Sunday, December 19, 2010

Yule 2010

We’re diving into deep night again,
into a velvet star speckled pocket
lusciously cold as a watercress pool,
edges laced in frost.

We can’t help but fill it
with gloomy news of
economies kaput, mothers murdered,
insurgent storms.

All set a perfect stage
for this longest night with
shadows, shadows everywhere -
even the moon eclipses.

It’s a firefly called hope,
napping in the bottom
of Pandora’s golden box
that sustains us now.

We are preserved for summer –
for farmers’market
and mayfly hatches
and Perseid showers.

So today let winter hold our sadness.
We’ll feed the fire,
sing to children, stir the soup.
Tears and worry ride better

on the dappled gray fog than on our hearts.
When Earth bears everything
the January skies
can bleed spring again.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Why the Moon Needs a Nap

Whose turn is it to watch for paradise? - Sarah Ann Winn

With first slip of daylight, I let loose hounds
of dark roast to a  growling grinder, cracking
the quiet of thick frost and apricot overcast.  
My black dog stretches in sun salute as we meet
a crescent moon. She looks a bit ragged and thin.

Winter slows many things, sap and squirrels, but
not the brooding of poets and farmers - incessant
is their surveillance.  The moon needs a nap, drapes her face
with cirrus clouds; tries to overlook the millstones:
neap tides, menses, frazzled lunatics – tugging, tugging, tugging.

No wonder Selene stumbles narcoleptic spring to fall.
No wonder with each waning crescent, her sagacious gifts
surrender to rain. She needs a nap. There are blueprints
to dream for April,  and a naked winter world
expects night escort, November to Spring.  

No wonder Diana croons in the vernal chirr of peeper and toad.
Even beside groundhogs, she’d lay, seek a sluggish eclipse,
to catch a month of winks. She deserves a nap. Keep in mind,
we want her ready to romance a juicy May and June. Then, hold
her fixed with second wind for equinox, light steady for long harvests.

I’m holding my moon vigil this morning until the ghostly thumbnail
evaporates out of sight, but not out of mind. And tomorrow
it’s a quiet cup of PG Tips, I’ll sip, try to keep the ruckus down.