POEMS.....from the road

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MIDNIGHT PAINTING

Just before bed, I glance up at the sky
which by some miracle has turned into a midnight painting:
over all light gray with wavy streaks
of dark and darker gray, almost black,
and in the center of it all, a perfect moon
illuminates the whole sky
until it slowly slips behind the darkest cloud
and is hidden from my view.
Then just as slowly it returns again,
proving that wishes make it so,
and creates a sense of awe in me
that I still experience after all these many moons.

Sequim, Washington.....8/27/04

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YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN THE SOUTH...

when you see
your first cotton field;
signs advertising oysters and crawfish;
restaurants serving fried catfish, hush puppies, gumbo,
jumbalaya, fried okra, po boys, and only white bread;
cafe au laits and co'colas;
pecan trees;
tiny houses (shacks really) always with porches
and two chairs for watching the world go by;
assorted porch furniture that has seen better days;
live oak trees, branches extending 20 feet horizontally
topped with resurrection fern
that comes back to life, changing from brown to green,
every time it rains;
those odd-looking trees with the round bottoms
that make the swamp their home: cypress;
bayous with swamp tours -- water everywhere;
Spanish moss;
gorgeous southern mansions (with huge lawns),
oozing with southern hospitality;
snowy white egrets, brown pelicans and blue herons;
and the south's crowning glory: magnolias!

when you're called M'am this and M'am that no matter what your age,
y'all when you're standing by yourself,
and darlin' in that lovely southern drawl.

where people go out of their way to help you;
southern kindness unsurpassed anywhere.

when the weather gets warmer,
and the humidity is so high it's like being in a steam room;
*Can you die from humidity?)

I am still waiting for pralines and boiled peanuts, but maybe that's Georgia.

somewhere in Louisiana....11/8/03

(Note: I was born in Memphis, Tennessee, and I experienced a certain nostalgia when I "felt" the South this time through. I guess it's true what they say, "You can take the gal out of the south, but you can't take the south out of the gal.")

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A ROAD CALLED "WISDOM"

I passed a road called "Wisdom" today
somewhere in Louisiana.
Like so many people
I chose not to drive that road
seeing what it had to teach along the way.

I gave it a sideways glance,
hesitating for just a moment
before choosing to pass by.
No time, I thought, for "Wisdom" today,
eager to get on to the next town called "Open Roads"
which is more my style.

Somewhere in Louisiana...11/8/03

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AND THAT'S ENOUGH

I lay on my back in the grass
on this beautiful, warm, sunny day
in Colorado's mid-October.
And that's enough.

And I look up through
the tree with the shimmering, golden leaves
in Colorado's mid-October.
And that's enough.

And through the tree branches,
the cloudless, blue sky serves as a lovely backdrop
in Colorado's mid-October.
And that's enough.

Alamosa, Colorado.....10/19/03

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DEFINITELY AUTUMN IN COLORADO

Strong wind today.
Its magic dust has made Mt. Blanca disappear in a gray haze.
And right now it's trying its best to rip every single leaf from the trees,
And it's succeeding.
A river of golden leaves races across the park.
The real river, the Rio Grande, is the highest I've ever seen,
Its surface covered with small wavelets.
So different from yesterday when the fall color of the trees
Was mirrored in the still water.

Hair blowing, coat zipped up, bracing myself against the wind,
I walk along the paved path beside the river.
The leaves bounce along with a clickety-clack, clickety-clack sound.
There is no one in the park but me.
Don't they find it exciting:
The roaring of the wind in the trees and the rustling of fall leaves underfoot?
I do!

Alamosa, Colorado.....10/13/03

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LIFE AS A RIVER

If you think of yourself as a river,
you flow along,
actively watching
what the universe has put in your path.
There are some things you will want to avoid.
With others, you will pause a while,
encircle, perhaps caress, and then move on.
The length of time will vary,
as will the ease of leave taking.

Seattle, Washington.....before 2000

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ALL SHAPES AND SIZES OF WORDS FOR WRITING

Just now
I emptied my pockets of all
the little bits of paper:
pink and white, scrunched, and folded
into all shapes and sizes of words for writing.
I find poems I wrote weeks ago
and notes for stories far too numerous to write.
I process some, take care of them,
then wad them up and throw them on the floor.
Others I stash away into the sparkly, green notebook
I call "Writing Ideas" -- to be worked on later.
But right now, I have to stop everything
because I must write THIS poem
about those little bits of paper:
pink and white, scrunched, and folded
into all shapes and sizes of words for writing.

San Francisco, California.....12/04/02

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RIVERS ARE GOOD FOR THE SOUL

It's been a while since I walked by a river
the Elwah, I think, at an Octoberfest celebration in a yurt.
That river was low, only a trickle at summer's end.
But this river was glorious!
Flowing along with rapids in one place,
then smooth as glass,
the surface reflecting the orange, red, and yellow fall colors
I stood for a while, breathing deep,
soaking up the silence,
glad to be away from the big city.
This is where I belong, I thought,
alone, away from the crowds, the noise,
right smack dab in the middle of nature
untouched by human hands
with lots of space to walk or run or dance
or turn cartwheels if I choose.
All the while restoring my soul.

