be sure to step away from anger and irritation 

Long enough to appreciate 

 The glory nature has to offer.

Happy Valentines Day

It’s hard, in the dead of winter, 

To imagine things looking rosy; 

It’s hard, when love’s been lost, 

To imagine finding it again, 

And hard, when so much is broken, 

To imagine it will ever be fixed, 

Yet still we remember kindness, and Spring, 

And trust that they will come again. 

 Happy Valentines Day!

Pay attention!

Pay attention! 

The dawning sun has briefly clothed

The mountain and the sea in stripes today:

 Look quickly, as they’ll fade; 

Watch closely, as the clouds step in 

To gray and wash away those glorious colors, 

And remember how things looked 

Before the charming differences 

Were whitened into bland.

Small town life

The quiet charm of a small town 

On an early winter’s morning, 

Untouched as yet 

By the heartless machinations 

Of those in power far away 

Is what we’re longing to protect: 

People caring for one another, 

Sharing in communities; 

Human stories lived against 

A background of natural beauty.

Morning moon

Having awakened

To a beautiful moonlit morning, 

I face the challenges of the day 

With renewed vigor and joy, 

Enchanted by that golden ribbon of light.

Breathe in solidarity

That sinking feeling when you realize 

A minor dusting of snow in your own backyard 

Is a white-out blizzard elsewhere, 

And you’ll need to drive through it 

To get to that doctor’s appointment 

You’ve waited six months for: A minor challenge, 

Compared to what’s happening elsewhere… 

Just breathe, and stand in solidarity 

With all who are afraid.

The larger family

They still travel together, 

This father and son, 

And squabble from time to time,

 Locking horns and then licking 

Each other and grooming; 

Greeting us mornings 

As if glad to be part of 

This larger family we share. 

We’re honored, as well, 

And grateful they’ve welcomed us here, 

 As they were here first.

Fond memories

A dear friend in Paris visiting the Cluny on holiday

Reminded me of a visit there 25 years ago, 

When I took this picture, which I still love, 

Which I named Boisterous at the Cluny. 

So many years, and still the photo 

Brings back sweet memories: 

The blessings of photography; 

So precious; such a blessing.

Art imitating life

I tried to paint using blues and whites, 

But somehow when it dried 

Great swaths of brown appeared. 

So to relieve the brown and give it character, 

I added tiny marks, but now 

I’m seeing insects, and they bug me — 

 Like so much else that’s happening. 

 Once again, Art’s imitating life…

Snow job

It’s a snow job, right? 

False flattery on the one hand, 

While the other systematically destroys 

All we hold dear? 

So confusing, and so very white, 

We can’t seem to see familiar landmarks any more… When will it stop, 

And what will be left when the sky clears again?

Breathe, and breathe again

Resting my heart In the evening’s alpenglow 

Dusting Mount Baker with its rosy blush, 

I take a deep breath and breathe again 

 Releasing the worries of the day, 

Hoping sleep will give us strength 

 And courage for the battles that lie ahead.

Seeking restoration

While we were busy arguing, 

Someone else was quietly 

Removing food from the table. 

What will it take to return our rights, 

Or are they gone forever?

Where’s the eagle eye?

Where’s the eagle eye 

That should be watching over us, 

Preventing the wholesale takeover 

Of all the systems put in place 

To protect and defend us? 

And how can we best respond?

Trust and continue

I take heart from my fig tree, 

Which already boldly bears 

Next summer’s fruits; 

Whose imperfect branches have already begun 

To sprout next year’s extensions. 

We, too, must trust and continue 

To birth into the future 

What is crying to be born in us: 

Compassion, hope, and mercy for all.

Not all downhill

It’s hard not to think 

Things are all downhill from here 

But we have to trust that at some point 

In the hopefully not-too-distant future 

The road will rise up to greet us. 

The question now is what steps can we take 

To help make that happen?

Another arrow to the heart

Abandoned. 

That’s how it feels. 

 Why does my heart ache 

When I look at this picture? 

Somehow the truck becomes 

Symbolic 

Of all the souls abandoned, 

Left behind and lost 

By those who had the wherewithal to save them. 

And now, each day, 

Another arrow to the heart…

As if…

Crossing the bridge at sunset, 

Something inside me thrills to see 

Sun streaming across the water, 

As if nothing’s changed; 

As if the world’s still beautiful, 

Brutality, prejudice and greed — 

Just things of the past, 

Fading before waves 

Of compassion and justice…

There is still beauty

In that last bright burst of color 

Before night claims the sky 

All the familiar landmarks fade 

 In black obeisance to beauty. 

