Soul Spoon

Planes and angles

Lines and lineaments

Curve of chin and brow

Soft lid and downy cheek

Curl of hair cupped over ear

Sparkling eye, laughing smile

Staring still can’t fill my eye

Can’t get enough of you or your sigh

A mighty miracle,

A confluence of cosmic events

Shifting Earth’s Axis

Quake of quivering souls

Crossed Lay-lines of our lives

Entwined my heart strings with yours

Before the Now

Anywhere, Anytime, Anywhen

Forever harmonizing

Souls spooning eternally

(dedicated to my two lovely daughters)

Pudding Moon

There was a yellow custard in the sky.
It wakened me, strangely caught in the branches outside my window
I squinted, looked with one eye at a time, tried to go back to sleep
Balelessly, without malicious intent, ruthful, still, it kept me awake

I sat up.

I opened the window.

Bats were flitting, the creek's low murmur was just audible above the frogs' cacophony
The air was crisp and the pudding solidified into a solemn moon
Wise, wide face benignly surveying the post-midnight landscape

I laid back down and let the open-window lullaby lull me back to sleep
I swear the moon winked just as I closed my eyes.

Remembered

Grandma said "Dat" instead of "that"
And she walked with a slight bow to her back
Her arms were strong and her fingers square
They felt for the keys on her piano
As she played rollicking jazz tunes

Grandma had a long, horsey face
With large front teeth and no back ones on top
She had short straight hair
Kinda fly-away fine and white

Grandma didn't coddle or suffer fools gladly
She didn't cook or sew that I know
She painted and carved and gardened
And beat native English speakers at Scrabble

Grandma had wit, humor, and a kind of calm
She took me to the shore and slid into cold
Water without a fuss and actually swam
Year 'round, with Eagles circling over her

Grandma picked up driftwood
And showed a figure in it invisible
To me until her tracing finger
Outlined its lineaments

Grandma was.

Forgot again

A poem a day
Doesn't seem so hard
Just a few words
Culled from too many
Racing around in my brain

But I forgot again
Missed yesterday's poem altogether
Life happened

My sympathy for my dad's struggles
To remember anything reliably
Increases daily

April's Fool

O.K., so, I totally forgot to write a poem yesterday
The first day of NaPoWriMo
So, I'm claiming the privilege
Of all poets and crafters of art...

I say I meant to do that.
The silence was my voice
The negative space was my positive statement
The flaw was intentional
Art is defined by the artist

Who's the April Fool now?

A Poem A Day

I'm excited to participate in the National Poetry Writing Month this year.  I heard about it last year after it was over and have been waiting with 'bated breath for this year's event.  I can't say I've been practicing, just that I was writing a poem a day on my own when I heard about it last year.  I promptly stopped writing.  I guess it was kind of a damming of my creative juices to create a reservoir from which to draw during this year's event.  It wasn't a conscious decision on my part.  I'm only fishing in the murky depths for a reason, hoping that it wasn't fear that simply dried up the stream of consciousness from which I was getting my original write-a-poem-a-day inspiration.  I guess we'll find out...