Living a Poem

Winter still hangs inside of me

like the branches of a low tree, like the cold in my chest.
But, this morning, the bluebirds came ...

They tried to tell me.
 How the seasons change....that I mustn't fuss about little things.
They bathed and left.

Then a new bird sang outside my window.
A sweet high sound.
Solitary and pure.
I listened.
I heard a voice, this time.
And I smiled.


CC-2012

Intimations of Life Without Christmas

Silly me! Christmas is almost here, and other than a few ornaments and what was handy in some boxes in the closet, this is what it will be this year.
I got a viral infection that has wasted a whole week and almost wasted me. It started with a small headache and loosing my voice. It turned into a monster that wouldn't let me breath and coughing that almost did me in. By yesterday I said "I give." and went to the hospital in Elk Grove to see my doctor. I started running a fever.
I wrote this poem for him....although I didn't take it with me, so he didn't actually see it.

Please Doctor.... Make me well

Christmas is a coming.
I've got so much to do...
The cookies need some baking 
and all the gifts bought too.
I can't be sick much longer. 
It's not the time of year.
I haven't finished anything. 
Please kick me in the rear.
Give me all the medicine
that you know will make me well.
Because the season is coming fast 
and, Oh, I feel like Hell.
Just one magic potion
to make my body right.
Just one magic potion 
to let me see the light.
I promise I will write a letter,
with cookies, to your boss,
And tell them you're the best darn "doc"
in the whole entire Hosp'.

(OK, that last line is kind of lame. I will work on it.)
_______________
The Prospector drove this wretched person down to her appt. The doctor listened, poked and did some tests and sent me home with antibiotics, Codeine cough medicine and Albuterol inhaler. He told me that I shouldn't have waited so long to come in. I was borderline. (I've known that for years.)
Today I feel...... better. Kind of.
Silly me. I thought I wasn't going to get better. It's hard to be positive when you can't breath.
I have this small thought inside that is getting larger, as I grow older. It's like a window with old distorted glass. I'm looking into it and I see my reflection. Behind me is my mother. She couldn't breath either.
At some point in our lives we see this reflection of what lies ahead... and it's so scary we can't even say it's name.
I'm so glad Christmas is coming..... Maybe it will snow.

Murph' has a poem

~Murphy~

Murphy, oh Murphy
Will you be mine?
I'll let you eat rosebuds
and pansies divine.

I won't ever scold
and won't ever forget
that you have my heart
in your pocket, my pet.

This poem was sent to me by Julie Whitmore.
She is an extrordinary pottery artist who lives in Cambria, CA.
Thank you Julie.

The Grateful Heart

I woke up early this morning. Got my cup of coffee and went out to water the front garden. Then I came in and fixed myself one of my favorite breakfasts..., toast with blue cheese and apple juice. ( My Dad use to call it "stinky cheese" but he loved it too. ).

Sitting in the rocking chair, I think about the last few weeks and how I could be getting ready to leave for the Bay Area this morning instead of sitting here with my dogs and blue cheese on toast. It's funny how things change. Life takes on a different pace. Nothing seems eminent, pending..., on the edge.

We are planning a Memorial for Mom on the 14th of September and there are things to do for this final goodbye..., but the fear is gone. The pain and waiting is over for her..,she is safe and life is still here. We are still here. The animals need feeding, the garden needs water; family still requires love and attention, but there is a peace; a stillness in my heart.

The season is changing. I can smell it. There's a different fragrance is in the air; a different slant to the light. It is change that is palpable and I know that my favorite season is coming.
I go inside..., into my bedroom to change into some clothes and walking shoes. Carl is running in circles because he knows that I'm preparing to take him for a walk and he is crazy with excitement. The sun is coming in through the window over our bed.
I remember a time, long ago, when I thought I would never see this moment; when I thought I wouldn't live another day or week or year. It was a time of sickness and fear. And yet, here I am.
I wrote this poem, then, and it seems like I wrote it this morning. Standing here in the sunlight of my bedroom, in my little home on this foothill mountain top, I realize that life just is..., and acceptance of it, with all of it's uncertainty, is what success is all about.

Success

Look how it shines
through
the window;
shimmering through
leaves on trees.
making patterns
on my window,
making shine
on my face.

Look, as it slowly comes
through
lace curtains.
Making patterned light
on my painted walls.

Look, beyond the forest
where the world opens
and light shines through;
making happiness
in my heart;
knowing
it will come again....,
tomorrow.

C.C. 1985

Where did the years go?

This picture was taken at Noni's house in Pleasant Hill. You were probably about 3 yrs. old.
It was a nice day that had turned cold and so Noni put her own sweater and hat on you .
This is one of my favorite photos.
















Kindergarden at Marsh Elementary. Look at that halo of blond, curly hair.(upper right corner)



















I think you're about 10 here. Your big brother is behind you.

















You were a joyful child and you loved being a kid. Where did the years go? Now you are a man with children of your own. You are a good and compassionate father. We are so proud of you. Be happy Jess.

We love you and wish you
a very Happy Birthday.
Love, Mom & Dad.

This is a poem I wrote a very long time ago..., you were a baby.
It's an acrostic of your name.

Join us
Easily,
Sweet
Son,
Especially loved.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy
BY THOMAS LUX

For some semitropical reason
when the rains fall relentlessly they fall
into swimming pools, these otherwise
bright and scary arachnids.
They can swim a little,
but not for long
and they can’t climb the ladder out.
They usually drown—
but if you want their favor,
if you believe there is justice,
a reward for not loving
the death of ugly
and even dangerous (the eel, hog snake, rats) creatures,
if you believe these things,
then you would leave a lifebuoy or two
in your swimming pool at night.
And in the morning
you would haul ashore
the huddled, hairy survivors
and escort them back to the bush,
and know, be assured that at least
these saved, as individuals,
would not turn up again
someday in your hat, drawer,
or the tangled underworld of your socks,
and that even— when your belief in justice
merges with your belief in dreams—
they may tell the others
in a sign language
four times as subtle and
complicated as man’s
that you are good,
that you love them,
that you would save them again.

My youngest son left this poem in my email as a response to my "Trust" post. He knows me well. This poem speaks to my very soul.
My youngest son is a poet and a visionary. He has always understood the nuances of human behavior and ,it seems, the affinity of his mother to the natural world.
Thank you for the wonderful poem, Jess.

Seeing Light

I've been alone all morning.
Puccini is playing softly, from the corner of the room.
Outside the fog wraps itself around the canyons below the house. I'm safe and quiet..., I will leave some footprints on paper....

Seeing light

Peace and time are candlesticks
On my windowsill.
I know my ebbing candle shines,
But now I watch it's glow
And know it will not last forever.
I see it's beauty in the flame
And form of melting wax
As it slowly disappears.

I understand, now,
That only my thoughts are forever
And what comes is the Wind.
I wrap my hand around the flame
Because the Robin is at my window
And spring is coming soon.