Amazing Grace

Grace whispers in a shaft of sunlight
entreats the rain to fall
turns the seasons
raises the stem
releases the delicate fragrance
and opens each rose
in its own time
you can not pry the petals loose
no matter how well-intentioned
if you work harder
you will only crush the bloom
no machine may unravel
the millennia of mystery
contained in a single bud
the petals must soften
deep inside the flower first
stretching forth from its heart
with an exuberantly painted shout
you can not make the coiled blossom bloom
you may only bear witness to its brilliant birth
and be amazed

The Bubble Maker

The marine layer descends

shrouding my neighborhood

in a cool grey silence

befitting my mood

while my body goes through

the agonizing detox of hormones

it had ramped up production of

just six weeks ago

The cramping has mostly subsided

but still physical activity

is a great chore

as it seems my body used up

half of its energy creating a life

and the other half rejecting it

The dogs are pretty oblivious

to all of it - the chill in the air

the quiet, the emptiness

they only know

that there are bushes to be sniffed

and trees to be peed on

and so expect their usual walk

I don't even brush my hair

After their business is done

I turn back for the house

but my youngest pup pulls me forward

his attention drawn

to something down the block

A lone bubble

with no source in sight

carried on a breeze

down a deserted street

bobbing along the sidewalk

iridescent colors swirling

The object is so foreign

the young pup can't decide

if he should chase it or eat it

and so stands mesmerized

until the old dog and I catch up

and the three of us stand still

contemplating the curiosity

It is an unexpected wonder

to encounter the unexplainable

popping up on the dullest of days

When it collides with a brick wall

and disappears into a small sprinkle

of tiny dots on the driveway

the grace of the moment lingers

and I am filled with gratitude

knowing the bubble maker

is still out there somewhere

Black cat on a sunny day

Anyone who has seen a black cat
curled tightly in a window on a sunny day
knows there is a multitude of colors
contained in even the most caliginous of fur
each onyx follicle bursts into iridescence
like a moonbow over Cumberland Falls
against an inky velvet night sky
A reminder that the intricate dance
of light and dark creates a beauty
neither could generate on its own
and while white rejects every red and purple
that tries to pierce its puritanical heart
black gathers all the colors in tight
dependant on the full spectrum to survive

Grace and Peanuts

Packing peanuts from an overturned box
are scattered across the busy street
blown by the crosswinds of passing cars
creating a twinkling tinkling sound
like snow falling on wind chimes
the white Styrofoam tumbleweeds
dotting the cold black asphalt
emit intermittent cracks and pops
as the wheels of fate flatten an unlucky few
funny how the protectors have so little ability
to protect themselves from the crushing blows
of unfulfilled destiny and oncoming traffic
but oh how the newly animated herd
mesmerizes in its final moments
gracefully dancing outside the box

Legacy

Closing my eyes I try to see
visions painted on the backs
of my apricot eyelids
some hoped for image
of what life will be
in twenty
thirty
fifty years, if we're lucky
you with wavy white hair
me silently looking out
over the isle Yeats loved
nothing more to prove
nothing more to say
with my books on shelves
and verses in hearts
young dreamers dreaming
of growing into their wrinkles
sitting in this very chair
crying as I cried
over Alcott's desk
or with palm pressed
upon Frost's kitchen table
hoping somehow inspiration
will seep through like osmosis
words soaking into cells
wisdom circling round
building layer upon layer
like a great spiralled shell
let's make our house in it
just two side-stepping crabs
leaving trails in the sand
under the linnet's wings
beating out chords of grace
legacy of purple waters
washing over quiet shores
and a snowy wood
now warm, now green

Senses on a Saturday

See the white rose and her sisters
stand straight as arrows
aimed at the golden sun
proving that not all things
in this world are broken

Smell the willow as it weeps
warm earthen incense
emanates from peeling bark
fragrant leaves fanned by a breeze
beneath the heavy heat of the day

Hear the sleeping spaniel's breath
rising labored but steady
a rattle of resilience
beating back age and illness
with each defiant thump of his tail

Feel the stained glass window
diffusing soft colored light
through hard dimpled surfaces
and cold twisted iron
beauty born of imperfection

Taste the salt of gratitude
on cheeks wet with joy
notice how the bitter flavor
fades with time
it all seems so sweet now

The Real

Morning moon casts
a sliver of silver light
upon shining stone pavers
drenched by some unheard
nocturnal downpour

Trees etched black
against the quickening sky
know nothing of the dream
that left the dark night
shrouded in a miasma of fear

And the bright morning star
caught in a corridor
between continents of clouds
winks knowingly
this is the real

This waking sun
This cool wet grass
This red-winged blackbird
heralding the new day
with an exuberant shout!