Friday, May 30, 2008
Crossing the Tracks
by Ardi Keim
Left at the church on the corner. Past the playground of the school of The Holy Family. Recalling the laughter, shrill screams of girls and the most important demands of boys, while two teachers watch half-attentively in their conversation at the edge of the blacktopped confine. Will Robbie be there one day, demanding fairness his way? Another girl shrieks the ending quote of that cyclone fenced memory.
What is freedom?, she wonders now, and every time she passes the school yard--kids or no kids. When she was one of the shrieking girls there, her dreams didn't go much beyond the moment and the fence. But now, approaching the railroad crossing at the dog-leg bend of Orchard Street, she reflected on later thoughts. Was it the spider on the signal box that retreated around the edge as she got closer in this late spring evening? Still a chill in the air, but the sun's angle on the silver-painted metal box reflected the glare of a hot summer day. Though last week she brought the snow shovel from the porch to storage, now she looks southeast down the tracks to another world in August.
She and two girlfriends on one of their adventures mothers never know, in the year before she met Dale. Wild then -- and free. Her only job was assistant to the activity director at summer camp in Wisconsin. She couldn't wait to be out on her own then. Her own car and a good job. There were tracks past camp too--parallel to county road 121. She remembered the rumble in the evening after dinner in down-time on her bunk, or walking by the lake. And once her granddad told her and Tom some stories of his early days on the rails, riding the cars to Spokane and Portland, and once to a place called Lafayette down south somewhere. Adventure and Freedom! And summer day dreams. She could see forever down the tracks. Tom joined the Marines last year. His life seems exciting, even still in training. He says he might go to Pakistan in the fall.
Bump. Bump. The wheels of the stroller hobble across the second track. And her last look southeast, as she re-enters her neighborhood and the realization returns. Dale, Robbie and the news from the doctor earlier today.
(c) 2008 Ardi Keim
Thursday, May 15, 2008
This day –
so far away from last month’s
last chance at winter
in its fits of tightening
and releasing its grip.
Finally, I relax. I soak. I see.
I hear the life in vibration of each pleasing bee
and ant—buzzing, crawling
—climbing to the heights of sky and tree.
How do they know?
Is it by memory or deduction?
Or is it by pure imagination
conceived on the dreams of ancient ancestors
and last year’s hive?
The colony survives by these dreams
and written in rote,
not even known till green leaves to light
the way through season.
I see the spectrum of new leaves emerging,
At first pale and cheerful in this becoming – and lacy.
Seems almost tentative in their approach.
But even without memory they invade
with the full force of summer color.
Bright and bold, jade and olive
and always multiplying
to fill each tree and yard and forest
in logarithmic advance to their natural abundance.
There is no lack in life and love.
In each twig and bud and leaf is the belief in the Divine.
And not by deduction, but by doing
the deed of each instant and dancing
to the song of now.
I too imagine,
my becoming is new
in the true sense of Spring.
How could it be any different
than each step and each breath
advancing, proceeding from previous green?
I am an ant on a bud, and the world is mine.
Sweet nectar. And Blessings
of Light and Love.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Good TeaWould Celestial Seasonings have it any other way?
Good sleepy time teacups together.
Retire relaxed and intending,
but passing the chance
of one kind of bliss
when heads hit their pillows
they're off in a wisp to white willows
and sun of the sandy white shores
where warm breezes easy
asleep in their peace
of good sleepy tea
Both in their slumber
under the quilt of their drifting
blissful in journey somewhere
until chill of cool morning air
draws across errant hair
tickling brow or cheek.
Now from her sleep
still half in a dream
that's quite pleasing,
and hand in that natural spot.
Enjoying no care and pleasant the thought
of the one that's beside her still gliding
out in white clouds of somewhere.
Oh, could it be here at the spot?
And would this one dream
care to catch two?
She reaches across
to a world still receding
and finding the hand of her man
at the most natural spot in support.
Attention! Good Morning.
Good sleepy time treat.
Now awake by intent
or delay of effect.
Do we roll for the rocking?
Or first shall we pee?
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Can it be for just one without being for all?
You and You, and It and Me
in a tree and on a hill.
We tell the same story
in connection with Source.
We are of a sacred station.
Not tethered in stanchion by thought,
unless we think a lot in circles
and forget who we are.
Are we worthy of a feast?
Reason only takes us so far.
And we’ve all been further than that.
There are seeds in my apple,
orchards in my future with pie
and cinnamon's right
Love the feast
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Spring forth green earth.
Lighten the mood with white buds and laughter.
What was last month, but a fading memory?
Dark clouds no longer shade my days,
but portend a rain of blessings.
Spruce from its laden posture
now lifts in anticipation
of each solar event.
Days of the quickening
lace limber saplings with Forsythia.
Pink is soon to join the daffodils by tulip,
blossom of apple wood,
and a bow on your jumper.
Me too! Let’s go.
Spring forth in this love.
I remember our first kiss.
Was Spring in a fever.
Your jumper and pink bow.
So free, the memory.
And you in your laughter.
Oh yeah, the reliving
in every Spring.