Garden of Glass

Birds in the Windy Sky

Quote from Kendall, age 6 :" Grammy, the birds are having trouble flying!"

Storm  arrives suddenly

 (moon sliver clutches blue corner of sky

birds are finding it’s hard to fly)

Trees fill with refugees

(robins and sparrows and jays unite

on limber branches, halted in flight)

Manic music shakes the air

(twittery,feathery protests abound,

crashing and barking and wind chimes resound)

Sky styles its head of hair

(pure white then gray and finally black,

puffy then choppy till wetly pulled back)

Thunder grumbles like a train  

(lightning licks darkness, shadows the ground

fright incites singing, a riot of sound)

Feather coats repel the rain

(braver birds battle the wind and move on

before the clouds rain out, ghost moon is gone)

Windy Sky

cycles

A Place Near Water: for my Captiva friends

A Place Near Water

I shared the desert’s dusty breath

all winter and into spring,

Now the air’s grown cirrus-thin,

without even the grit for tears

or smoke enough

to tease a cough from my lungs

I long for that place 

deep under the trees

where leopard light dances

on moist leaf beds,

where pavement-worn sandals

can sail the grass,

and rising fog rains rivers of mist

to catch like snowflakes on my tongue,

where moments before sunset

ruby refections spiral out

from a pebble toss 

and every sound is a whisper:

that  place.

Remember?

There was a river or a lake
or a sea

Workshopping and Rewrites

I mentioned in my email to Rus how much I miss NevadaChat. That was such a rich experience. There we were: none of us in Nevada, spread all over the world, speaking a variety of first-languages  and yet meeting up at least once a day to post and workshop and exchange news about our lives. I value all of your friendship so much and really miss that connection!!!

I have visited The Town and Babilu recently and have found a couple of old friends but others seem lost. Where are you, Shisa??? And Paula? How about Randy Adams? Rus, have you heard from Peter Desmond? Has anyone a clue where Chris Tozier is, or Barbara or Silva or Fei?

Over at Babilu, Brenda gave me some great thoughts on my clock-Watching poem . I am going to do some rewriting and repost in a couple of days. I need workshopping. My mind is as dry as the Nevada desert.

anonymous posters

Who are these people and what do they want????
 I don't speak Chinese and when they post in English their comments make no sense. (Judy looks around the room and wonders who is hiding in the closet)

Abstract Shell

Nautilus

Shelfari widget

I've added a widget for Shelfari where I am starting a reading list.

Sunset Fountain

Wind and Rain

Water weeping from the sky

settles dust 

and though newly cut,

blades lift up,

        gently blowing grass

Rain isn’t always storm

nor windy weather, hurricane

Sometimes a ghost moon

lingers into day, 

its shape a shadow 

against the sky

        just whispering

Darkness isn’t always blind

nor daylight empty of stars

The heart’s shaped chambers

open and close,

a living muscle

and muscle requires living,

        struggle not languor 

Not every seed becomes a fruit

nor every planter, a gardener

Wind and Rain : a poem to follow

Thought this was sort of interesting

204800/81200

Footprints

Drawing Blood

This won’t hurt a bit, they tell you

as they strangle your arm 

with a rubber tourniquet,

 begin slapping your flesh

to raise a vein.

The needle is small, as if to say 

Don’t fear my bite 

but I always look away at that point

I know it will burn, 

know they will likely withdraw,

stick again,

apologize

It’s like that

Don’t be fooled by cliche promises

Eat your vegetables and you’ll grow up tall.

study hard and you’ll succeed,

cheaters never win

Why can’t they tell you

you’ll be a pint low after this

but don’t worry

there’s more blood where this came from

Clock Watching

The clicking of time

            snapshots, thought

the mind unable,

the heart unwilling

water holds images upside down

desperate surrealism

skinny rain,

August’s hot shoulders

the reality of form

where I have paper to feel the lines

monkey ideas

moon-written,  always dry

wiry fences encircling

the great impossible

Blue abstract

girl with shell