Yes, there is still beauty, 

Though it’s easy to forget 

In times like these.

Easily startled

A rush of wings,

And the starlings are back, 

To lift and land as one, 

Decimating our bird feeders 

And filling the sky with iridescent murmurations: 

A social media frenzy without the media — 

Easily distracted, easily misled, easily startled 

Into foolish flights of fancy…

Choose wisely

The mountain doesn’t change in the night: 

It’s the clouds who surround her 

That hide or draw attention to her beauty — 

Just as the friends we choose, 

The decisions we make, 

And the words we use give clues 

To both the majesty and flaws 

That lie within us: choose 

Wisely.

Cowering in the shadows

Even this tiny one-eyed shell, 

Cowering in the shadows 

Of broken concrete 

Awakens my sympathy. 

How much more so do we ache 

For all those who now live in fear 

Of deportation?

Impeaching peace

The lovely blush of morning 

Turns our distant clouds to peach:

 Is that impeachment? 

 And how sad is it, 

That that’s where my mind goes; 

That frustration continues 

 To shade my thoughts; 

To overlay visions of peace 

With shades of hope and loss?

Is art enough?

I never wanted this blog 

To be about politics; 

 To add another voice to the rising chorus 

 Of horror and frustration. 

 But is it enough to continue offering

A peaceful respite from the fray? 

Can that serve as a reminder 

That everyone deserves peace and compassion? 

Art as solace in hard times?

Uplifting

Watching from my kitchen window 

As he floats gently by, 

I smile at the sense of freedom that must give, 

To rise above our earthly cares and squabbles 

And just breathe with the wind…

 I need to find some other ways to lift my soul.

Cold, cold, cold

After a relatively warm winter, 

We had our first frost this morning: 

the tip of my garden Buddha’s head 

is covered with ice. 

It seems somehow appropriate;

 so many hearts left out in the cold today…

Into the echo chamber

Yesterday, disheartened 

by the recent changes in policy on FaceBook,

 I made the tough decision 

to stop posting these pieces there. 

I will miss that community 

of friends old and new from lives past and present, 

but I'm tired of being bombarded 

by ads i don't want for things I don't need, 

and I'm sad the restrictions 

 on lies and hate language have been taken away. 

I've been accused of moving to an echo chamber, 

but the only echoes I hope to hear 

are of kindness and compassion: 

may they continue to resonate throughout the earth.

I was so disheartened 

By the recent changes in Facebook policy 

that I decided to take flight. 

I will no longer be posting there, 

but you’ll still be able to find me here, 

and I’ve also begun posting on BlueSky 

as dwalkerarts; Hope we can stay connected!

Flame-red reminder

As the characteristic reds and greens 

Of Christmas slowly fade, 

We’re left to face again 

The subtle grays of winter: 

Of clouds and leafless trees, 

 Of icy streets and melting snow, 

The wisps of fog above the lakes, 

The smoke from stoves and fires 

And the ash they leave behind — 

And there it is again, flame-red reminder 

Of the monumental losses 

Being faced in California; 

The unfathomable magnitude of destruction.

Misconceptions

How is it that some ideas 

Get so embedded that we can’t let go, 

But seem to grow around them; 

Hold them closer to our hearts 

Until we confuse them with our souls? 

Even when they’re foreign to our nature, 

We hang on, clutching them like stones, 

Ready to hurl at the next unbeliever, 

In spite of everything that tells us 

There’s a chance we might possibly be wrong…

Symmetry

I remember, as a child, 

Arranging candles on the mantelpiece, 

And my artist mom coming to correct me,

 Moving two to one side and one to the other, 

Explaining that asymmetry is preferable 

To symmetry — an early version, I suspect,

 Of the rule of thirds I later learned — 

And yet, like many humans,

 I still am drawn to symmetry,

 In landscapes and in faces, 

And wonder if that rule exists 

To ensure that it sets art apart 

As different; a new way of seeing. 

So, though I understand the rule 

And use it to advantage, 

I still find scenes like this quite appealing😉

Losses too huge to process

With time we learn from the sun and moon 

That trouble, pain, and change are like the clouds: 

They may slide in and out again,

 Or they might stay for days, 

But for the most part they will pass 

And the good times come again. 

But how can we begin to process 

Losses of this magnitude, 

When so much has been taken, 

And so little left behind?

Obstacles

I loved the peace of this scene, 

But, thinking the flagpole interfered, 

Attempted to erase it, but the result — 

Once I’d accomplished that — 

Was actually boring. 

It’s easy to forget 

That things that seem like obstacles 

May actually enhance our experience…