Centralia, Washington.....10/22/02 (rev. 8/26/03)

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A MID-0CTOBER MORNING

(dedicated to my good friend Gayle)

I woke before sunrise this morning
eager to get on with the day.
On my way, I passed the little park,
the one with the sweeping view
of the lake, the mountains, the sky.
Craning my neck to enjoy the view,
I had one of those "not to be missed" feelings
that made me turn at the next corner and return.
As I walked to the overlook,
the words started coming
along with the panoramic view:
dark mountains against a peach-colored sky,
twinkling lights of the night lingering into dawn,
the lake, a jigsaw-puzzle piece amid the green.
Not a cloud in the sky,
unusual for Seattle on a mid-October morning.

Seattle, Washington.....10/16/02

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THE FIVE-TOED CAT

Today I met a five-toed cat.
Now, I've seen five-toed cats before
but never like this one.
It's front feet were HUGE:
four toes together and an ENORMOUS one
that stuck straight out to the side.

It was other-world beautiful:
the palest, most radiant, blue eyes
I've ever seen;
off-white fur with a golden glint;
wisps of brown on its forehead
and the tips of its ears.

The notch in the tip of its left ear
told me it had been "around the block"
of life a couple of times.
It was friendly too,
begging to be petted before I left,
stretching out before my feet
in delicious expectation.

On the way to Lake Crescent (near Port Angeles, Washington).....9/22/02

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OLD GROWTH FOREST

There is nothing quite like walking
through old-growth forest,
like a walk in the past.
Pine needles under foot,
sun filtering through ancient trees,
moss-covered limbs,
cool, fresh air to breathe,
sweet, sweet silence
and the unexpected bonus of a deer
waiting at the end of the trail.

Lake Crescent (near Port Angeles, Washington).....9/22/02

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I DANCED WITH A DEER

I saw the deer in the distance
near the end of the trail
and hoped it would be there still
as I rounded the bend.

It was.
We stood for a while,
staring at each other,
like two people noticing each other
across a dance floor:
motionless, hardly breathing,
about twenty feet apart,
looking for some message
in each other's eyes.

As I held out my hand,
the deer accepted my invitation,
and we became partners in a strange kind of dance.
The deer took two steps toward me.
Then I did the same.
The simple steps repeated
until we were ten feet apart.
That was close enough
for the deer (who took two steps back)
but not for me.

Lake Crescent (near Port Angeles, Washington).....9/22/02 (Rev. 7/31/03)

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THE ROSE POEMS

ROSE POEM I: SHARING SADNESS

(dedicated to my friend Derek, who deserves better)

I park overlooking the harbor,
walk around the block and down the alley,
desperate for joy,
looking for just a little something to lift my spirits.
And I find it!
In a cat crouched
in a field of dandelions turned to wish flowers
and a honeysuckle vine climbing a fence.

To my right are the mountains.
The jagged peaks remind me of the ups and downs of life:
the peaks and valleys of existence.
Then I pass the house on the corner,
familiar to me on my sunset walks,
its yard overrun with flowers:
chrysanthemums, hollyhocks, dahlias,
and roses, Roses, ROSES!

Signs on the fence identify each rose.
One says "Abracadabra."
"Aha," I thought, "a magic rose."
Perhaps if I say "Abracadabra" and close my eyes,
all this sadness will vanish.
Do you think?

Port Angeles, Washington.....September 1, 2002

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ROSE POEM II: ROSES WANT A POEM OF THEIR OWN!

I pause at the house on the corner,
the one with the white picket fence
and all the flowers.
I came to jot down the names of roses
for a previous poem:
"English Garden, Just Joey, Olympiad, Blue Nile, Heritage,
All That Jazz, Mikado, Golden Masterpiece, Magic Lantern, Swan,"
the names as colorful as the roses themselves.
And I stopped to breathe in a few that
I couldn't resist, like:
"Prosperity" and "Pleasure" and "Earth Song,"
of course.

But then as often happens with my writing,
it took on a life of its own.
As I walked along the fence,
reading the names,
I heard a faint whisper:
"Me, me, me!"
which became a shout:
"Us, us, us!"
The roses were clearly saying:
"WE WANT A POEM OF OUR OWN!"

"Roses have thorns," I thought.
"I'd better do it."
And that's how this poem was born.

Port Angeles, Washington.....September 19, 2002

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ROSE POEM III: CHASING SUNSETS

I'm always chasing sunsets,
watching my watch, watching the sky;
so that I can be there on time.
With sunsets, timing is everything.

I know when to start toward the harbor:
when the sun is just above the trees.
But if I stop to talk with someone on my path
or if I pause to smell the roses
(both equally as important as sunsets),
then I'm too late
and often find myself at the harbor just before dark.

