Musings with Meaning

Giving wings to my words until I grow my own.

wings

torn from my back

long ago

what crimes

committed

over centuries

sins

omissions

jealousy and rage

quiet after birth

later

much

time after time

yet

just on the other side

—the reverse of the mirror

the wings

are growing back

softly

painfully

emerging from my shoulder blades

and I wonder

how much longer til I fly?

-March 2015

Shards

poetry

like shards of a pot

placed back together

after shattering

at the discretion

of the finder

words lost/found

rearranged

a whole new vessel

formed from

another’s

point of view

go ahead

drop it again

I dare you

to start anew

____________

for Jerome

Inspired by M.C. Richards

What would Virginia do?

(An overdue ode to the Cascade River in Spring)

sepia swirls

over mocking white foam

conifers dance and

bubbles beckon

what would Virginia do?

would she wade into your

cold and mocking waters?

or would she look in her pockets

and find a shining agate from the shore

that captures her attention

to stave off her demise

for another day?

Suspended in Honey

hazy warm air,

a bee’s sense of laissez-faire

i run my fingers through my growing

golden hair

marveling that i feel young again

never mind the glimpse of my actual reflection

my true self possesses some

certain something that never really leaves

that j nais c’set qua

and leftover aplomb

that suspends my true nature

in a state of honey

golden, glowy

a little bit showy

sexy and sweet

but be careful…

do not add heat

i’ve no fear of drowning in it,

rather

what I fear

is that in some

strange suspended state

my mind will harden like amber

around an illusion

of fate

Just enough

they knew just enough

enough to be dangerous

dangerous in ways that left others unsettled

unsettled–as in feathers ruffled

ruffled and or preening in order to be seen

seen by those who left

left –right–or wrong–their presence was still felt

felt in the way peril and elation merge

merge and confuse you

you cannot escape their wisdom

wisdom that comes from knowing

knowing just enough

enough to be dangerous

Ode to a house finch

your dainty redhead

turning this way and that

attentive and attuned

ready to fly at a moment’s notice

ready for anything

(including my cats)

undaunted

present

liminal and light

ready for nothing

ready for all

perched in between

ever ready

always ready

to heed the call