Lawn chair and bare feet
before the heat of sun's angle
sets the mind to self-interest.
A songbird's prediction.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
(Inspired by a post by Maddy in Persisting Stars.)
Rain that day started half way to the park
warm before and always in your heart
we could have quickened step
rather we got wet
hand-in-hand and squishy, squeaky feet
could care less – the rain and now to please
your smile radiated from a curl streaked face
we stopped and still our hearts kept up the race
the kiss was wet, not only from the rain
summer in the year of our mid-teens
my first love, the rain was cold
chilled to bone
but warmed by kiss
the walk, the rain
and one wet kiss.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Sunday, May 14, 2006
My brother sent this to me after her visit.
Mom by his azalea's. She loves flowers.
I wrote this one two years ago. Still, I can't love her like I feel I should--like she loves me. (I guess such love is for my daughters now.) When I call her today, and say, Happy Mother's Day!, she may say, It is? Even being with my brother celebrating the occasion, she won't remember why. Seems sad now. But it really isn't. Nothing negates a love lived fully. It's like money in the bank--still drawing interest. And she always remembers who I am.
At Your Breast
O Mother, at your breast
I first remember with my mouth and ear
Big, brown nipples, soft and heart beat on my cheek.
What nourishment you gave me!
And ever after
Every woman is a measure of your love.
O Mother, on your knee
I've seen the world through new eyes
By the song of your life
And the call of your smile's voice
See the bird. Touch the tree.
Read to me
And learned a measure of your love.
O Mother, at your side
Hand-in-hand. My first guide
Through baby steps and walking miles.
Early life a journey at your side
in memory of left turns right.
And then forgot
the first true measure of your love.
O Mothers Day has come and gone
some fifty times since I was born.
I've given you but small return on
The gift you've given me.
If I were judged as royalty
my worth could only be minute
by the measure of your love.
Here's today's haiku for Mom:
against summer skies
silver maple quickens in breeze
she dances with shirts
My sister said it another way in Dance Lesson:
See also my other tributes to Mom in River-Tree Whispers.