Then I am left with only a pale, gray-pink sky in the distance,
the lapping of waves against the shore,
the ships at sea,
and a kaliedescope of the lights from town.
Not the same as a sunset
but wonderful just the same.

Port Angeles, Washington.....September 19, 2002

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WALKING AT SUNSET

How I love the smell of salt water!
I walk on the boardwalk
"Between the dark and the daylight"
To the constant rhythm
Of waves caressing the shore,
While a thin sliver of moon balances
Above the remains of a dusty pink sunset.

Des Moines, Washington.....August 10, 2002

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MORTALITY TO MUSIC

Sitting at the outdoor concert,
I think about how I've always enjoyed life to the fullest,
Kept my eyes open, my schedule flexible,
So that I could take advantage of every little thing.
Always looking for cheap joy,
Always deeply appreciative when I find it.

But now that I am older,
Life has become even more precious.
New words are creeping into my vocabulary like:
Mortality and finite,
So that I feel I have to suck the very marrow of life
Right down to the bone.

Seattle, Washington.....August 6, 2002

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I LIVE EVERYWHERE

"Do you live here?" he asked.
"I LIVE everywhere," I replied.
In hot deserts where tall cactus serve as trees,
On tropical beaches in the shade of coconut palms,
Near grasslands amidst tall, wind-blown grasses,
By oceans where the rhythm of waves never ceases,
By tranquil lakes with mirror surfaces,
In forests where tall trees gather me in,
On mountains enveloped by the smell of evergreens,
By fast-moving streams where rushing water lulls me to sleep,
In campgrounds wrapped in the campfire glow,
In lush, green valleys where hill upon distant hill blend into one,
In vast, flat, dry, open spaces where, surely, sunsets were created,
On white sand beaches with salt air filling my lungs,
By tulip fields wild with color,
Along the road amid a riot of wild flowers,
In the hearts of friends who grow peonies in their garden,
And, because of it all,
I dance on mountaintops.

Sequim, Washington.....July 28, 2002

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Sitting on the grass, cross-legged,
I look out over the expanse of salt water,
So calm and smooth
With just a few surface ripples now and then.
It mirrors the feeling of this place.
The silence is earth shattering in its intensity,
Interrupted only by the call of sea birds.
I take deep breaths,
Filling my lungs with salty sea air.
The place is empty except
For gulls landing, taking off, and landing again.
And gift of gifts, a heron swoops in.
The nearby mountains still sleep
Under early-morning cloud blankets not yet removed.
And trees are everywhere:
Manicured ones in the park,
Large ones along the nearby shore,
And thousands of greenish matchsticks
In the distance.
An occasional walker strolls by,
But we don't speak;
Everyone lost in their own reverie.
Only three boats are in the harbor,
Each waiting for its owner,
Amusing themselves by making their
Reflections dance in the water.
Only one person is fishing in a rowboat.
Then a slightly larger boat appears
But doesn't make a sound,
Leaving the peace of this place intact.
Thank you!
The tide is out so the beach is huge
With only one large log at the end;
Rocks in varying shades of
Gray and brown pepper the shore,
Some smooth, some roughly barnacled.
So much life here, yet so still --
Until a song bird flies in
To serenade me as I write.

Sequim, Washington.....July 28, 2002

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THE HARBOR ONE MORNING

It's gone!
The entire harbor!
Disappeared while I was sleeping,
and it took with it the pier,
and the boats and the huge ships,
and the beach, the rocks, the sand,
and the sea gulls,
and ALL the salt water
(including the fish and the seals)!
GASP!
The fog, like a magician's cape,
covered it all up
and made it vanish!

Port Angeles, Washington.....7/14/02

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TOGETHER?

See them?
Over there.
The couple reading the newspaper.
Not talking.
Not smiling.
You can always pick them out.
Married.....

See them?
Over there.
The couple who can't keep
their eyes off each other --
or their hands.
Talking.
Smiling.
You can always pick them out.
Lovers.

Port Angeles, Washington.....7/14/02

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PORT ANGELES (poem in progress)

People sit in cars on top of cliffs
enjoying the view of salt water
as far as the eye can see
ending in distant ghost mountains.

Port Angeles, Washington.....7/1/02

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AT LAST WE MEET

Shall we just smile and say hello?
Or shall we just shake hands, touching "just a little?"
Or shall we give short hugs?
You know, the quick kind,
touch and go hugs, I call them,
external hugs. (Why bother?)
Or a long one?
A great bear hug that lasts forever,
Arms holding each other tight,
Hugs wrapped around every part of our bodies.
Or how about the supreme fantasy?
The one like a banana split
with three kinds of ice cream
and three different toppings
and whipped cream, and nuts, and a cherry?
Like in the movies:
The one that fulfills all of our dreams and fantasies.
The one where we run to meet each other
through a field of tall grass and daisies.
You decide...

Port Angeles, Washington.....7/12/02

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FIELD DAISIES

What could be prettier
than daisies in the tall grass?
Their white and yellow heads
seem to float above the green.

North of Corvallis, Oregon.....6/11/02

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