behemoth bones
bleached white
African sun
grave yard for giants
some shot
others died a natural death
the living caress
bones with trunks
six thousand nerves
sensitive, searching
for answers
nature
Sunday Poem–Rain
It’s raining! It’s raining!
It has not rained in more than a month.
I run out the door,
spreading my arms skyward.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
A smile smears joyfully across my face.
I run across the patio,
rain drops pelleting my face, my arms.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
My dog stands, rivulets of rain running off her.
Lightning explodes, thunder booms bass,
the steel roof plays staccato music.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
From my book “On the Rim of Wonder”. This poem holds true today. After a summer with lots of rain, it quit. It is very dry with a high danger of wildfires now that the summer vegetation has dried, perfect fuel.
Sunday Poem-Puma I
“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.” Martin Buber
My neighbor walked out her door
found a puma lying on the lawn.
Puma rose, stretched, disappeared.
At night when I open my gate
I wonder if she lurks
behind the cedar trees,
pounce ready.
My daughter dreams puma dreams:
a puma chases her up a tree.
There are no trees here big enough to climb.
A Zuni puma fetish guards my sleep.
I run with puma
Night wild
Free.
I scream and howl
Moonstruck
Bloodborn.
I hike the canyon
stroll around my house
look for puma tracks.
I see none.
I would rather die by puma
than in a car wreck.
Note: This is the first in a series of Puma Poems in my book “On the Rim of Wonder”.
Sunday Poem–Choose
“Most people are about as happy as they
make up their minds to be.” Abraham Lincoln
When I was twenty something, I chose happiness, not the sappy, syrupy, cheery, but a deeper joy of cherishing the small, the unique, the everyday, smiling with sunsets, the song of the mockingbird in spring, horses running free, the nearly invisible bobcat climbing the canyon wall, the taste of fine coffee at the first wakeful moments in the morning, cooking for friends, taking a “property walk” with my grandson, laughing with the teenagers I teach. I am driven to do little–obsessions, compulsions do not run me. I choose. Choose life, choose joy, or choose whining, choose lamenting. Choose!! Be who you want to be; do what you want to do.
Note: this is a poem from my book, “On the Rim of Wonder”.
Sunrise
Autumn’s beauty
Sunrise
Rim of Wonder
Dear Monarch Butterfly
Saturday I discovered your chrysalis underneath the top of a disintegrating cable spool by the red and green barn. At first I remained uncertain about you. Were you really a monarch?
Then I thought, “This is too late; you won’t survive,”
I checked the weather. There is hope. No freeze until late Thursday night.
By Monday evening your chrysalis had turned a dark green transparency; I could see hints of your wings inside.
When I looked Tuesday after horse feeding, you were out, unmoving, wings folded, your chrysalis a hollow shell.
I checked you twice last evening. Still by your chrysalis, opening and closing your wings.
Becoming really worried, knowing a cold front was coming, I puzzled what to do, keep you inside the barn, leave barn doors open, what?
This morning you had moved to the edge of the spool top. Today’s wind and warmth might inspire you to take your journey south; I could only hope, placed you where you could fly away easily.
When I fed the horses at five today, you were gone.
Relieved, I wish you a safe journey to Michoacan.
Night
listen to frogs
watch it rain
feel the breeze
answer the owl
sip red wine
read a book
sing favorite songs
dance alone
imagine
dream
Walking Among the Flowers
After feeding the horses, completing chores, a late afternoon walk to look for the last of the wild flowers took my fancy. Here in the canyon country of the Panhandle of Texas, the majority of wildflowers are three colors: yellow, white, purple.
Butterflies feeding in the gay feather.
At first I thought this might be bitterweed but now, not sure.
Although this one and the last one may resemble each other, they are different.
Looked up, the sun decided to shine–at my place four inches of rain in the last week and more than seven inches ahead of normal.
Black foot daisies and prairie zinnias bloom from early spring almost until frost.
Athena among the flowers.
Prickly pear can grow almost anywhere.
I almost missed this one hidden among the grass.
September 30–Morning
Silence sits
like a wet, grey rag
no bird song
no insects or frogs singing
junipers unmoving
yesterdays footprints
impressions in adobe mud
Silence sits
like a wet, grey rag
Visitor
he flew to my side
smiled
then scuttled behind
Frida Kahlo
writingontherim 