Tuesday, June 24, 2008

his frogness

His frogness enjoying some cool air as a summer storm rolls by...
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Sunday, June 22, 2008

Oh, William...

The Loving Dexterity

by the inimitable William Carlos Williams

The flower


she saw it


it lay

a pink petal



placed it


its stem


Friday, June 20, 2008

on the line

This photo of my grandfather's white shirts
flapping in the breeze
reminded my mother
of the little poem that follows...

-Author unknown

A clothesline was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.

It also was a friendly link,
For neighbors always knew,
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.

For then you'd see the fancy sheets
And towels out on the line;
You'd see the company tablecloths
With intricate design.

The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside,
As brand new infants clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.

And the lines were full of diapers,
So white and bright and clean.
Because in those days of yore,
In stores Pampers were not yet seen.

The ages of the children could
So readily be known,
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.

It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.

It said, "Gone on vacation now,"
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged,
With not an inch to spare.

But clotheslines now are of the past,
For dryers make work less,
Now what goes on inside a house
Is anybody's guess.

I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign,
When others knew each other best,
By what hung on the line.
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Monday, June 16, 2008

sometimes you need more than words...a belated father's day post/poem

Two Sundays

He hangs our swing as I sleep and doze, pretending to read and write

from the hammock. I watch my husband wind slithery white rope around

long tan arms and haggard bark. Measures, levels, measures again. He gives me

a lemony kiss when he climbs down the ladder, his teeth

still cold from an icy gulp.

Our daughter scurries around the tree, fingers popsicle-sticky, bare heels

kicking up thyme leaves and grass clippings. Papa’s puns send her

giggles up into whirls and spirals. The black cat lifts his nose

from his cool dint in the lawn, sniffs, and blinks his yellow eyes

at each arc we make through the air.

Almost thirty years earlier, my father winds taut brown rope around

muscled forearms, saws cedar seats, and chooses the perfect tire. He says little,

presses lips together until they almost disappear behind his clipped beard. He gives

gruff directions, but his blue eyes sparkle. This is how so many

years go by, such still lips and flashing eyes, before I understand.

Tonight our little family travels those three decades back

in only four miles. My husband picks winking blackberries, our daughter

spins between splashing and chattering. I sit with my father, four bare feet

iridescent in the pool water. We don’t talk about those silent years,

but he is quoting lines from the poem I wrote. I say nothing, and smile.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

If only I had married someone more romantic...

I knew Ryan was planning to put up this mosquito screen for our dinner, but...

I really wish he had put some time & thought into it! :)

view from the porch

rock detail

solar lantern

reading neruda...

The Queen
by Pablo Neruda
(trans. by Donald D. Walsh)

I have named you queen.
There are taller ones than you, taller.
There are purer ones than you, purer.
There are lovelier ones than you, lovelier.

But you are the queen.

When you go through the streets
no one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
at the carpet of red gold
that you tread as you pass,
the nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
only you and I, my love,
listen to it.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

it is sweet milk, wine, & halvah...

This Marriage
by Rumi

May these vows and this marriage be blessed.
May it be sweet milk,
this marriage, like wine and halvah.
May this marriage offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,
an omen as welcomes the moon in a clear blue sky.
I am out of words to describe
how spirit mingles in this marriage.

Monday, June 9, 2008

why write, you ask?

We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection.

Anaïs Nin (1903-77)