Thursday, May 29, 2014

Trapeze by Deborah Digges

Jetstream 'dragonfly' in my neighborhood last summer
By Deborah Digges, 1950 - 2009
See how the first dark takes the city in its arms 
and carries it into what yesterday we called the future. 

O, the dying are such acrobats. 
Here you must take a boat from one day to the next, 

or clutch the girders of the bridge, hand over hand. 
But they are sailing like a pendulum between eternity and evening, 

diving, recovering, balancing the air. 
Who can tell at this hour seabirds from starlings, 

wind from revolving doors or currents off the river. 
Some are as children on swings pumping higher and higher. 

Don’t call them back, don’t call them in for supper. 
See, they leave scuff marks like jet trails on the sky.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Who It Is Accuses Us by Linda Pastan

My kitchen window sill altar:  Jesus, a fallen Orchid, and the bones of a crucifix fish I found on the Galveston beach years ago:  Ariopsis felis (hardhead sea catfish, Ariidae).
Who It Is Accuses Us
By Linda Pastan

Who it is accuses us of safety,
as if the family were soldiers
instead of hostages,
as if the gardens were not mined
with explosive peonies,
as if the most common death
were not by household accident?
We have chosen the dangerous life.
Consider the pale necks of the children
under their colored head scarves,
the skin around the husband's eyes, flayed
by guilt and promises.
You who risk no more than your own skins
I tell you household Gods
are jealous Gods.
They will cover your window sills
with the dust of sunsets;
they will poison your secret wells
with longing.

From:  "Waiting For My Life" by Linda Pastan, page 34
"A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, 'darkness' on the walls of his cell." ~C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

"The soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through." ~Edna St. Vincent Millay........from her amazing poem, Renascence.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Alone and Drinking Under the Moon by Li Po

Early moon tangled in limbs with jet stream, November, 2011

Alone and Drinking Under the Moon
By Li Po

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.           

Traditionally considered one of China's greatest poets, Li Po lived from 701 to 762 A.D., during the Tang dynasty or T'ang dynasty (618–907) Chinese dynasty that succeeded the short-lived Sui and became a golden age for poetry, sculpture, and Buddhism.  Legend holds that Li drowned when he reached from his boat to grasp the moon’s reflection in the river.


I so love Li Po and have read his poetry for many, many moons.  He's my hero, my patron poet of winos, for sure.  (A.M.S., can you say amen?  LOL!!!!  You know I love you, the woman who turned me on to the most delicious, affordable wine on God's green earth, Apothic Red.)  If you drink wine, then definitely try this one---in moderation, of course.  It runs about $10 on sale at Albertson's. 

I hope all of you in the U.S., have a safe, happy Memorial Day weekend.  Have a drink for me, would you?


Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Alley Cat Love Song by Dana Gioia

Gir, in cat heaven, I guess.
^--^     ^--^     ^--^     ^--^     ^--^

Alley Cat Love Song
By Dana Gioia

Come into the garden, Fred,
For the neighborhood tabby is gone.
Come into the garden, Fred.
I have nothing but my flea collar on,
And the scent of catnip has gone to my head.
I'll wait by the screen door till dawn.

The fireflies court in the sweetgum tree.
The nightjar calls from the pine,
And she seems to say in her rhapsody,
"Oh, mustard-brown Fred, be mine!"
The full moon lights my whiskers afire,
And the fur goes erect on my spine.

I hear the frogs in the muddy lake
Croaking from shore to shore.
They've one swift season to soothe their ache.
In autumn they sing no more.
So ignore me now, and you'll hear my meow
As I scratch all night at the door.

from:  Interrogations at Noon, 2001
My brain is tabula rasa lately but for....I forget what. 
I am so sad about the evil happening in our world...those 200 girls kidnapped in Nigeria by those wicked, cruel COWARDS just breaks my heart and pisses me off royally.  As the mother of 2 daughters, I cannot imagine the pain their families must be enduring.... My prayers are with them all....
"I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring." ~Liz Armbruster

Thursday, May 8, 2014

A Little Rumi

The Passionflower vine that planted itself now produces flowers.  Life's a trip sometimes.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Love lit a fire in my chest, and anything
that wasn't love left:  intellectual
subtlety, philosophy books,
All I want now
to do or hear
is poetry.



My Weeping Willow tree died.  It was thriving last year.  I'm not sure if it was the super cold winter we had or what, but it's history.  It's about the 10th one I've planted that lived a few years, then died.  That's life, I guess.

I discovered a new tree to try, a Weeping Mulberry.  My daughter in Nashville has this one in her front yard and sent me the photo.  I'm totally intrigued.  It also makes fruit (the female tree) that birds love and it's a fast grower.  I waited too late to plant it this year, but come next Spring, I'm planting one: 

Weeping Mulberry Tree
Storms are expected today & tomorrow and here come the thunder.  We need the rain.  It's already been in the 90's for the past few days.  Yikes!  And it's still early May.

I hope all you mothers out there have a wonderful Mother's Day.  We're visiting Mama one day next week and I can't wait to see her.  She's improved since the stroke, but her back is getting worse with a diagnosis of perhaps paralysis soon.  I hope and pray not.  Please remember her in your thoughts and prayers.


"A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie." ~Tenneva Jordan

Friday, May 2, 2014

The Tiger by William Blake

This has been on my fridge for many years.  It's my favorite Calvin & Hobbes of all time. 
The Tiger
By William Blake (from 'Songs of Experience').
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night; 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies. 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain, 
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp, 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 
When the stars threw down their spears 
And water'd heaven with their tears: 
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright, 
In the forests of the night: 
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Thank God for poetry, humor and cats.