Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I Thought I Killed the Sage

April 19, 2005

I never found a home for her
last summer.

She lived in temporary quarters:
A cheap, black, twelve inch pot,
sitting inside faux terra cotta.

I had not intended
to put her in the ground,
though I made plans
to bring her inside..
In the midst of madness,
somehow I forgot,
though I passed her everyday
on my way into the house.

Then winter came;
some said it was mild,
but the damp chill ate through
to my bones
(I really must get a transfusion),
and she sat outside
in a black, twelve inch pot
looking quite dead.

More than once,
I decided to end her suffering

Spring came slowly,
almost begrudgingly.

One day when
warmth had crept
enough into the world
for me to stand outside
without a shiver,
I noticed her,
and with an air of
and maybe a hint of regret,
I resolved to give her
a proper burial
in the dumpster, although
I never found the time,
that day or the next.

A week later,
I returned
to pay last respects
and finally put to rest
a dead and broken
lifeless plant
which no one ever
would have recognized
as Russian Sage..

Except for tiny,
fragrant leaves
sprouting from the union
of her branches.

To think
I might have thrown her out
in the middle of winter.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

I Think I’ll Take a Walk~ III

Cold and Rainy Day
April 13, 2005

For Ada.

It’s cold and rainy out.
Not quite winter-cold;
that chill finally lost its hold.
The weather is mild enough for sandals,
yet plenty cool for fleece.

My southwestern blood
bids me stay inside and drink hot tea,
and that I shall, in good time.

But inside where it’s warm,
there is no sound
of raindrops playing in the grass;
no sight of them glistening
on leaves of purple and green
and flowers of pink;
on chicks ‘n’ hens just opening
and setting free their offspring
to fall upon the ground, take root,
and grow into a new generation
of a stubborn, hardy succulent.

Nor could I see nor hear
nor contemplate,
from inside where it’s warm,
wind in willows,
softly speaking mysteries to me
of secret paths on which cold
and rainy, breezy days may lead
to bring great insight
to the Wise.

Rain, I hear;
Breeze, I sense.;
Great expanse,
overcast and heavy now, I see
the lessons you impart to me.

I know it’s wet and cold,
and yet,

I think I’ll take a walk.

I Think I’ll Take a Walk~ II

April 10, 2005

The mud daubers are back-
or are they hornets?

I really don’t know.
They look like daubers,
but the truth would be
quite a painful discovery,
if I am mistaken.

I love the flowers and green
which creep about in spring,
although sadly, I slowly killed
the jasmine tree which bloomed for me
so faithfully last summer.

Regardless, what does bloom this year
will surely attract the dauber-hornets,
to my dismay.

For I can know full well
that they fear me
far more than I fear them;

but fear’s a funny thing.
It makes one act defensively,
and knowing this fact
simply escalates my fear.

So in the end,
who’s to say
whose fear is greater,
mine or the dauber-hornets?

they're sure to be about,
and yet,

I think I’ll take a walk.

I Think I’ll Take a Walk~ I

A Day So Sunny
April 10, 2005

A day so sunny,
it almost works against me,
sitting on my porch
in clothes too heavy
for the unpredictable weather
of Kentucky’s early spring.

I’ve always said
I’d rather burn than freeze-
you can take the girl out of Texas,
but you can’t replace
her southwestern blood..
And something about Dante’s hell
still haunts me.

Even so,
I remove my sweater
as the Hispanic boy
from a few doors down
rides by on his bike.

He reminds me of home,
and how much I miss diversity.
There was a time and a place,
when I couldn’t have told you
the color of the boy’s skin;
I wouldn’t have noticed.

It’s ironic-
I often feel
conspicuously inconspicuous
in this stiflingly homogenous little town,
with bells chiming the half hour,
a church on every corner,
and overwhelmingly white,
most often upper middle class students
passing their time
in meaningless chatter
about the ontological argument
for the existence of God.

It never did make sense to me,
that argument;
and finally, I don’t care.

What need is there in this moment
for useless human philosophies,
when the view from my
too, too sunny porch
yields pink hyacinths,
imperfect in form, yet thriving;
lush, green growth of daylillies,
patiently awaiting their season;
traces of new life
sprouting from old growth-
perennials which seemed all but dead
a month ago?

I see my self in this tiny plot,
one or two feet deep by four wide;
a glorious proof of spring’s
unexpected victory;
herald of the woe of winter;
Life defying icy Death.

The day is so sunny,
it almost works against me,
reflecting off the page into my
young and weary eyes;
too much light to comprehend..

And yet,

I think I’ll take a walk.

Pass the Jelly

April 10, 2005

"Mom, what are these called?"

"Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups."

"...where’s the jelly?"


...Where IS the jelly?

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Blue's Clues

April 10, 2005

For my son.

Simple pleasures keep my child content:
Early Saturday morning hugs,
biscuits, jelly, orange juice,
the best seats in the house
for watching cartoons with mommy..

Ah.. the wisdom to learn from one
so innocent, naive, untouched, unstained.

Excuse me..

My son is finding Blue’s clues;
I promised I would help...

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Every Waking Moment II (sonnet)

April 7, 2005

The first "Every Waking Moment" is not published in this blog.

And every waking moment I forget
the thoughts which come at night to haunt my dreams.
No struggle do I give to hold them, yet
a part of me dissolves with every scream
escaping from my lips ‘ere I awake.
I always quell to find myself alone,
and long for comfort as I weep and shake;
yea, all that is within me turns to stone.

Remembering that one there is whose love
is not negated by the rising moon
does often warm my chill, as hand in glove,
though still I hope the dawn will kindle soon,

and every waking moment I’ll forget
these thoughts that plague my mind once sun has set.

Defeat (tanka)

April 7, 2005

Came we to dark paths;
trust’s capacity ebbed low;
walking felt like death.

Oh, that we had held to hope,
hand in hand by light of Love.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Virtue & Strength

(Distance & Bravado)
April 2, 2005

It is not fit
that a man should bare all,
broken and powerless,
in the presence of a woman.

And so he hides his need
behind facades of confidence;
there is no finer strength to be found
in a man made husband
than self-sufficiency and command;
all the while demanding his price
through force of will;
false confidence.


Neither is it proper
that a woman should remit
anger and indignation
to a man.

And so she hides her ire
behind a seeming servile
there is no finer virtue to be found
in a woman made wife
than meekness and resignation;
all the while exacting her wage
through quiet brooding;
distant silence.


Seek not virtue in this woman;
she seeks not strength in any man.


George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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